#I’m a little determined to finish this series | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pucksandpower · 7 days ago

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Second Heart

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Lewis Hamilton x Senna!Reader

Summary: all you’ve ever wanted was to be able to race just like your Papai … no matter the cost (or in which always going for a gap that exists runs in the Senna family)

You sit cross-legged in front of the TV, shoulders hunched, the remote clutched tight in your little hand. The screen crackles, and there he is — Ayrton. Papai. His yellow helmet blazes under the bright afternoon sun, the car flying down the straight, smooth as a bird on water.

Your eyes don’t blink. The sound of engines growls through the speakers, vibrating all the way to your heart. It’s like he’s right there. Alive.

And so fast. So, so fast. You almost feel like you’re in the car with him, that if you close your eyes, you could taste the gasoline and the rubber, the wind whipping across your face.

“Papai …” you whisper, pressing the volume button louder.

Adriane steps into the room, the clink of her bracelets soft but steady. She pauses when she sees you, arms crossed, one hip jutted out.

“I thought you were doing homework.”

You don’t answer, too lost in the footage. The video cuts to a slow-motion shot of Ayrton weaving through the rain, tires spinning in the spray like magic. They call it genius — what he did at Monaco, at Suzuka, at Donington Park. To you, it’s just your Papai being Papai.

“Turn it off.” Your mother’s voice sharpens now. She hates it when you watch these tapes. You’ve heard her say it before, more times than you can count — It’s not healthy. You shouldn’t keep living in the past. But you don’t feel like you’re living in the past. You feel like you’re meeting him for the first time, every time.

“Just five more minutes,” you plead without looking away.

“No.”

“But I-”

“I said no, agora!”

Her tone makes you flinch. The remote slips from your hand onto the floor with a dull thud. But you still can’t tear your eyes from the screen, where Ayrton’s car crosses the finish line, the Brazilian flag draped over his shoulders as the crowd roars. Your heart beats faster. There’s a strange energy in you, like the buzz before a storm. You push yourself up to your knees, your voice small but determined.

“I want to race.”

Adriane’s laugh is immediate and sharp, like glass shattering. “Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not being silly!” You twist around to look at her now, the words spilling out. “I wanna race, Mãe! Like Papai!”

Her face changes. The air shifts, heavy and strange. You see it happen — the tightness in her jaw, the way her smile falls away like it was never there.

“No.”

“But-”

“No!” She snaps, louder this time, and it makes you shrink back. “Absolutely not. Never.”

You bite your lip, feeling the burn at the back of your throat. But you don’t stop. Not yet.

“Why not?” You whisper.

Your mother exhales sharply through her nose, as if the question alone is an insult. She crosses the room in two quick strides, crouching down until her face is level with yours. Her hands, delicate but strong, grip your shoulders tighter than usual.

“Because racing is dangerous,” she says, enunciating every word like she’s trying to hammer them into your skull. “Do you understand me? It’s not a game. It took your father from us.”

Her voice wavers on the last sentence, but you don’t care. There’s something stubborn growing in you, something you don’t quite recognize yet.

“Papai loved it.”

“And look where it got him,” she shoots back, her voice sharp as a knife.

You blink, stunned by the words. She’s never said it like that before. She sees your expression — hurt, confused — and her face softens, just for a second.

“Sweetheart …” She sighs, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “I know you miss him. I miss him too. Every single day. But I won’t let racing take you away from me.”

“But it won’t-”

“Enough.” Her voice is final, the way grown-ups’ voices get when there’s no more room for argument. “This conversation is over.”

You open your mouth, then close it again. She’s already standing up, brushing invisible dust from her jeans. The TV hums in the background, the commentators babbling about pole positions and podiums.

Adriane snatches the remote from the floor and jabs the power button. The screen goes black, as if Papai never existed at all.

You feel hollow.

Your mother stands there for a moment, the silence thick between you. Then she crouches again, her hands cupping your face this time, thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“Listen to me.” Her voice is quieter now, almost pleading. “I lost your father. I can’t-” She stops, swallows hard. “I can’t lose you too. Okay?”

You don’t nod. You don’t speak. You just stare at her, your little heart breaking in ways you don’t fully understand yet.

“I’m serious,” she whispers, her forehead resting against yours. “No racing. Not ever.”

And then she kisses the top of your head, soft and lingering, as if that alone could erase the conversation, the dream, everything. She walks out of the room, her footsteps fading down the hall.

You sit there for a long time, staring at the blank TV screen, fists clenched in your lap. Your chest feels tight, like something inside you is being squeezed too hard.

You think about Papai. About how he smiled in the cockpit, how the car seemed to dance under his hands, how the crowd chanted his name like a song. He wasn’t afraid.

And neither are you.

You pick up the remote again. Your thumb hovers over the play button, hesitant for just a moment. Then you press it.

The screen flickers back to life, and Ayrton is there, flying through the rain like a miracle.

You smile.

One day, you think.

One day, you’ll race too.

***

The front door clicks shut behind you as you step into the house, dropping your school bag with a heavy thud. You bend down to untie your sneakers, already rehearsing what you’ll tell your mom — how your science project earned a gold star, how you managed to trade a snack with João without getting caught. You have it all planned, down to the way you’ll grin when she offers you that after-school snack.

But as soon as you straighten up, the voices hit you.

Loud. Sharp. Angry.

You freeze, one hand still on your shoelace.

“You have no right — none — to tell me how to raise my daughter!” Your mother’s voice is sharp, like glass breaking. She’s in the living room. You can’t see her from the hallway, but you don’t need to. You can imagine her perfectly — the tight set of her mouth, the way her arms probably cross over her chest.

And then, another voice, familiar in a strange way. Low and hard. “I’m not telling you how to raise her, Adriane. I’m telling you what she told me — how she called me crying because you refuse to let her chase the only thing she’s ever wanted.”

Alain.

Your heart skips. You know him. Everyone knows him. Papai’s fiercest rival — and, in the end, his friend. The man from the stories, from old photographs your mother keeps locked away. Alain, who came to the funeral and cried even when the cameras weren’t on him.

Why is he here?

You step closer, drawn by their words like a thread pulling you tight. You press yourself against the wall and peek around the corner, just enough to see them.

Adriane stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed exactly like you pictured. Her blonde hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, but her face is tight, her jaw locked in anger. Alain stands across from her, looking just as frustrated. His hands move as he talks, fast and insistent, like he’s trying to grab hold of the air between them and shape it into something that makes sense.

“She’s seven!” Your mother snaps, her voice cracking at the edges. “She doesn’t understand what she’s asking for.”

“She understands better than you think,” Alain fires back. “She understands perfectly. She called me in tears — tears, Adriane — because you shut her down without even listening.”

“I listened.” Her voice drops, low and furious. “And I said no.”

Alain scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “You said no because you’re scared.”

Your mother’s eyes flash. “Of course I’m scared! She’s my daughter! You, of all people, should understand-”

“I do understand.” Alain’s voice softens, but only just. “I carried his casket. I watched you cry over him. But that’s exactly why you can’t do this to her.”

Adriane’s face crumples for a split second, so brief you might have missed it if you hadn’t been watching so closely. “He’s not here, Alain,” she whispers, and it sounds like a confession and an accusation all at once. “He’s not here to see this, to say if it’s right or wrong. And he’s not here to save her if something goes wrong.”

Alain’s voice drops, steady and determined. “And you think Ayrton would want you to stop her? You think he would want her to live her whole life wrapped in fear because of what happened to him?”

“She’s my child.” Adriane’s voice cracks like a whip, but there’s something desperate underneath it now, like she’s fighting to keep her footing in a conversation she knows she’s already losing. “And I will not lose her.”

Alain’s eyes narrow. “You’re not protecting her. You’re imprisoning her.”

Your mother stares at him, her breath coming fast and uneven. For a moment, everything goes still — so quiet you can hear the ticking of the old clock on the mantel.

Then Alain steps forward, his hands on his hips. “If you won’t help her, I will. I’ll teach her to kart myself if I have to.”

Adriane barks out a bitter laugh, but it’s laced with pain. “You can try,” she says, her voice brittle. “But don’t expect me to come watch. I refuse to set foot at a race, and I won’t look at her as long as I know there’s a chance she won’t come back.”

Her words hang in the air, thick and suffocating. You feel like you can’t breathe. You press yourself harder against the wall, your chest tight with emotions you can’t name.

And that’s when the floor creaks.

Both of them turn at the sound.

“Meu Deus …” your mother whispers, her hands flying to her mouth. “You’re home.”

Alain’s face softens instantly. He kneels down, arms open. “Come here, sweetheart.”

You hesitate, just for a moment. Then, without thinking, you bolt from your hiding spot and run straight into Alain’s arms. He catches you easily, wrapping you in a hug that feels like safety. Like warmth.

Adriane stands frozen, her hands still over her mouth. Her eyes are wide, filled with a mix of heartbreak and anger and something you don’t fully understand.

Alain pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. “Hey,” he says softly. “I’ve got a question for you.”

You blink up at him, your heart pounding.

“How would you like to come to Switzerland with me?” His voice is calm, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. “You could learn to kart there. I’ll teach you myself. What do you think?”

Your heart races. Switzerland. Karting. Learning to drive. It feels like a dream, one you didn’t even know you could have.

But then you look at your mother.

Adriane’s face is pale, her hands still clutched tight over her mouth like they might stop her from saying something she’ll regret. Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and there’s a kind of pain in them that makes your chest ache.

You know what this means to her. You know how much it hurts.

But you also know what it means to you.

You’ve wanted this for as long as you can remember — for as long as you’ve been able to understand what racing is. And here it is, right in front of you. A chance.

You swallow hard and look back at Alain. His expression is kind but serious, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“It’s your choice,” he says quietly. “No one can make it for you.”

You take a deep breath. Your hands shake a little, but you ball them into fists to steady yourself.

“I want to go,” you whisper.

Your mother makes a soft, choked sound — like someone punched all the air out of her.

“Minha filha …” Her voice breaks.

You look at her, and it feels like your heart is splitting in two. “I have to, Mãe.”

She closes her eyes, pressing her hands tighter to her face. For a moment, she just stands there, trembling. Then she drops her hands and wipes her eyes with quick, angry swipes.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice raw and broken. “Okay. Go, then.”

The words sting, sharper than anything you’ve ever felt. But you nod. You have to.

Alain gives your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “We’ll call every day,” he promises, glancing at Adriane, though she won’t look at him. “Whenever you want.”

Your mother doesn’t answer. She just turns away, her shoulders hunched like the weight of the world is pressing down on her.

Your heart feels heavy, but there’s something else now too — something lighter. Hope.

You glance up at Alain, and he smiles, soft and warm.

“Switzerland, huh?” You say, trying to sound brave.

Alain chuckles. “Switzerland.”

And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you can finally breathe.

***

Life in Switzerland feels like a dream. Every morning, the mountains rise outside your window, peaks dusted in snow even as the spring sun warms the air. The international school Alain enrolled you in is small, the kids friendly. They speak a mix of languages — French, German, Italian — and though it’s strange at first, you like how every word feels like a little puzzle to solve.

But school is just the beginning of your day. The real magic happens afterward.

Every afternoon, Alain picks you up in his car — a sleek, silver Audi with leather seats that always smell faintly like coffee — and takes you straight to the karting track just outside town. There’s a rhythm to your days now: school, then the track, where the scent of gasoline and hot rubber fills the air.

“Come on, petite championne,” Alain says every day as you hop into the kart, the nickname slipping off his tongue with an easy smile. “Let’s see if you can make me proud today.”

The kart rumbles beneath you, a buzz that shoots from your hands to your heart. The moment your foot touches the pedal, the world falls away. The wind rushes against your face, the engine purring with every twist of the wheel.

Here, in the kart, you feel free — like nothing can catch you, not even the pieces of your life that feel too big or too broken to understand.

Alain watches from the sidelines, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his face calm but focused. He takes notes every time you race, shouting tips when you pull up to the pit lane.

“Don’t wait so long to hit the brakes before that hairpin, you lose too much time,” he’ll say. Or, “You’re getting faster through the straights. Don’t get greedy on the corners, though — you’ve got to feel the grip.”

You listen to every word, hungry to learn. And when he grins after you complete a lap, clapping his hands like you just won a Grand Prix, your heart swells.

By the time you drive home, your body hums with exhaustion, but it’s the good kind — the kind that comes from chasing a dream.

And every night, after dinner, there’s dessert.

“Glace au chocolat tonight?” Alain asks one evening, pulling two tubs of chocolate ice cream from the freezer.

You grin. “With whipped cream?”

“Obviously,” Alain replies with mock seriousness. “What kind of barbarian do you take me for?”

He adds a mountain of whipped cream to both bowls, handing one to you before plopping down on the couch with his own.

As always, an old race plays on the TV. Tonight, it’s Monaco — 1988, the race your father dominated, right up until the moment he crashed into the barrier. The screen flickers as the cars glide through the tight streets, their engines howling between the stone walls.

Alain leans back against the couch cushions, spoon in hand. “See that?” He says, pointing at the screen with a mouthful of ice cream. “Your papa’s line through the Swimming Pool section — perfection. Like poetry in motion.”

You tilt your head, studying the way the yellow helmet zips through the narrow chicane. “How did he do it?”

Alain smiles, scooping another spoonful of ice cream. “He just knew. Ayrton could feel the track better than anyone else. It was like … like he was connected to the car in a way no one else could be.”

You lick your spoon thoughtfully. “Did you hate him?”

The question catches Alain off guard. He freezes, then chuckles, shaking his head. “Hate him? No.” He pauses. “Not really, anyway.”

“But you fought a lot.”

“Oh, we fought.” Alain smirks, a mischievous glint in his eye. “He drove me absolutely mad sometimes.”

You giggle. “Why?”

“Because he never gave up. Not even for a second.” Alain gestures toward the TV, where your father’s car rockets through the tunnel. “Ayrton wasn’t just racing other drivers — he was racing himself. Always trying to be faster, better. It was exhausting.”

He says it like a joke, but there’s warmth in his voice, too. You can hear it.

“And that drove you crazy?” You ask, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it.

Alain laughs, a soft, fond sound. “Completely crazy.”

You curl deeper into the couch, your ice cream bowl balanced on your lap. “But you were friends, right? In the end?”

Alain’s smile fades a little, but it stays, softer now. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “In the end.”

There’s a silence between you, filled only by the hum of the TV and the occasional scrape of your spoons against the bowls.

You glance at Alain, his expression lost somewhere between memory and regret. “Do you miss him?”

Alain looks at you, and for a moment, you’re not sure if he’ll answer. Then he gives a small nod. “Every day.”

You nod, too, even though you didn’t really know your father — at least, not in the way Alain did. But somehow, you miss him all the same.

The race continues on the screen, the cars weaving through the streets of Monaco, chasing the perfect lap.

“You’ll be just like him one day,” Alain says suddenly, breaking the quiet.

You blink, surprised. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Alain replies, nudging your shoulder with his. “You’ve got the same fire in you. The same stubbornness, too, I think.”

You laugh, and Alain grins, pleased with himself.

“You just need to tweak your braking,” he adds with a playful smirk. “You brake like me, not like him.”

“Hey!” You protest, shoving his arm lightly.

He chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “What? I’m just saying! Ayrton would fly into corners like a madman. Me? I was always a bit more … sensible.”

“Sensible is boring,” you tease, scooping up the last bit of ice cream.

Alain pretends to be offended, clutching his chest like you’ve wounded him. “Boring? Sensible is what win me four world championships, thank you very much.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning.

The credits for the race coverage roll, but neither of you makes a move to turn off the TV. These moments — curled up on the couch with Alain, the scent of whipped cream still in the air — feel like they could stretch forever.

And maybe, just maybe, they do.

***

Four years blur by like the laps on a familiar circuit. Days turn into months, and months into seasons. You grow taller, sharper, and faster. The kart becomes a second skin, every turn and apex something you know instinctively, like breathing. The track is your playground now — your sanctuary.

Alain teaches you everything: not just how to drive but how to think, how to be patient when you need to be and ruthless when the moment calls for it. He tells you about strategy and racecraft, how to listen for the slightest change in the engine’s pitch, how to make yourself invisible in the slipstream until the perfect moment to strike.

Some lessons come easy. Others, not so much. Like when he makes you practice for hours in the rain, your hands frozen, your kart slipping through puddles. Or when you spin out during a practice race and Alain doesn’t even flinch. He just waves his hand in the air.

“Again!” He shouts from the pit lane. “You have to get comfortable with making mistakes, petite. No champion gets there without a few bruises.”

And so you go again. And again. Because this — this dream — is the one thing you want more than anything.

Now, after all those years, the day has finally arrived. You’re old enough to compete in the FIA Karting Championship. This is what you’ve been working toward.

But Alain surprises you one quiet evening at home. No ice cream, no old races on TV — just you and him, sitting across the kitchen table with two mugs of hot tea. His face is serious, but kind.

“There’s something we need to talk about,” he says, tapping his fingers lightly against the mug. “You have a choice to make.”

You lean forward. “What kind of choice?”

Alain tilts his head, his sharp hazel eyes studying you carefully. “Your name.”

You frown. “My name?”

“Yes. You’ve been racing locally for a while, but things are different now.” Alain takes a sip of tea, gathering his thoughts. “The FIA Karting Championship is international. There will be journalists, scouts, team representatives. If you race under your real name, everyone will know exactly who you are.”

You sit back, the weight of what he’s saying slowly sinking in.

“You can use a pseudonym if you want,” Alain continues. “Plenty of drivers do it, especially when they want to build their career on their own terms.”

You blink, caught off guard. You’ve thought a lot about racing — how fast you want to be, how badly you want to win. But this? The idea of hiding your name? It’s a curveball you didn’t see coming.

Alain gives you time to think, his hands wrapped loosely around his mug. “There’s no shame in it, petite,” he says gently. “It’s not about denying who you are. It’s about deciding how you want the world to see you.”

The words hang between you. He’s not pressuring you — Alain never does that — but you can feel the weight of the decision anyway.

You toy with the edge of the mug in front of you, tracing the rim with your fingertip. “Do you think … if I use my real name, people will only see Papai?”

Alain shrugs, but his expression is thoughtful. “Some will. There are people who won’t be able to separate you from Ayrton. They’ll compare you to him before you’ve even taken a proper lap.”

You nod slowly. You’ve known this would happen — how could you not? But hearing it out loud makes it more real.

“At the same time,” Alain adds, “it’s not something to be ashamed of. Ayrton was … well, he was Ayrton. If anyone has the right to be proud of their name, it’s you.”

You bite your lip, the edges of uncertainty fraying inside you. “What would you do?”

Alain smiles softly. “It’s not my decision to make, ma chérie. This is about you. Your future.”

You stare into your tea, watching the steam curl toward the ceiling like tiny ghosts. A part of you aches at the thought of hiding your father’s name — like you’d be denying him, pretending he didn’t matter. But there’s another part, quieter but insistent, that wants to know what it’s like to stand on your own. To earn your place without the shadow of a legend following you everywhere you go.

You tap your fingers against the table, the rhythm matching the beat of an engine in your mind. And then, suddenly, the answer clicks into place.

“I think …” You take a deep breath. “I think I want to use a different name. Just for now.”

Alain raises his eyebrows, curious but approving. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, more certain now. “It’s not because I’m ashamed. I’m not. I want people to know one day. Just … not yet.”

Alain leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “So what’s the plan?”

You grin, the excitement building in your chest. “I’ll race under my mother’s last name. And when the time’s right — maybe after I win a few championships — I’ll tell them.”

Alain chuckles, shaking his head. “You think they’ll like the surprise?”

You laugh, a full, bright sound that feels like relief. “Can you imagine their faces?”

Alain grins, clearly amused. “I can already hear the headlines.” He adopts an exaggerated announcer voice: “The karting prodigy who stunned the world by revealing she’s Ayrton Senna’s daughter!”

You burst out laughing, the tension from the conversation melting away. “They’ll lose their minds!”

“And you’ll love every second of it,” Alain adds with a knowing smirk.

You grin, unable to hide the spark of mischief in your eyes. “Maybe a little.”

He shakes his head fondly, ruffling your hair as he stands up from the table. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Comes with the territory,” you say, beaming.

Alain gathers the empty mugs and places them in the sink, still chuckling to himself. “Well, I think it’s a smart choice. Gives you time to find your own rhythm.”

You nod, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Yeah. It feels right.”

Alain leans against the counter, crossing his arms as he looks at you. There’s pride in his eyes — quiet, steady, and unmistakable. “Your papa would’ve been proud of you, too,” he says softly.

Your throat tightens, but you smile through it. “Thanks, Alain.”

He nods once, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Come on,” he says, nudging his head toward the living room. “Let’s celebrate with some dessert. I think we’ve got tarte au citron in the fridge.”

You follow him, your heart light and your steps easy. The road ahead is still long — there will be races, wins, and losses. But for the first time, it feels like it’s yours to drive.

And that? That’s the best feeling in the world.

***

The drive from Switzerland to Imola is quiet. You sit with your thoughts, the hum of the engine beneath you and the road stretching endlessly ahead. Alain offered to come with you, but you declined. This is something you need to do alone.

It’s not that you didn’t want his company, it’s just … how do you explain to someone — even someone who knew your father so well — that you need to meet this place on your own terms?

For eighteen years, you told yourself you weren’t ready. Maybe you never would be. But here you are, taking deep breaths as you steer your way closer to the circuit where it all ended. Where everything about your life changed before it even really began.

When you finally arrive, the gates to the Imola track feel strangely peaceful, nestled under a canopy of autumn leaves. The air is crisp, and the sky is that soft, pale blue you only get in early fall. You park the car and head toward the Ayrton Senna memorial, your footsteps crunching through the leaves littering the path.

Each step feels heavier than the last, your pulse loud in your ears. You try to steel yourself — this is just a monument, just a place. You’ve been to a thousand race tracks in your life. But this one is different. This one holds pieces of someone you never got the chance to know.

As you approach the monument, you expect silence. You expect to be alone. But then you notice someone sitting there — another figure crouched near the bronze statue of your father.

The man shifts, startled by the sound of your footsteps on the gravel. His head turns, and you recognize him almost immediately.

It’s Lewis Hamilton.

He blinks up at you, clearly not expecting company either. There’s a moment of awkwardness, both of you standing there, caught off guard in a place meant for solitude.

You clear your throat. “I’m sorry,” you say softly. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Lewis waves off the apology, his face softening. “No, no. You’re not bothering me.” He pulls himself up a little straighter, brushing leaves from his jacket. “I always stop by here before Monza. Helps me … I don’t know. Reset.”

You nod, unsure what else to say. There’s something strange about seeing him here — Lewis Hamilton, one of the biggest names in motorsport, sitting quietly in front of your father’s monument like he’s just another fan.

“I came for the same reason,” you admit. “I’m Brazilian. Wanted to pay my respects.”

At that, something shifts in Lewis’ expression — understanding, maybe. “You’re Brazilian?” He repeats, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That explains it. Every Brazilian racer I know carries Senna with them like … well, like a second heart.”

You laugh softly, kicking a stray leaf with your shoe. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

Lewis shifts, resting his forearms on his knees as he looks back at the monument. The wind stirs the leaves around your feet, scattering them across the ground.

“He’s always been my hero,” Lewis murmurs, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “Even before I really understood what racing was, I just … knew he was special.”

You don’t respond right away, your gaze fixed on the familiar features of the bronze effigy — your father’s intense, focused expression captured in metal. It’s strange, standing here with someone who feels the same reverence you’ve always felt but never quite known how to express.

Lewis glances at you again. “What do you race?” He asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.

You tuck your hands into your jacket pockets. “Formula Renault 3.5.”

His eyebrows lift, clearly impressed. “That’s a serious series.”

You shrug, trying to play it cool, though there’s a flicker of pride in your chest. “Yeah, it’s been good so far.”

“Good enough to think about Formula 1 one day?” Lewis asks, a knowing smile on his face.

You grin. “That’s the plan.”

He chuckles, the sound warm in the cool air. “Well, I’ll keep an eye out for you. What’s your name?”

For a split second, you hesitate. But you remind yourself — he doesn’t need to know everything. Not yet. “Just … Y/N,” you say casually. “For now.”

Lewis tilts his head, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, but he doesn’t press. “Y/N. Got it.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, unsure how to fill the silence. But it’s not uncomfortable — just … quiet.

“You said you come here every year?” You ask after a moment.

“Before Monza, yeah,” Lewis confirms. “It’s become sort of a ritual. Helps me feel grounded, I guess. Reminds me why I do this.”

You nod, understanding more than you expected to. There’s something about this place — this simple, quiet memorial — that strips everything else away. The politics, the pressure, the noise. It leaves only the pure love of racing behind.

Lewis stands then, brushing dirt from his pants. “Well,” he says, “I should probably get going. Got a long weekend ahead.”

You nod, though part of you wishes you had a little more time to talk to him. There’s something easy about the way he carries himself — no arrogance, no pretense. Just a racer who loves what he does.

Lewis glances at the monument one last time, his gaze lingering on your father’s face. “He would’ve loved to see how many of us still race because of him,” he says quietly.

Your throat tightens, but you manage a small smile. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

He gives you a nod, something warm and reassuring in his expression. “Take care, Y/N. I’ll be watching.”

With that, he turns and walks down the path, his footsteps crunching through the leaves. You watch him go, the wind stirring around you again, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and autumn.

For a long moment, you stay there, standing in front of the monument, just you and the bronze figure of your father. You don’t say anything — there’s nothing that needs to be said. But in the quiet, you feel a strange sense of peace.

Maybe it’s the years of racing, the laps you’ve turned, the lessons you’ve learned. Or maybe it’s just knowing that people like Lewis exist — people who carry your father’s spirit with them, even though they never knew him.

You brush a hand over the cool surface of the monument, tracing the edge of the plaque with your fingers. “I’m gonna make you proud,” you whisper.

And this time, you believe it.

The wind picks up again as you turn away from the monument, heading back toward the car. Monza is waiting. And so is the rest of your story.

***

The paddock feels like a world unto itself — buzzing with life, engines roaring in the distance, team personnel hurrying from garages to pit walls.

You’re barely a day into your first GP2 weekend with DAMS, and it’s already overwhelming. The DAMS crew is friendly but businesslike, and the constant stream of engineers, mechanics, and journalists passing by your garage is a reminder that you’ve officially stepped onto the big stage.

Your heart pounds as you adjust the collar of your race suit, nerves crawling under your skin. You spent the morning doing seat fittings, debriefs, and media duties, but now you’re finally free for a few minutes before the next round of meetings.

Alain walks beside you, calm and collected as ever, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. He’s been like a steady lighthouse in the chaos of this new chapter, guiding you through the storm with quiet assurance.

“Remember,” Alain says as you both weave through the paddock, “it’s just another race. Keep your focus. Don’t let the noise get to you.”

“Easier said than done,” you mutter, scanning the sea of faces for anyone familiar — or anyone dangerous, like a journalist with too many questions.

Alain smirks knowingly. “That’s why you have me.”

You can’t help but grin, a flicker of relief easing the tension in your chest. Alain’s been by your side for so long now that the idea of navigating a race weekend without him feels unthinkable.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot someone you weren’t expecting: Lewis.

He’s walking toward the McLaren motorhome, surrounded by team personnel and a PR officer trailing closely behind, clipboard in hand. You see the moment recognition flickers in his eyes — he stops mid-step, gaze locking on you like he’s just solved a puzzle.

“Y/N?” He calls, eyebrows raised in surprise.

Alain glances sideways at you, bemused, but you can’t help the small, slightly guilty smile tugging at your lips. You wave at Lewis, feeling a little awkward but genuinely happy to see him.

Lewis strides over, his PR officer groaning softly but trailing after him anyway. “I thought I’d see you around here eventually,” Lewis says with a grin. “Didn’t think it would be so soon.”

You shrug, playing it casual. “Surprise.”

His eyes flick to Alain, standing quietly beside you. “And you … know Alain Prost?”

Alain raises a polite eyebrow, but there’s an amused glint in his eye, as if waiting to see how you’ll answer this one.

You shift on your feet, aware of Lewis’ confusion. “Yeah, he’s … been my mentor for years.” You keep your explanation vague, not ready to drop the full truth just yet.

Lewis frowns slightly, processing the unexpected connection. “You’ve been working with Alain Prost?”

You nod. “Since I was a kid.”

Lewis lets out a low whistle, looking between the two of you with new appreciation. “Wow. That explains a lot.”

Before you can respond, his PR officer steps in, clipboard clutched tightly in one hand. “Lewis, we really need to-”

Lewis waves her off without breaking eye contact with you. “Five more minutes. It’s fine.”

The woman hesitates, then sighs in frustration and backs away to give him space. Lewis turns his full attention back to you, his easy grin returning.

“So, GP2, huh?” He asks, hands on his hips. “How’s it feel to finally be here?”

“Terrifying,” you admit with a laugh. “But also kind of amazing.”

“That’s how you know you’re in the right place,” Lewis says, his tone encouraging. “The nerves mean you care.”

Alain watches the exchange quietly, and you can tell he’s measuring Lewis, sizing him up — not in a competitive way, but in that protective way he’s always had with you. It’s subtle, but you know Alain well enough to see it.

“I’ll make sure to catch the feature race,” Lewis promises, his grin widening. “I’ll be cheering you on.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying not to show how much that means to you. “Oh yeah? You sure you have time to slum it with us junior drivers?”

Lewis laughs, genuinely amused. “Come on, now. I started in GP2, remember? I know exactly how tough it is.”

“Guess I’ll have to put on a good show, then.”

“You better,” Lewis says, mock-serious. “Otherwise I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

The two of you share a quick, easy laugh, and for a moment the chaos of the paddock fades into the background. It’s just two drivers, standing in the middle of it all, sharing a moment of understanding.

“You’re going to crush it,” Lewis adds, his voice low and certain.

Something in his tone makes you believe it — makes the nerves that have been simmering all day settle, if only for a moment.

Alain clears his throat softly, a reminder that time is ticking. “We need to get back to the team,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

Lewis nods, taking the hint but not before offering you one last smile. “Good luck, Y/N. I’ll see you out there.”

You return the smile, feeling lighter than you have all day. “Thanks, Lewis.”

He gives Alain a respectful nod before turning to leave, his McLaren team falling into step around him as he disappears into the paddock.

As you watch him go, Alain leans in slightly, his voice quiet but laced with amusement. “Friend of yours?”

You smirk, still watching Lewis disappear into the crowd. “Something like that.”

Alain chuckles, and the sound is warm, familiar — like the engine note of a car you’ve driven a thousand times.

“Come on,” he says, nudging your shoulder gently. “We have work to do.”

You follow Alain back toward the DAMS garage, the nerves still there but tempered now with something else — excitement, anticipation, maybe even a little confidence.

Because this is your moment. Your chance to show the world what you can do. And with people like Alain and Lewis in your corner, you know you’re not facing it alone.

***

The Bahrain sun beats down relentlessly, the heat pressing against your skin even through your race suit. Sweat clings to your brow, mixing with the overwhelming, heady cocktail of fuel, rubber, and victory. You’re breathless, exhausted — but none of that matters.

You did it. You won.

The feature race trophy feels almost weightless in your hands as you stand on the podium, the sound of the Brazilian anthem thundering in your ears. The cameras flash, the crowd cheers, and for the first time since you entered GP2, you allow yourself to savor the moment. You close your eyes for a second, letting the anthem sink deep into your bones, and think of your father.

When the rose water sprays, it feels like you’ve broken through a barrier — proof to yourself and to the world that you belong here. That you’re not just someone chasing the shadow of a name, but a racer in your own right.

The post-race chaos is a blur — interviews, debriefs, more interviews. It’s not until you’re finally allowed to step away from the DAMS garage, damp with sweat and floral liquid, that the realization hits you again: you won your first GP2 race. The adrenaline still courses through your veins, but beneath it, there’s a quiet hum of contentment.

You round the corner of the paddock, searching for a quiet moment to collect yourself — when a familiar voice calls your name.

“Y/N!”

You turn, and there he is: Lewis, dressed casually in his McLaren team kit, that signature grin stretched across his face. His eyes are bright under the paddock lights, and his presence feels like a cool breeze against the heat of Bahrain.

Before you can say anything, he’s already jogging up to you, wrapping you in a quick, spontaneous hug. The smell of his cologne lingers in the air between you — spicy and warm, like cedar and citrus.

“That was incredible!” Lewis says, pulling back to look at you. “Seriously, you drove like a pro out there.”

You grin, still catching your breath. “You saw the whole race?”

“Of course I did.” He says it like it’s obvious, as if there was no way he could have missed it. “I told you I’d be cheering you on, didn’t I?”

“Guess I didn’t disappoint, then,” you say, teasing.

“Not even a little.” His grin softens into something warmer, more personal.

The way he looks at you — like he’s genuinely proud — makes your chest tighten, but not in a bad way. It’s strange, but comforting, the way he’s here, grounding you in the whirlwind of it all.

“Come on,” Lewis says, gesturing toward the paddock hospitality area. “You deserve a proper celebration. We’ll grab something to drink, at least — water, preferably, because you look like you’re about to melt.”

You laugh. “Thanks for the concern, but I’m not passing out just yet.”

“Still,” he insists, walking beside you. “Gotta take care of the winner, right?”

You follow him, your steps lighter than they’ve felt all weekend. It’s easy with Lewis — talking, walking, just existing in the same space. You can’t tell if it’s the lingering buzz of the win or something else entirely, but there’s a sense of ease between you that you haven’t felt with anyone in a long time.

He leads you to one of the quieter corners of the paddock, where a small group of McLaren personnel are relaxing. Lewis grabs two water bottles from a nearby cooler and tosses one your way.

“Catch.”

You catch it easily, the cool plastic a relief against your palm. “Thanks.”

Lewis leans against the back of a chair, his posture relaxed, but there’s a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. “So … how does it feel?”

“To win?” You twist the cap off your bottle and take a sip. “Like … I don’t know. Like I can finally breathe again.”

He nods, like he knows exactly what you mean. “First win’s always special. But there’ll be more. I can feel it.”

You tilt your head, amused. “You think you’re a psychic now?”

Lewis chuckles. “Nope. Just good at spotting talent.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s no denying the warmth his words spark inside you. You glance away for a moment, trying to shake the strange flutter in your chest.

“So,” he says after a beat, “what’s next? A second win in Spain?”

“I mean, that’d be nice,” you say, grinning. “But I’ll settle for finishing with all my wheels intact.”

“Good plan,” Lewis agrees, laughing. “That track’s a nightmare.”

The conversation drifts easily from there, flowing from racing to random paddock gossip to stories from his early days in GP2. You’re both standing close — closer than two people probably need to stand. But it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. In fact, it feels … nice.

He pauses for a second, watching you with that thoughtful expression he gets sometimes, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on beneath the surface.

“You’re really something, you know that?” He says softly, almost like it’s just for you to hear.

The words catch you off guard, and you feel your cheeks warm under the intensity of his gaze.

“Just doing my best,” you say, trying to play it off, but your voice sounds quieter than you intended.

Lewis’ eyes linger on yours for a moment longer, and there’s a flicker of something between you — something unspoken, but not unwelcome.

Before either of you can say anything more, a loud cheer erupts from a nearby group of mechanics, jolting you both back to the present. You laugh, the moment slipping away like sand through your fingers.

“Guess the celebration’s already started,” you say, motioning toward the rowdy crowd.

Lewis grins. “Looks like it. You coming?”

You hesitate, not because you don’t want to celebrate, but because part of you likes this quiet bubble you and Lewis have found.

“I think I might stay here for a bit,” you say, leaning against the wall and taking another sip of water.

Lewis doesn’t move to leave. Instead, he stays where he is, like maybe he feels the same pull to stay in this moment, too.

“You know,” he says after a beat, his voice low and a little more serious, “I meant what I said earlier. About you being something special.”

You meet his gaze, and there’s no teasing in his expression now — just quiet sincerity.

“Thanks,” you say softly, the word not nearly enough to convey what you’re feeling.

He holds your gaze for a second longer, then gives you a small, crooked smile. “Guess I’ll just have to keep watching and see what you do next.”

“Guess so.”

And just like that, the air shifts between you — charged with possibility, like the moment before a green flag drops.

You don’t know what’s coming next, but for the first time in a long time, you’re not afraid of it. Not when Lewis is standing here, smiling at you like you’re the most interesting thing in the world.

And somehow, you think, this might just be the start of something worth chasing.

***

It’s late in the evening, and the Monaco paddock has fallen into a rare lull. The energy of race day — mechanics scrambling, journalists hounding drivers, engines screaming — has settled into a quiet hum. Most people have retreated to their yachts or hotel rooms by now, leaving only the occasional team member wandering through the maze of garages and hospitality areas.

You sit with Lewis on the edge of the harbor, the two of you tucked away from prying eyes. The water laps gently against the docks, and the principality’s golden lights reflect across the surface like scattered coins. Neither of you say anything for a while, content to let the quiet fill the spaces between you.

It’s been like this more often lately — stolen moments between races, conversations that drift into the small hours of the morning, and the unspoken pull that keeps you near each other, even when there’s no real reason to be.

Lewis shifts beside you, resting his forearms on his knees. “You ever just sit somewhere and wonder how the hell you got here?” He asks, breaking the silence.

You glance at him, the glow of the streetlights catching the sharp angles of his face. “All the time.”

He gives a small laugh, running a hand over his braids. “Monaco’s something else, isn’t it?”

You nod, hugging your knees to your chest. “Feels like the kind of place people dream about … like it’s not even real.”

He looks over at you then, his gaze lingering a moment too long. “Yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Not sure what’s real sometimes.”

There’s something heavy in his voice, something unspoken. And for the first time tonight, the quiet between you doesn’t feel as comfortable. It feels loaded, like you’re both waiting for the other to say something neither of you know how to say.

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. “You okay?”

Lewis exhales slowly, glancing out over the water. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

He hesitates, like he’s not sure how to begin. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately … about the future. About what I want, and where I want to be.”

You shift closer to him, sensing that this isn’t just idle talk. “What do you mean?”

He leans back on his hands, staring at the water like it might hold the answer. “I’ve been with McLaren my whole career. Since I was a kid. But … I don’t know. Lately, it feels like I’m stuck. Like I’ve hit a wall.”

You frown. “What are you saying?”

He looks at you then, and there’s something raw in his expression — something vulnerable. “I’ve decided to leave McLaren at the end of the season. I’m signing with Mercedes.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and unexpected. You blink, trying to process what he just said. “Mercedes?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah.”

“But … McLaren’s your home.”

Lewis shrugs, but there’s a sadness in his eyes. “It was. But things change. And if I don’t take this chance now … I think I’ll always wonder what could’ve been.”

You stare at him, your mind spinning. “Do people know yet?”

He shakes his head. “Not many. Just a few people on the team. I wanted to tell you before it got out, though.”

You chew on your bottom lip, absorbing the weight of his words. “That’s a big decision, Lewis.”

“I know.” He looks at you, his gaze steady. “But it feels like the right one. Even if it’s scary as hell.”

You let out a breath, feeling a strange mix of emotions — pride, worry, something you can’t quite name. “Well … if it’s what you want, I guess it’s the right move.”

He smiles, but it’s a small, almost hesitant thing. “Thanks.”

The silence stretches between you again, but this time it feels different. Like something has shifted — not just because of what he said, but because of the way he’s looking at you now.

“You’ve been there for me a lot lately,” he says softly. “I don’t think I’ve said how much that means to me.”

Your heart beats a little faster. “It’s no big deal.”

“It is to me.” His voice is low, and there’s something in his gaze that makes your breath catch.

He shifts slightly closer, and suddenly the space between you feels impossibly small. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, the subtle brush of his shoulder against yours.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You look up at him, and the world seems to narrow down to just this — just the two of you, sitting on the edge of the harbor, the night air thick with something electric.

And then, slowly — almost hesitantly — he leans in.

For a split second, you think about pulling away, about the million reasons why this might not be a good idea. But before you can overthink it, his lips brush against yours.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll pull away. But when you don’t, he deepens it, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face.

It’s not the kind of kiss that demands anything — it’s the kind that promises everything.

When you finally pull back, your heart is racing, and your mind feels like it’s spinning in a thousand different directions.

Lewis looks at you, his forehead resting gently against yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he admits, his breath warm against your skin.

You smile, feeling a strange mix of exhilaration and disbelief. “Yeah?”

He nods, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. “Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of you move, caught in the quiet aftermath of the kiss. The world around you feels distant, like it’s just the two of you, floating in your own little bubble.

Finally, Lewis pulls back slightly, though his hand lingers on your face. “So … what now?”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound light and easy. “I have no idea.”

He grins, and it’s the kind of smile that makes your chest feel warm. “Guess we’ll figure it out, then.”

You nod, your heart still racing. “Yeah. I guess we will.”

And somehow, even though nothing feels certain — his future, your career, whatever this thing is between you — there’s a strange sense of peace in the not knowing.

Because whatever happens next, you know you’ll face it together.

***

The air in the McLaren garage is thick with anticipation. Cameras are set up, media personnel are adjusting their equipment, and there’s a palpable buzz in the air as the press conference prepares to start. You stand just behind the curtain, your heart racing. You can hear the hum of voices in the room beyond, reporters murmuring to one another, waiting for the big reveal.

The past few months have felt like a whirlwind — a blur of contract negotiations, meetings with McLaren’s team principal, and the quiet, creeping excitement of finally getting the chance to do what you’ve always dreamed of. But now that the moment is here, the weight of it is settling in. You’re not just about to become the first woman in F1 in decades, you’re about to step into the spotlight as Ayrton Senna’s daughter.

You take a deep breath, glancing down at the McLaren-branded polo shirt you’re wearing, the crisp fabric somehow making everything feel more real. This is happening. After all the years of hard work, all the sacrifices, you’re about to make history.

Alain stands beside you, his face calm, but his hand on your shoulder is firm and reassuring. “You ready?” He asks, his voice low, but steady.

You nod, swallowing down the nerves. “I think so.”

“Just remember why you’re doing this,” he says softly, his eyes meeting yours. “This is about you. Not your father. Not anyone else. You.”

You offer him a small smile. Alain’s always been good at grounding you, at reminding you that you’ve earned this, regardless of who your father was. He’s been there through it all — your highs and lows, your victories and failures. And now, here he is, standing beside you as you take this monumental step.

The curtains part, and the team principal, Martin Whitmarsh, steps onto the stage. The room quiets as he approaches the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today,” he begins, his voice carrying through the room. “It’s not often we get to announce something of this magnitude. Today, McLaren is proud to welcome a new driver to our team for the 2013 season. Not only will she be the first woman to compete in Formula 1 in over 20 years, but she’s also someone with a legacy that speaks for itself.”

There’s a murmur of curiosity from the crowd, and you know the moment is coming. The reveal. The truth that you’ve kept hidden, even from the people closest to you.

“Please join me in welcoming, Y/N Senna.”

The sound of your name, followed by your father’s, echoes through the room like a ripple of shock. For a brief moment, there’s stunned silence. Then, the cameras start flashing, the murmurs turn into a roar, and all eyes are on you.

You step onto the stage, trying to steady your breath. The weight of the announcement, of who you are, feels heavier than you expected. But you push through, meeting the gaze of the journalists, the photographers, the team members standing off to the side. You can’t see him from here, but you know Alain is watching from the wings, his quiet support steadying you.

Whitmarsh continues speaking, but the words blur together as your mind races. It’s not until you hear the murmured whispers in the back of the room that your attention snaps back.

“Senna?”

“Ayrton’s daughter?”

“Why didn’t anyone know?”

As the press conference wraps up, and you’re led off stage, the questions start flooding in. Journalists swarm, desperate for a quote, for more insight into the mystery that you’ve kept hidden for so long.

But before you can respond to any of them, a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

“Y/N.”

You freeze, your heart dropping. You know that voice. You turn slowly, and there he is — Lewis, standing just a few feet away, his face unreadable.

The PR team tries to shuffle you away, but you shake them off, making your way over to him. “Lewis …”

He cuts you off, his expression dark. “You’ve been racing for all these years, and you never thought to tell me? Not once?”

The sting of his words catches you off guard, and you open your mouth to respond, but he continues, his voice low but sharp. “I thought we were close. I thought we were-” He stops, running a hand over his face. “You let me fall for you, and you didn’t even tell me who you really are.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. “Lewis, it wasn’t like that-”

“Wasn’t it?” He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours, hurt and confusion written all over his face. “I get it, okay? You didn’t want people to treat you differently because of your name. But me? I thought we were past that.”

“I didn’t want to use my father’s name to get ahead,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “I wanted to make a name for myself, first. And I didn’t tell you because … because I didn’t want it to change how you saw me.”

“Well, it’s changed everything now,” he snaps, his voice tight with anger. “I thought I knew you, but clearly, I didn’t.”

You take a step back, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. “Lewis, please. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Didn’t mean to hurt me? You’re Ayrton Senna’s daughter, and you never even mentioned it once. How could you keep something like that from me?”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill over. “I didn’t want it to come between us.”

“Well, it has,” he says, his voice quieter now, but still laced with pain. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

You stare at him, your chest tightening. The distance between you feels insurmountable now, like a chasm that you don’t know how to cross.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Lewis looks at you for a long moment, his expression softening slightly, but the hurt still lingers in his eyes. “I need some time,” he says finally, his voice rough. “I just … I need to figure this out.”

You nod, the tears finally spilling over. “Okay.”

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your heart heavy and your world spinning.

As you watch him go, you can’t help but wonder if things will ever be the same between you.

***

The air at Imola is still. The late-summer heat clings to your skin, and the only sounds around you are the distant hum of cicadas and the soft crunch of leaves underfoot as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. You stare at the stone memorial, the bronze relief of your father’s face, the flowers people have left here over the years. Some are wilted, some fresh. There’s even a small Brazilian flag tucked against the base.

You exhale slowly, your hands stuffed deep into the pockets of your jacket. It’s been exactly a year since you first stood here, heart in your throat, hoping to find some kind of connection, some kind of clarity. The weight of the past year presses down on you now — signing with McLaren, the media frenzy, the fallout with Lewis.

And Papai. Always Papai.

You kneel, brushing a hand over the smooth stone, fingers tracing the engraved letters. “I made it,” you whisper. “I’m almost there.” Your voice catches on the words, a lump forming in your throat. “I wish you were here to see it.”

You close your eyes, trying to imagine what he’d say if he were standing beside you. Maybe he’d be proud. Maybe he’d tell you to push harder, go faster, never settle. Or maybe he’d tell you to slow down, to find a way to reconnect with your mother before it’s too late. But he’s not here. That’s the problem, isn’t it?

A soft rustling sound pulls you from your thoughts. Footsteps, deliberate but hesitant, approach from behind, crunching through the dry leaves scattered on the ground. You turn, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s Lewis.

He’s wearing a hoodie, hands tucked into the front pocket, his brows peeking out from beneath a baseball cap. He stops a few feet away, his dark brown eyes meeting yours. There’s something guarded in his expression, but there’s warmth there, too.

You straighten slowly, your heart hammering in your chest. “What are you doing here?”

Lewis shrugs, his gaze flickering to the memorial and back to you. “Monza’s coming up. Thought I’d stop by first … like I always do.”

The tension between you feels like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap at any second. For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence stretching out like a canyon.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” you finally say, your voice quieter than you intended.

He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours. “I didn’t think I’d see you here, either.”

You bite your lip, looking away toward the memorial. “I needed to. Before the race. I … I haven’t been here since last year.”

Lewis shifts, the soft scrape of his shoes against the ground. “I remember.”

The air feels heavy between you, thick with all the things you haven’t said to each other. The words are right there on the tip of your tongue, but they feel tangled, impossible to untangle without breaking.

Lewis is the first to speak again, his voice soft but steady. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About what happened. About everything.”

You swallow hard, your hands clenching into fists in your pockets. “Me too.”

“I was angry,” Lewis admits. “Hurt, too. But … I get it now. Why you didn’t tell me.”

His words catch you off guard, and you glance at him, surprised. “You do?”

He nods slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. “I know what it’s like to feel like you have to prove yourself, like the world’s already decided who you are before you even get a chance to show them. I just … I wish you’d trusted me with it.”

“I wanted to,” you say, your voice cracking slightly. “I did. But … it’s complicated.” You look down, kicking at a stray leaf with your shoe. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to figure out how to be his daughter without being defined by it. And now … now it’s all out there.”

Lewis steps closer, closing the gap between you. “You’re not just his daughter, Y/N. You’re you. And that’s who I fell for.”

The warmth in his voice makes your chest tighten. You blink quickly, trying to keep the tears at bay, but it’s no use. They spill over anyway, and you wipe at them angrily with the sleeve of your jacket.

“It’s not just about the name,” you whisper. “Racing … it’s all I’ve ever wanted. But it’s also what took me away from my mom.” You take a shaky breath, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “She can’t even look at me without seeing him. I haven’t had a real conversation with her in years. The last time we talked was my birthday. And it was just a two-minute call.”

Lewis’ face softens, and he reaches out, gently brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, sniffing quietly. “It’s not your fault. It’s just … hard, you know? I love racing, but it feels like it’s cost me everything else.”

He takes another step closer, his hand lingering on your cheek. “You’ve got me,” he murmurs.

You look up at him, your breath catching in your throat. “Do I?”

He smiles softly, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “Yeah. You do.”

The world feels like it tilts for a moment, everything narrowing down to just the two of you standing here, beneath the shadow of your father’s memory. And before you can think too hard about it, before the doubts can creep in, you lean in, closing the distance between you.

The kiss is soft at first — tentative, like neither of you wants to break the fragile peace that’s settled between you. But then his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepens, the weight of everything unsaid dissolving in the warmth of his touch.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathing hard, foreheads resting against each other.

“I missed you,” Lewis whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

“I missed you, too,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away.

Eventually, Lewis pulls back slightly, his hand still cradling the back of your neck. “So … what now?”

You smile, a small, genuine smile that feels like the first one in a long time. “Now … we go win at Monza.”

He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Damn right we will.”

You laugh softly, the sound light and free, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the weight on your chest lifts.

As you stand there, hand in hand with Lewis, you glance back at the memorial one last time. “I think he’d be happy,” you say quietly.

Lewis squeezes your hand gently. “I know he would.”

And just like that, the knot in your chest loosens. You’re still Ayrton Senna’s daughter. But you’re also yourself. And that? That feels like enough.

***

The crowd roars so loudly that it feels like the earth itself is shaking. São Paulo is electric, the grandstands packed with people draped in green and yellow, waving flags, and chanting. You’ve been in big races before, stood on podiums, and tasted victory. But this … this is different.

This is Interlagos. This is home. And for the first time in your career, you’re leading an F1 race in front of your people.

“Alright, Y/N,” your engineer’s voice crackles over the radio. “Five laps to go. Everything looks good on the telemetry. Just bring her home.”

Your heart pounds against your chest as you navigate the tight curves of the circuit. Every bump, every rise, every dip feels familiar. You’ve studied this track since you were a child. This is where your father was a legend — and now, it’s where you can make your own history.

The tires hum beneath you, vibrations pulsing through your hands and feet. The sky is dark with heavy clouds threatening rain, but the track is still dry, for now. Behind you, Sebastian Vettel is chasing hard in second place, his Red Bull a glimmer in your mirrors, but you don’t think about him. Not now. This is about you. About crossing that finish line first.

Four laps. Then three. Every second feels like an eternity. You can hear the crowd over the sound of the engine, their voices rising every time you fly past the grandstands. “SENNA! SENNA!” they chant, over and over, as if your name — your real name — was always meant to be called alongside your father’s.

“Two laps, Y/N. Gap to Vettel is two seconds. Stay focused.”

Your grip tightens on the wheel. You shift gears, your mind and body moving in perfect sync with the machine around you. The wind whistles past your helmet as you race up the hill toward the final turn.

On the final lap, it starts to drizzle — just enough to slick the track and make things dangerous. Your car twitches as the tires search for grip.

“Be careful, Y/N,” your engineer warns. “You’ve got this. Just stay calm.”

You breathe in. Breathe out. And then the chequered flag waves ahead of you, and the world explodes into color and sound.

“P1, Y/N! P1! You’ve won the Brazilian Grand Prix!” Your engineer’s voice is hoarse with excitement. “That was incredible — you just won at home!”

Your heart leaps as tears spring to your eyes. You punch the air, screaming into the radio, not caring who hears. “YES! YES! WE DID IT!”

The car coasts into parc fermé, the engine humming its final notes as you switch it off. You rip off your gloves and helmet, letting the cool air hit your damp face. The grandstands are still shaking with the cheers of thousands. Your name — Senna — is on every banner, every poster, and every fan’s lips.

You climb out of the car, adrenaline still surging through your veins, and jump onto the chassis. The crowd roars even louder as you throw your fists into the air, pointing toward the sky. The thought flashes through your mind: This one’s for you, Papai.

You jump down and make your way to the barriers where your team waits, already celebrating with hugs, fist bumps, and slaps on the back. You push through the throng of mechanics, your heart so full it feels like it might burst. And that’s when you see her.

Among the sea of McLaren team uniforms, standing stiffly with her arms wrapped around herself, is your mother.

Your steps falter for a moment, shock flooding through you. She’s here. She’s really here. You blink, wondering if the tears in your eyes are playing tricks on you, but no — there she is. Adriane.

She’s thinner than you remember, her hair streaked with more silver now. She looks out of place among the mechanics, but she’s here. Her eyes, so much like your own, are filled with something you haven’t seen in years — pride. And something more. Regret.

For a moment, you just stand there, frozen. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry or run the other way. Then her face crumples, and she takes a tentative step forward, her arms reaching for you like she used to when you were small.

That’s all it takes. You close the distance in an instant, throwing yourself into her arms.

“Mãe!” The word leaves your mouth in a sob, and before you know it, you’re both crying, clutching each other like you’re afraid to let go.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers into your hair, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, minha filha. I was wrong. I should’ve-”

You shake your head against her shoulder, holding her tighter. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

She pulls back slightly, cupping your face in her hands like she used to when you were little. “I didn’t think I could do it,” she admits, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I was so afraid I’d lose you too. But then … then I watched you out there today.” Her voice cracks, and she brushes a strand of hair from your face. “And I saw him. I saw Ayrton. But more than that, I saw you. My daughter.”

You can’t speak — your throat feels too tight, and the tears won’t stop. So you just nod, leaning into her touch as the noise of the paddock fades into the background.

Adriane pulls you back into a hug, and for the first time in years, you let yourself feel it — the warmth, the love, the mother you thought you’d lost. And somehow, standing here with her in your arms, it feels like you’ve come full circle.

After a long moment, she pulls back and wipes her tears, a shaky laugh escaping her. “Look at us. Crying like fools.”

You laugh too, sniffling as you wipe your own face. “It’s okay. It’s a good day to cry.”

A voice cuts through the noise — your team calling you for the podium ceremony. You glance over your shoulder, feeling the weight of the moment settle on you. You turn back to your mother, hesitant. “Will you stay?”

She smiles, her eyes still glassy with unshed tears. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You nod, squeezing her hand one last time before you let go and jog toward the podium. The crowd’s roar is deafening as you step up to the top step, your name flashing on the giant screens around the circuit. The Brazilian flag rises slowly, and as the national anthem plays, you close your eyes and let the moment wash over you.

It feels like home. It feels like peace. It feels like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Later, after the champagne has been sprayed and the trophies have been handed out, you find Lewis waiting for you in the paddock, a grin stretching across his face.

“Not bad, Senna,” he teases, pulling you into a warm embrace.

You laugh, pressing your forehead against his. “Not bad yourself, Hamilton.”

The two of you stay like that for a moment, the chaos of the paddock swirling around you, but all you can feel is the steady beat of his heart against yours.

“Your dad would be proud,” Lewis murmurs, his voice soft in your ear.

You smile, closing your eyes. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I think he would be.”

***

The sun is setting over Monaco, casting the apartment in soft golds and pinks. You let yourself in quietly, the cool metal of the front door clicking shut behind you. Training was brutal today — your arms ache, and every muscle feels like it’s been wrung out. All you want is to find Lewis, maybe curl up on the couch together and recover with some takeaway.

You kick off your sneakers, already untying the knot in your ponytail, when you hear voices from the living room. You pause mid-step.

Lewis is talking to someone — no, two people. You creep forward on silent feet, heart quickening as the voices grow clearer.

“-I love her more than anything,” Lewis says, his voice low but certain. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

Your breath catches. You flatten yourself against the wall, just out of sight. It feels like you’ve stepped into some kind of dream, one where the pieces of your life are rearranging themselves into something both surreal and perfect.

Then you hear your mother’s voice — gentler than it used to be, softened by time and the walls you’ve slowly chipped away.

“You want my blessing?” Adriane says, her words slow, as if she’s tasting them, feeling their weight.

“I do,” Lewis replies. “I wanted to ask both of you. It felt right.”

Both of them? You inch closer, daring to peek around the corner. And there they are — Lewis, sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees, looking more serious than you’ve ever seen him. Across from him sit your mother and Alain, side by side like a pair of mismatched bookends.

Alain leans back, arms folded, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he’s trying not to smile. “You realize what you’re getting into?” He asks dryly. “She’s more stubborn than Ayrton ever was.”

Lewis chuckles, but it’s a little nervous. “Yeah, I know.”

Adriane tilts her head, studying him like she’s trying to see through to his soul. “And if she says no?”

Lewis’ face softens, a quiet kind of love settling into his expression. “Then I’ll still be with her. Because I don’t need her to marry me to know she’s it for me.”

Something cracks open inside you. It feels like standing on the podium in Brazil all over again — overwhelming and humbling and impossibly full. You press a hand to your mouth, as if that will steady the emotion threatening to spill over.

Your mother leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. There’s a moment of silence so thick it hums.

“When Y/N was seven,” she begins slowly, “she told me she wanted to race. I told her no. I thought if I kept her away from the track, I could protect her from the same thing that took Ayrton from me.” She sighs, her gaze dropping to her hands. “But all I did was push her away.”

Alain clears his throat, glancing sideways at her. “It’s not easy,” he murmurs, more to Adriane than to Lewis. “Loving someone who belongs to the track.”

Your mother nods, her eyes glassy. “But you’ve made her happy. You’ve given her the space to be who she’s always wanted to be.” She pauses, blinking quickly. “And I see Ayrton in that. In you.”

Lewis rubs the back of his neck, clearly moved but trying not to show it. “That means more than you know.”

“And you promise me something,” Adriane says, her voice gaining strength, as if she’s gathering all her fears into this one request. “That you’ll never try to stop her. Not when things get hard. Not when it scares you.”

Lewis leans forward, looking her dead in the eye. “I swear. I’d never take that from her.”

Your mother exhales, like a weight she’s carried for years is finally lifting off her shoulders. “Then you have my blessing,” she says quietly.

Alain smirks, slapping Lewis on the back. “Looks like you’re in for the ride of your life.”

They laugh softly, the kind of laugh that comes with hard-won understanding.

And that’s when the floorboard under your foot creaks.

All three heads whip toward the sound, and you’re caught, frozen halfway between hiding and stepping forward.

Lewis’ eyes widen, and then a slow, guilty smile spreads across his face. “How long have you been standing there?”

You step fully into the room, arms crossed but fighting back a grin. “Long enough to hear that you’re plotting something.”

Alain chuckles, standing up and brushing off his jeans. “I think that’s my cue to leave.” He winks at you, patting Lewis on the shoulder as he makes his way toward the door. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Alain,” Lewis mutters, rubbing his palms against his thighs, clearly nervous now.

Your mother rises as well, hesitating for a moment. She looks at you, her eyes soft. “I’ll call you later,” she murmurs, reaching out to squeeze your hand briefly before following Alain out the door.

And then it’s just you and Lewis, standing in the golden light of your apartment, the door clicking shut behind your mother and Alain.

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep your voice light. “So … what was all that about?”

Lewis steps closer, and suddenly the nervous energy from earlier melts away. He takes your hand, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your palm.

“Y/N …” he begins, and there’s something so tender in the way he says your name that it makes your heart skip a beat. “I wanted to do this the right way. To ask the people who mean the mos to you.”

Your breath catches as he drops to one knee, right there in the middle of your living room.

He pulls a small box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a ring that catches the light like starlight on water. It’s simple, elegant, and perfect.

Lewis looks up at you, his dark eyes filled with love, nerves, and hope. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you at Imola. And I want to spend every day from now on making you as happy as you’ve made me.”

You cover your mouth with your hand, tears already welling up in your eyes.

“So,” he says with a smile that’s both warm and a little crooked. “What do you say? Will you marry me?”

For a moment, all you can do is nod, words caught somewhere between your heart and your throat. Then you finally find your voice.

“Yes,” you whisper, your smile breaking wide and free. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Lewis’ grin lights up the room, and he stands, slipping the ring onto your finger before pulling you into his arms. You kiss him, slow and deep, and in that moment, it feels like everything — the years of struggle, of loss, of love — has brought you to exactly where you’re supposed to be.

When you finally pull away, breathless and giddy, Lewis leans his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your face.

“Guess Alain was right,” he murmurs, grinning. “This really is the ride of my life.”

You laugh, pure and full, wrapping your arms around him tighter. “Buckle up, Hamilton,” you tease. “It’s only just getting started.”

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jwonsite · 1 year ago

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“just sit on my lap, it’ll be fine” - lee heeseung

part 1 of e(nnn)- (a nnn series)

pairing: dom!heeseung x sub!fem!reader

warnings: p in v, cockwarming, oral (f receiving), hickeys, grinding, exhibitionism (? the boys hear them over the mic😭), unprotected sex (wrap before u tap!!), lmk if there’s anymore!

synopsis: your video game obsessed boyfriend is determined to win a bet made with his friends for a new gaming console, all while depriving you of sex for an entire month. luckily for you, your boyfriend lacks any amount of self control

masterlist! | next!

“i’m sorry, you what?”

“it’s only a month, babe, come on you can’t last that long without sex?”

“it’s not that i can’t, it’s that i don’t want to!”

you sighed and crossed your arms as your boyfriend walked over to you, hands moving to your waist

“i mean, just because i can’t cum doesn’t mean you can’t” he says with a smirk, leaning his head down to kiss your neck

you giggled at his actions, but stopped him before he got too far. you know your boyfriend, once he starts, he won’t be able to stop. he lifts his head up from your neck and you wrap your arms around his neck

“lee heeseung, you owe me the best fuck of my life on december 1st. i hope you know that” you say, pointing your finger accusingly into his chest

“yes ma’am” he says, putting his hand to his forehead to salute you

you laughed as you moved out of his embrace, walking to the bathroom to go take a shower

“but just know,” you say teasingly over your shoulder, “i’m gonna make this the hardest month of your life,” you finish off, peeking your head out of the almost closed bathroom door, sending him a wink before you shut it

__________________________________________

a week has passed since your boyfriend agreed to this bet, and so far he was going strong. even through all of your teasing he managed to control his urges, distracting himself with dance practice or video games. but today, you were really testing him…

his eyes couldn’t help but wander as you reached up to grab something from the top shelf, your (his) shirt rising to show your ass peeking out from the pink underwear you wore as you stood on your tip toes, still trying to get the object you wanted

feeling his gaze on you, you smiled to yourself as you got exactly the reaction you set out for, but you wanted to test him a little more

“baby, i can’t reach that cup on the top shelf, can you get it for me?” you said as you turned to face him, catching him blatantly staring at your ass. he had no shame, meeting your eyes with a smile. as he got up, you didn’t move out of the way, instead staying right in front of the cabinet you needed him to retrieve the item from

he walked up behind you, putting a hand on your hip and making sure to press his hips right against your ass, as he reached with the other hand to grab the cup you asked him for

“here you go princess,” he whispers into your ear, placing the cup on the counter in front of you. he places a quick kiss on your temple before walking to your shared room, you assumed to go play video games with his friends

fuck

how did that affect you more than him? now you’re horny and in desperate need for your boyfriend’s dick, while still having 3 weeks left of his stupid bet

taking a deep breath in, you try to distract yourself, continuing with mundane tasks around the house

laundry, dishes, vacuum, mop, dust, cook… the list goes on as you continued to busy yourself with chores around your apartment, determined to not let your urges win. your boyfriend needed to win, he wanted that gaming console so bad. plus, you too, had to prove to him that you can last a month without sex

after finishing up almost every chore that could be done in the small apartment, you went into your bedroom, finding your boyfriend doing exactly what you thought he was doing, playing video games

you rolled your eyes playfully, smiling to yourself as you walked over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, and then continued to go lay down in your bed

you busied yourself on your phone, scrolling on tiktok while patiently waiting for your boyfriend to finish up whatever game it is he’s playing tonight. you were used to waiting, as he played these games pretty often. you didn’t mind it, you knew he was busy and this was one of the only times where he truly had time to himself, so you never bothered him, letting him play for as long as his heart desires

after about a half an hour, your boyfriend turns his chair around to look at you

you peek up from your phone, looking at him with a smile while he stares at you with such love in his eyes

“miss you baby” he says, pouting a little bit

“i miss you too pretty boy, wanna come cuddle?” you ask, putting your phone down on the bed to turn your full attention to your needy boyfriend

he shakes his head, instead opening his arms and gesturing for you to come sit on his lap

“what about your little bet with jay and them?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at his actions

“are you suggesting i have no self control and can’t have you sit in my lap without getting horny?” he shoots back, crossing his arms

“uh yeah that’s exactly what i’m saying” you answer completely serious

he rolls his eyes at you before uncrossing his arms from his chest

“babyyyy, just sit on my lap, it’ll be fine” he whines, reaching one of his arms out towards you

“fine you needy baby, jeez” you say as you get up from the bed, walking over to where your boyfriend was sitting. you sat down on his lap, immediately stuffing your face into the crook of his neck while wrapping your hands around the back of his neck, sighing in content as the familiar scent of your boyfriend intoxicates your senses

you rested you head in the crook of his neck as he continued to play his games, leaving a kiss on his neck every now and then. you noticed how he was extra gentle with you on his lap. usually when he played his games he would yell at whoever it was on the mic that messed up or shot the wrong person, but with you there he wasn’t like that. still speaking sternly into his mic whenever somebody did something wrong, but never raising his voice

after a few minutes of kissing his neck, you started making them more frequent, your lips almost never leaving his neck. you even sucked and bit a spot, leaving a red mark that will soon turn into a bruise later. you could feel him shifting in his seat a bit at the sudden change of tempo. he was getting horny, you could tell

even though this shouldve made you stop, and help your boyfriend to win his ps5, it only egged you on more to continue. you decided to become a bit bolder, rolling your hips into his crotch slightly. his hand flew down from his keyboard, grabbing your waist immediately to stop you

“yn, don’t do that” he says, sternly

“but babyyyy, i need you so badly, please” you say bringing your head up to look at him with the biggest puppy eyes. he never could resist you when you look at him like that, your big doe eyes staring up at him he let out a sigh of defeat

“fine, but you can’t move” he said, lifting you off his lap so he could pull his pants down to his thighs

“i can’t move? you just want me to cockwarm your dick basically?” you said with a tinge of disbelief in your voice as you stood up, crossing your arms over your chest

“yeah basically. maybe you should’ve thought about what you were doing before you got yourself all worked up” he fired back

you rolled your eyes as your hands moved to take off your shorts and underwear, leaving you in just his t shirt. you moved back over your boyfriends lap, lowering yourself down as heeseung wrapped his arms around your waist. you grabbed his semi-hard dick and put it inside of you, moaning at the stretch. you resisted every urge you had to just start bouncing on his dick right there and then. he brought one of his hands to your waist, grabbing your side

“don’t move, you begged for my dick and now you have it” he said looking down at you, before continuing to play his games like you’re not sitting on his cock right now

you sat there with your head buried in the crook of his neck, arms wrapped around his neck. you wanted to move so badly, but you knew if you tried he probably would edge you for hours anyways. so you sat there completely still, face buried in his neck

after another round or two of his game, you started to get impatient, slightly shifting in your seat on purpose so you had some friction. you could feel your boyfriend tense up a little, but he didn’t make any moves to stop you. becoming a little bolder, you decided to move your hips against his slightly, almost unnoticeable. again, he made no moves to stop you. taking this as a green light to continue, you kept on rolling your hips into his slowly and gently, moaning lowly into his neck. soon after, you heard the sound from his video game meaning he lost the round, as he said something to his friend who was on the mic

“guys imma get off for tonight, we can play tomorrow or something. i have something i need to take care of, i just remembered”

you smiled to yourself, knowing what was coming. without a word, he picked you up and carried you over to the bed, setting you down as he hovered over you

“you think your little games are funny? huh pretty? moving on my dick while my friends were on the mic, when i specifically told you not to?” he said into your ear, moving down to kiss your neck after he was done

“‘m sorry hee i just wanted you so bad” you whined, wrapping your legs around his waist to bring him closer to your exposed cunt

“you were being such a brat, teasing me all day with your cute little pink panties, sticking your ass out for me to see” he said against your skin, moving down your neck. he paused for a second to remove your shirt, and continued his descent down your body, sucking and licking your nipples before moving closer to your pussy

you moaned at his words, arching your back at the feeling of him sucking your boobs. you could feel him getting closer to where you’ve been craving him all day, the pit in your stomach beginning to grow with arousal and excitement

he started by kissing the insides of your thighs, almost causing you to close your legs instinctively, but he held them open with his hands. he slowly moved up your thighs before arriving at your pretty pussy. he loved it so much, it was always so pretty. the scent of it alone could make him cum in his pants. he licked his lips before leaving a gentle kiss on your clit, before diving into your pussy like a starved man. he was licking and sucking like he had been deprived of it for years

you were a moaning mess at this point, shoving your hand into his hair as his face was buried in your cunt. you arched your back at the feeling, not being able to contain how good he was making you feel. you hands pulled a little at his locks, making him moan into your pussy, sending vibrations that you swear almost pushed you off the edge

“oh fuck hee, i’m close, i’m gonna cum” you managed to get out in between your moans, bucking your hips up into his face for more friction

“come on baby, come all over my tongue” he said in between licks, beginning to suck harder, and sticking a finger into your cunt, fingering you hard and fast

you moaned loudly as this sent you over the edge, arching your back as your legs twitched under his hands. he didn’t stop eating you out, riding your through your orgasm

as you calmed down you saw him pulling his pants down and completely off his legs, pulling off his shirt as well

“what are you doing?” you said breathlessly

“i’m sorry baby fuck the ps5, you looked so gorgeous coming in my mouth just now i need to be inside of you” he said, hovering over you once again, giving you a quick kiss before lining himself up at your entrance. he slowly inserted himself into your pussy, both of you moaning at the stretch

“fuck baby, you’re so fucking tight. can’t believe i was gonna go a month without feeling you around me” heeseung said, hands grabbing your waist

you only moaned in response, the stimulation being too much for you right now. as he bottomed out, he pulled all the way out and slammed back into you, setting a relentless speed. you moaned and whined loudly, tits bouncing with every thrust. your boyfriend threw his head back in pleasure, groaning softly as he felt you suck in him so well

suddenly, you felt him pull out. you were confused but then felt him flipping you over on your stomach, immediately sliding right back in from the back. he started his relentless speed against, as the sounds of skin slapping and squelching echoed in the room

“fuck baby, i’m close” hee said, his thrusts getting sloppier

“oh fuck- me too” you moaned out, barely comprehensible

he continued to slam into you as your orgasm washed over you, his following soon after. his hips stuttered as he filled you up with his cum, continuing to thrust it back up into you

he pulled his dick out before wiping the cum dripping from your hole and pushing it back inside of you, making sure you don’t waste a single drop

you both collapsed back onto the bed, and you rolled over so you were laying on top of your boyfriend. he wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head on top of yours. you stayed in comfortable silence like that for a bit until you spoke up

“so… no ps5 huh? you must really love me”

“i really do, pretty girl. you’re worth not getting a ps5” he said, leaving a kiss on the top of your head

“you mean this pussy is worth not getting a ps5?” you said back, moving your head back to look at him, raising an eyebrow at him

he laughed at your comment, shaking his head at your unseriousness

“whatever you say pretty girl”

a/n: hi guys!!! ahhhh this is the first part of my series i am so excited it has gotten SO much love on only the masterlist and prologue! i was so scared to post this in fear of letting everybody down so i hope you all enjoy🫶🏼

taglist (closed!): @yannew @hanienie @beomgyusonlywife @akirakinimi @multifandomgurllll @boutyouwonu @kissmunalodz @5xiang @ibsysbsfsunsbs @guqsnfics @hellaboredd @wvnkoi @kpopslover @heerinnie @climbingmandevillas @rikisly @simeonswhore @lilriswife4life @daegutowns @harrietbarnesblog @wonniie3 @ariadores @yizhoutv @lilizinho @firstclassjaylee @olivehues @ikeusol @bunhoons @electrobutterfly @choijxn @baekxo07 @youronevia @eneiyri @soobery @heeseungshim @furious-eagle @nyxluvethn @jongseongslvr @wonniewonwon @sunsunl0ver @mixtape-racha @jakeslvt @lomlj4ke @neocockthotology @babyy-bambii @fluerz

(if your name is not tinted grey i cannot tag your account!)

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saetoru · 1 year ago

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ five places rich boy! gojo should not fuck you (but he does it anyway)

synopsis. rich boy! gojo and five times he’s managed to fuck you no matter how bad the time and place—he’s always been a tad bit spoiled, after all

contents. rich boy! gojo, college! au, fem! reader, minors do not interact, unprotected sex, more tags will be added onto each individual part

notes. this is an olddd series i abandoned a long time ago but i’m bringing it back and i’m going to finish it this time. the first installment is already posted but stay tuned for the others

001: SUGURU’S BIRTHDAY PARTY

SPOILED ROTTEN

it’s satoru’s best friends big day, and your first real encounter with geto suguru, but satoru insists suguru won’t notice if you disappear for just a little while

002: CHARITY BANQUET

sure, satoru loves the idea of raising money for good causes, he really does, but he also loves how pretty you look in that cute dress of yours

003: UNIVERSITY CAMPUS

it would be highly unprofessional if a professor were to walk into the empty classroom right now, but that seems to be the least of satoru’s worries

004: HIS PARENT’S ANNIVERSARY PARTY

you and satoru overhear a few people say you’ll break up soon enough, and now he’s determined to prove to you they’re wrong—even if that means forgetting his parents for a bit

005: HIS FATHER’S OFFICE

SPEAK OF THE DEVIL

satoru and his father don’t quite get along—you don’t think it would help that case if his father walked in on you right now. but satoru doesn’t seem to care at all

#thirstee!#teepods.writings #rich boy! au #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut

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imthebadguyyy · 5 months ago

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whose afraid of little old me?

pairing : f1 drivers x reader

fandom : f1

series : the tortured poets department

synopsis : your journey as a female driver alongside the rest of the grid.

warnings : angst

a/n : first time writing a platonic drivers x reader! let me know what you think! :)

you don't get to tell me about sad..

The press room was buzzing with anticipation as the Formula 1 drivers filed in for the pre-race conference. As the only female driver on the grid, you were well aware of the extra attention you garnered, but you had grown used to it. Today, you were seated between Lewis Hamilton and Charles Leclerc, both of whom you had become close friends with during your time at Mercedes.

The questions started out as they always did: race strategies, car updates, and general banter about the upcoming Grand Prix. You handled them with the confidence and poise that had become your trademark. Then, a reporter from the back of the room stood up, his tone less than friendly

"Y/N," he began, "there's been a lot of talk about the difficulties you've faced as the only female driver on the grid. Some say you're out of your depth and that your results reflect that. How do you respond to the criticism that you don't belong here and that it's just too hard for you?"

You felt a surge of frustration. This wasn’t the first time you’d faced such pointed and unfair questions, but today, it stung more than usual. Before you could respond, you felt Lewis shift beside you, a silent show of support. Taking a deep breath, you looked the reporter in the eye.

"You don’t get to tell me about sad," you said, your voice steady and firm. "You don’t get to tell me about the difficulties I’ve faced or what I can handle. I’ve earned my place here just like every other driver on this grid, through talent, hard work, and perseverance. Criticism and doubt are part of the journey, but I’m here to stay."

The room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. For a moment, the reporter looked taken aback, but before he could say anything, Charles spoke up.

"Y/N has proven time and again that she belongs here," Charles said, his tone protective. "She’s one of the most dedicated and talented drivers I know, and it’s about time she gets the respect she deserves."

Lewis nodded, leaning forward to address the room. "We’re a team, and we support each other. Y/N has brought incredible strength and determination to Mercedes, and I have no doubt she’ll continue to achieve great things. If anyone here thinks otherwise, they clearly haven’t been paying attention."

The support from your fellow drivers warmed your heart, and you saw nods of agreement from others around the room. Even drivers from rival teams like Max Verstappen and Lando Norris were giving you supportive looks.

The reporter, clearly outnumbered and outmatched, mumbled a quick thank you and sat down. The rest of the press conference went smoothly, with more respectful and genuine questions.

As you left the stage, Lewis put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You handled that perfectly, Y/N. Don't let anyone make you doubt yourself."

Charles grinned, giving you a thumbs-up. "We’ve got your back, always."

Walking out of the press room with your head held high, you felt a renewed sense of determination. You knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but with the support of your teammates and fellow drivers, you were ready to face any challenge that came your way.

nothing makes me feel more alive...

The roar of the crowd at Silverstone was deafening as you took the final corner, the checkered flag waving wildly in the air. This was it. You were about to win your first Grand Prix, and not just any race—it was Silverstone, the home of British motorsport.

"Y/N, you’ve done it! You’ve won the British Grand Prix!" your race engineer shouted over the radio, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of celebration.

Tears of joy streamed down your face as you crossed the finish line. "Oh my God! We did it! We did it! Thank you, thank you so much!" you screamed, unable to contain your excitement.

As you brought the car to a stop in Parc Fermé, the realization of your achievement hit you full force. You had won. You had really done it. Climbing out of the car, you were immediately surrounded by your jubilant team, all eager to celebrate this historic moment with you. You jumped into their arms, laughter and cheers filling the air.

Lewis, who had finished third, approached with a wide grin. "Incredible job, Y/N! Welcome to the winners' circle," he said, pulling you into a tight hug.

Max, who had taken second place, clapped you on the back. "Amazing race! You deserve this," he said with genuine admiration.

The podium ceremony felt surreal. As you stood on the top step, the anthem playing, you looked out over the sea of fans cheering your name. You felt a wave of pride and accomplishment wash over you. When the national anthem ended, you picked up the bottle of champagne, the weight of it solid and reassuring in your hands.

Lewis and Max joined you, and the three of you shared a look before simultaneously popping the corks and spraying each other with champagne. The cold, fizzy liquid drenched you, but you couldn’t stop laughing, your joy infectious.

Grabbing the microphone for the post-race interview, you took a moment to compose yourself before speaking. "This is the best moment of my life. Nothing makes me feel more alive than being out there on the track, pushing myself to the limit, and achieving something I’ve dreamed about since I was a little girl. Thank you to my team, to the fans, and to everyone who believed in me. This is just the beginning."

The crowd erupted in applause, their cheers echoing in your ears as you continued to celebrate with your team and fellow drivers. This victory was not just a personal triumph, but a statement to everyone watching: you belonged here, and you were just getting started.

As you left the podium, still grinning from ear to ear, you were greeted by more hugs and congratulations from your team. Toto Wolff, your team principal, pulled you into a warm embrace. "I knew you had it in you," he said, his voice full of pride. "This is only the beginning."

Walking away from the podium, champagne-soaked and elated, you felt an overwhelming sense of fulfillment. You had proven to yourself and the world that you could do it. And as you looked out at the sea of faces cheering for you, you knew that nothing could ever take this moment away from you.

so i leap from the gallows and i levitate down your street..

The aftermath of the Spanish Grand Prix was a cacophony of disbelief, exhilaration, and redemption. For weeks, you had been the subject of harsh criticism from pundits and commentators, their scathing remarks suggesting you were a failure, a shame to the sport. They doubted your abilities, questioning your place on the grid. The words stung, but they also fueled a fire within you that blazed brighter than ever.

"So, I leap from the gallows," you whispered to yourself as you took the final corner, the finish line in sight. The car beneath you was an extension of your will, each turn, each acceleration a defiant answer to the doubters. You crossed the line first, your heart pounding as you realized what you had just achieved.

"Y/N, you did it! You won the Spanish Grand Prix!" your race engineer's voice crackled over the radio, bursting with pride and excitement.

"I did it," you repeated, the weight of your victory sinking in. "We did it!"

The cool-down lap was a blur of tears and joy. You had proven them wrong. The people who had criticized you, who had doubted your skill and determination, were silenced by the roar of your engine and the unwavering support of your team.

As you pulled into Parc Fermé, the roar of the crowd was deafening. Stepping out of the car, you were immediately enveloped in the arms of your team, their cheers and tears mingling with your own. You felt a sense of triumph that was almost surreal, a weight lifting off your shoulders.

Carlos Sainz, who had finished second, approached with a proud smile. "Incredible drive, Y/N. You showed them all," he said, pulling you into a congratulatory hug.

Oscar Piastri, who had finished third, hugged you tight"That was one hell of a race. Well done," he said, his voice affectionate.

The podium ceremony was a whirlwind of emotions. Standing on the top step, the anthem playing in the background, you felt a sense of vindication. The crowd’s cheers were a testament to your hard work and resilience.

When the time came to spray the champagne, you did so with a vengeance, soaking Carlos and Oscar as they laughed and joined in the celebration. The cold spray was a refreshing reminder of the moment you had seized, the victory you had earned.

During the post-race interview, you held the microphone firmly, looking out at the sea of fans and reporters. "For those who doubted me," you began, your voice steady and strong, "this is my answer. So I leap from the gallows, and I levitate down your street. I've faced the criticisms, the doubts, and I’ve come out on top. This win is for my team, for my supporters, and for everyone who believes that dreams are worth fighting for."

The crowd erupted into applause, their cheers a resounding affirmation of your triumph. As you left the stage, still soaked in champagne and adrenaline, you felt lighter than air. You had not only proven your critics wrong, but you had also proven something to yourself: that you were capable of greatness.

Back in the garage, Toto greeted you with a proud smile. "You were phenomenal out there. This is just the beginning," he said, his voice filled with conviction.

Walking through the paddock, the looks of respect and admiration from fellow drivers and team members were a stark contrast to the doubts and criticisms you had faced. You had leapt from the metaphorical gallows and soared, showing everyone that you were here to stay.

As you drove out of the circuit later that evening, the streets of Barcelona seemed to glow with a new light. The city's energy matched your own, vibrant and unstoppable. You had faced the gallows and emerged victorious, levitating down the streets of triumph and possibility. And you knew, deep in your heart, that this was just the beginning of an incredible journey

whose afraid of little old me? you should be...

The glitz and glamour of the post-race party in Monaco was in full swing, with drivers, team principals, and VIP guests mingling in celebration of another thrilling Grand Prix. You were enjoying the night, surrounded by the camaraderie of your fellow drivers and the electric atmosphere of the event.

As you made your way through the crowd, chatting with Carlos and Lando, a random guy who clearly wasn’t part of the usual racing crowd approached. He had a smug look on his face, his steps unsteady from one too many drinks.

"Hey, isn’t this the famous female driver?" he said loudly, drawing the attention of those around him. "Nice of you to join us, sweetheart. Shouldn’t you be somewhere polishing your car or something? Or maybe you’re just here because you look good in a dress."

His words were met with a few awkward chuckles from those who didn’t know how to react. You felt a surge of anger but kept your composure. Taking a deep breath, you stepped closer, your eyes locking onto his.

"You know," you began, your voice calm but laced with steel, "it’s funny you mention polishing cars. Considering you probably have never even seen the inside of one that’s been on a racetrack, I’d say your expertise on the subject is pretty limited. As for my looks, let’s just say I'd rather be known for my talent than for crashing parties and making snarky remarks to people I don’t know."

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. The guy’s smirk faltered, replaced by a look of surprise and irritation. Before he could respond, you continued.

"I’ve worked hard to get where I am. Every race, every victory, is a testament to my skill and dedication. You can try to demean me all you want, but it won’t change the fact that I’ve earned my place here. And by the way, the only reason you’re even noticed right now is because you’re making a scene. Maybe next time, you should think before you speak."

A ripple of laughter and applause broke out among the onlookers. The guy’s face reddened with embarrassment and anger, but he had no retort. He muttered something under his breath and turned away.

Lando, who had been watching the exchange with an amused grin, stepped forward. "You should be afraid of her," he said to the group, his tone light but sincere. "She’s not just fast on the track, she’s got the sharpest tongue in the paddock."

You smiled at Lando, appreciating his support. "Thanks, Lando. Sometimes people need a reminder."

Carlos nodded, clapping you on the back. "You handled that perfectly. That guy didn’t know what hit him."

With a sweet, innocent expression, you tilted your head slightly and asked, "Who's afraid of little old me?"

Carlos turned to the retreating guy, his tone serious and unwavering. "You should be."

The random guy's pace quickened as he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you, Carlos, and Lando laughing and feeling victorious. The atmosphere lightened, and you found yourself surrounded by friends and allies who respected and supported you. The sting of the random guy’s words faded quickly, replaced by the warmth of genuine camaraderie. You knew that the road ahead would have its challenges, but moments like this reminded you that you were more than capable of facing them head-on.

Later, as you stood on a balcony overlooking the glittering Monaco skyline, Lando joined you, offering a glass of champagne. "To standing up for yourself," he toasted.

You clinked glasses, feeling a renewed sense of determination. "To proving them wrong," you replied, taking a sip and savoring the sweet taste of victory and vindication.

is it a wonder i broke, let's hear one more joke...

The opulent ballroom of the Monaco casino was alight with the energy of a sponsorship party, a glittering event where drivers mingled with sponsors, team principals, and celebrities. You were making your way through the crowd, putting on a brave face despite the whispers and stares. It was supposed to be a night of celebration, but for you, it was quickly turning into a test of endurance.

One of the sponsors, a man named Richard, seemed to have taken a special interest in making snide remarks at your expense. His laughter echoed through the room as he made yet another joke about you. "Oh, look, it’s the token female driver! How many races did you have to finish to get this seat? Or is it more about how you look in the team’s gear?" he jeered, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

The people around him chuckled awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. You forced a smile, trying to brush it off, but inside, you felt your confidence crumbling. You excused yourself, mumbling something about needing to use the restroom, and quickly made your way to the nearest bathroom.

Once inside, you locked the door behind you and let the tears fall. The pressure, the constant scrutiny, the never-ending need to prove yourself—it all came crashing down. You sank to the floor, sobbing quietly, feeling utterly alone in that moment.

Unbeknownst to you, Lewis Hamilton had been watching from a distance. He had seen the way Richard had been treating you all night and noticed the moment you fled. Concerned, he made his way to the bathroom, hesitating only for a moment before gently knocking on the door.

"Y/N? It’s Lewis. Are you okay?" he called softly.

Hearing his voice, you tried to pull yourself together, wiping at your tears. "I’m fine, Lewis. Just… give me a moment."

But Lewis wasn’t about to leave you alone. He opened the door slowly, stepping inside and closing it behind him. When he saw you sitting on the floor, tears streaming down your face, his heart broke. He crouched down beside you, his expression one of deep empathy.

"Hey," he said gently, his voice soft and soothing. "I’m here. Talk to me."

You looked up at him, your vision blurred by tears. "It’s just… it’s too much sometimes, you know? The jokes, the comments… I’m trying so hard, but it feels like it’s never enough."

Lewis reached out, taking your hand in his. "You are more than enough, Y/N. You are an incredible driver and an even more incredible person. Don’t let anyone, especially not some ignorant sponsor, make you feel otherwise."

His words brought fresh tears to your eyes, but this time they were tears of gratitude. "Thank you, Lewis," you whispered, your voice trembling.

He sat down beside you, pulling you into a comforting embrace. "I know it’s hard. I’ve been there, too. But you have to remember why you’re here. You’ve earned your place on the grid. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. And you’ve got so many people who believe in you, including me."

You buried your face in his shoulder, taking comfort in his presence. "I just don’t know how much more of this I can take," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

Lewis pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "You are stronger than you think. And you don’t have to face this alone. We’re a team, remember? We’ve got your back."

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, easing the pain and fear. You took a deep breath, feeling a bit more grounded. "Thanks, Lewis. I don’t know what I’d do without you."

He smiled, brushing a tear from your cheek. "You’ll never have to find out. Now, how about we go back out there and show them what you’re made of?"

With his support, you felt a renewed sense of determination. You nodded, allowing him to help you to your feet. As you both left the bathroom, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you weren’t facing them alone. You had friends, allies, and a team who believed in you, and that made all the difference.

i was tame, i was gentle, till the circus life made me mean..

The press conference room was packed, the atmosphere buzzing with anticipation. You sat between two fellow drivers, trying to maintain your composure as the questions came one after another. Lately, the questions directed at you had become more personal and offensive, straying far from your performance on the track.

As the reporters took turns, a journalist from the back raised his hand and was given the microphone. He stood up, a smug look on his face. "Y/N, there's been a lot of curiosity among fans about what kind of underwear you wear under your race suit. Care to enlighten us?"

The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. Your heart pounded in your chest as you felt a mix of anger and disbelief. This was the final straw.

You leaned forward, your eyes blazing. "Are you serious? I'm here to talk about my performance on the track, not my underwear. The fact that you think it's appropriate to ask me such a disrespectful and invasive question speaks volumes about your professionalism—or lack thereof."

The reporter's face turned red as he tried to stammer a response, but you cut him off, your voice steady and strong. "I have worked incredibly hard to earn my place here, just like every other driver on this grid. I will not tolerate being reduced to such trivial and sexist remarks. If you can't treat me with the same respect you show my male colleagues, then you have no place in this room."

You stood up abruptly, the microphone falling silent as you walked out of the press conference, your head held high. The room was stunned into silence, the other reporters unsure how to react.

Lewis, who was sitting beside you, took the microphone next. "That was completely unacceptable," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Y/N is a talented driver who deserves respect. It's disgraceful that she has to deal with questions like that."

Carlos, seated on your other side, nodded in agreement. "We are here to discuss our careers and our performance, not to entertain inappropriate and sexist questions. Y/N handled that with grace, and she has our full support."

The room remained silent, the gravity of the situation sinking The other drivers on the stage exchanged looks of solidarity, making it clear that they stood with you.

Backstage, you leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. The door opened, and Lewis and Carlos walked in, their expressions filled with concern and support.

"Hey," Lewis said softly, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You did the right thing. That was completely out of line."

Carlos nodded, giving you a small, encouraging smile. "You handled it perfectly. We're all behind you."

You smiled weakly, grateful for their support. "Thanks, guys. I just couldn't take it anymore."

Lewis shook his head, his eyes filled with determination. "No one should have to deal with that. We're going to make sure it doesn't happen again."

Feeling a surge of gratitude and strength from their words, you nodded. "Together, we can make a difference."

As you returned to the paddock, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. You knew that you had allies who respected and supported you, and you were determined to continue proving yourself on and off the track. The road ahead would still have its challenges, but you were ready to face them head-on, with your head held high and your team by your side.

then say they didn't do it to hurt me, but what if they did?...

The news hit you like a freight train. Mercedes had decided to drop you from the team for the next season. The decision came shortly after Lewis announced his departure to Ferrari, leaving you feeling isolated and abandoned. You had poured your heart and soul into your racing career, and now it felt like the ground had been ripped out from under you.

The paddock was a whirlwind of activity as the season drew to a close, but you felt like a ghost moving through it. Every smile, every cheer, felt like a reminder of what you were losing. You tried to put on a brave face, but inside, you were struggling.

One evening, after a particularly tough day, you found yourself wandering aimlessly through the paddock. Your thoughts were a chaotic mix of anger, sadness, and confusion. You ended up in a quiet corner, away from the prying eyes and constant noise, trying to hold yourself together.

Charles noticed you standing there, your shoulders slumped and your expression distant. He approached you cautiously, his concern evident. "Y/N, are you okay?"

You looked up at him, your eyes brimming with tears. "They dropped me, Charles. Mercedes just dropped me. And with Lewis leaving too... I feel so alone."

Charles stepped closer, his expression sympathetic. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I know this must be incredibly hard for you."

You let out a shaky breath, trying to keep your composure. "Why did they do this, Charles? After everything, why now?"

Charles gently placed a hand on your shoulder. "They didn't do it to hurt you. Sometimes teams make decisions that are hard to understand, but it's not always about us personally."

His words were meant to comfort, but they only made the pain sharper. "But what if they did?" you whispered, your voice breaking. "What if they did it to hurt me?"

The dam broke, and the tears you had been holding back spilled over. Charles pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as you cried. His embrace was warm and comforting, offering a safe space to release the torrent of emotions you had been keeping inside.

"It's okay, let it out," Charles murmured softly, his voice soothing. "You're not alone, Y/N. We're all here for you."

You clung to him, the weight of your grief and fear pouring out. "I gave everything to this team," you sobbed. "I don't know what to do now."

Charles held you tighter, his heart aching for you. "I know it's hard, but this isn't the end. You're an incredible driver, and there are other teams out there that would be lucky to have you. Don't let this define you."

His words, filled with sincerity and belief, began to cut through the fog of despair. You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. "Thank you, Charles. I just... I just needed to hear that."

He pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes with a gentle smile. "You're stronger than you know, Y/N. And whatever happens next, you're going to come out of this even stronger."

As the night grew darker, you found a glimmer of hope in Charles's words and his unwavering support. You knew the road ahead would be challenging, but you also knew you weren't alone. With friends like Charles by your side, and the rest of the grid, you could face whatever came next. And as you stood there, taking comfort in his presence, you began to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could rise from this setback and prove everyone wrong.

I want to snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me...

The atmosphere in the Mercedes factory was tense as Toto Wolff stepped up to the podium, his expression somber. You stood among your colleagues, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for the announcement. Deep down, you knew what was coming, but hearing it confirmed in front of the entire team was another blow altogether.

"Toto, are we ready to go live?" a technician whispered, adjusting the cameras to capture the moment.

Toto nodded, his gaze scanning the room. "Yes, let's begin."

The room fell silent as the live broadcast began. Toto cleared his throat, his voice steady but heavy with emotion. "Good afternoon, everyone. I come to you today with news that is difficult for all of us to hear."

You felt a lump form in your throat as you braced yourself for what was to come. Toto continued, his words echoing through the factory.

"After much consideration and evaluation, we have made the decision to part ways with one of our drivers," he announced, his tone measured. "It is never an easy decision to make, and it is one that we do not take lightly."

The room seemed to hold its breath as Toto paused, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You glanced around, noting the somber expressions on the faces of your colleagues. They were your teammates, your friends, and the thought of leaving them behind felt like a knife to the heart.

"And so, it is with a heavy heart that I must announce that Y/N will be leaving the team at the end of the season," Toto said, his voice faltering slightly. "We want to thank her for her dedication, her hard work, and her contributions to the team. She will always be a part of the Mercedes family, and we wish her all the best in her future endeavors."

The room erupted into a mix of stunned silence and whispered conversations. You stood there, trying to process the news, trying to swallow down the bitter taste of disappointment and betrayal. It was all you could do to keep from exploding in anger, from snarling and lashing out at the injustice of it all.

As Toto stepped down from the podium, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Turning, you met the sympathetic gaze of your teammate, Lewis. His eyes were filled with understanding and compassion, a silent acknowledgment of the pain you were feeling.

But as much as you wanted to scream, to demand answers, you knew that now was not the time. You had to swallow down your anger, to keep your composure in front of your colleagues. You had to be the bigger person, to leave with dignity and grace.

So you stood there, your jaw clenched, your fists tight at your sides, as the reality of the situation sank in. You would leave Mercedes behind, but you would carry the memories, the victories, and the lessons with you. And as you walked out of the factory for the last time, you vowed to channel your anger and disappointment into fuel for the next chapter of your racing career.

you wouldnt last an hour in the asylum where they raised me..

The news spread like wildfire through the paddock: you had been signed by Red Bull Racing for the upcoming season. As you made your way through the bustling crowd, you could feel the weight of judgmental eyes boring into you. People whispered behind your back, calling you a traitor, questioning your loyalty to your former team.

But you held your head high, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. You had made your decision, and you weren't about to let the opinions of others sway you. After all, this was Formula 1—a cutthroat world where alliances shifted like the wind, and loyalty was a luxury few could afford.

As you approached the garage, you heard the murmurs grow louder. "Can you believe she signed with Red Bull? What a traitor."

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face the source of the comments. It was one of your former colleagues, his expression filled with disdain. "You're a traitor, Y/N. How could you do this to us?"

You met his gaze head-on, your eyes flashing with defiance. "It's a cutthroat game," you replied coolly. "You wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me."

The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the ruthless world you had grown up in. You had fought tooth and nail to get to where you were, and you weren't about to apologize for seizing an opportunity to further your career.

Turning on your heel, you continued toward the Red Bull garage, feeling a sense of satisfaction wash over you. You may have ruffled some feathers, but you had made the right choice for yourself. And as you entered the garage, surrounded by your new teammates and friends who had stood by your side through it all, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

that I'm fearsome, and I'm wretched, and I'm wrong..

You sat in your motorhome, scrolling through Instagram after the chaotic Monza Grand Prix. The race had been eventful, to say the least, with a tense moment between you and Hulkenberg that had sparked controversy among fans and pundits alike.

As you scrolled through your feed, you couldn't escape the barrage of comments and messages directed at you. People were blaming you for the incident, calling you fearsome, wretched, and wrong. It felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on your shoulders, suffocating you with guilt and frustration.

But you refused to let the negativity consume you. Taking a deep breath, you opened the camera app on your phone and snapped a quick selfie. In the photo, you wore a determined expression, your eyes flashing with defiance.

You typed out a caption to accompany the photo, your fingers moving with purpose. "I'm fearsome, wretched, and I'm wrong," you wrote, the words a defiant declaration of self-acceptance and resilience.

With a sense of satisfaction, you hit the share button, knowing that your message would reach far and wide. It was a reminder to yourself—and to the world—that you were not defined by one moment, one mistake. You were a force to be reckoned with, flaws and all, and you weren't afraid to own it.

a/n : first ever platonic driver story! should I look into a romantic angle with anyone? any suggestions etc would be highly appreciated! happy reading and much love! as always, likes, reblogs, comments etc are always appreciated ❤️

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857 notes · View notes

gojorgeous · 10 months ago

Note

Heyyyy I just wanted to say I love the way you write! I’m obsessed with your alpha!jjk character series. I’m very new to a/b/o fanfics buuut I keep thinking about how possessive they’d get if they smelled another scent on the reader, even if it was just from something like borrowing a sweater. I just imagine them like trying to override the scent n theyre like super determined to do it 🫣

Idek if that’s something that can happen in these typa fics but anywaysss

Have a good day!

Hey bestie! I decided I'd write a litle smthn smthn for you hehe. I picked geto cause he's more alpha to me. It's below the cut! (suggestive/a/b/o dynamics/jealousy):

"What are you wearing?"

You don't even look up from your desk, a little irritated that your late-night email check has been interrupted.

"Huh?" You scan a subject line and hit delete as soon as you realize it's no more than junk mail.

"What are you wearing?"

Your body jolts. He's using that tone that makes you melt for him- that he only ever uses when he wants, needs, your attention.

You turn quickly in your chair and your heart thumps when you see the angry furrow in his brow. "It's just... a sweater."

A muscle tics in his jaw and your eyes glaze over a little when smell his scent pumping thickly into the air of your office.

"It's not your sweater, and it's not mine. So where did you get it, hm?"

He's moving closer now, his spicy scent growing stronger with every step. You have to blink and swallow just to form a coherent thought.

"I-I got cold at work. A friend offered it to me..."

He's over you now, a hand curled around each arm of your chair, caging you in. A few strands of black hair have fallen loose from his bun and they brush against your face. The feeling makes you shiver.

His head dips until he's buried deep in your chest and you squeak when you hear him inhaling. You know you're in for it.

"It reeks of male."

You sigh, gently pushing him away. "I'm sorry, Sugu. I'll take it off-" You don't even get to finish before you hear a wretched tearing noise. "Suguru!" You can only watch as he literally rips the sweater from your body and then tosses it straight into the trash can. You swat at his shoulder. "That was a coworker's! What am I supposed to tell him when he wants it returned tomorrow?!"

His hands settle on your hips and the touch makes your skin ripple with electricity. His scent is even thicker now and he's so close...

"Tell him he shouldn't go putting his scent all over my omega." Your eyes glaze over and you whimper when a familiar heat starts swirling in your tummy. The primal side of you loves when he gets like this, loves when he stakes his claim.

You gasp when your ass is suddenly no longer in your seat and instead you're dangling in Geto's arms. Your legs swing as he carries you toward the bedroom.

"Sugu-"

"Shhh. We have to get that scent off you, no?" His smirk makes you shiver again. "And I have plenty of ideas on how to do it."

Hope you liked bb!!

1K notes · View notes

loveanton · 6 months ago

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off my face | lee anton

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: your best friend has been in love with you for years but you’ve been too blind to notice.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: best friend!anton x f!reader

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: angst, fluff, suggestive

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 4.5k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: underage drinking, partying, drunk kisses, makeouts, pls let me know if i missed anything

⏤ 𝑎/n: finally finished my finals so this is a lil self indulgent piece hehe

“I’m officially done with my exams!”

Anton smiles at you through his phone as he watches you vigorously shake your device out of excitement. You’re practically glowing, a mixture of relief and joy lighting up your features. Anton’s heart swells with pride. He’s always known how dedicated and hardworking you are, but seeing you like this makes him realize just how far you’ve come. You’d conquered another milestone, and he can't help but feel immensely proud of you.

He remembers all the late-night study sessions, the moments of doubt you’d shared, and the unwavering determination in your eyes. You’re amazing. He admires your strength, your perseverance, and the way you made everything seem possible. Anton has always been your biggest cheerleader, silently supporting you from the sidelines, even though he wishes he could do more. But right now, he’s just happy to see you so happy.

"Congratulations," Anton finally says, his voice warm and full of genuine pride.

"Thank you!" you beam, your eyes sparkling with gratitude. “Not gonna lie, I wrote complete bs for half the exam, after answering what I knew and adding up the points I gave up when I realized I had enough to pass the class.”

Anton snorts at your confession, “let’s pray your math wasn’t off then.”

You hum, “lets pray I actually got those questions right otherwise I’m screwed.”

The two of you laugh at your words before a beat of silence falls over the two of you. Anton hesitates for a moment, then decides to go for it. "So, what would you like me to buy you as a gift for finishing off your junior year?" he asks, his tone playful but sincere. He wants to celebrate this achievement with you, to make this moment even more special.

Your eyes widen in surprise, a smile spreading across your face. "Really? You don't have to—"

"I want to," Anton interrupts, a mischievous grin forming. "Come on, name your reward."

You laugh, thinking for a moment before answering. "Well, if you're sure... How about that new book series I've been eyeing?"

"Consider it done," Anton says, already mentally noting to order it as soon as possible. He wants to see that smile on your face in person, wants to be the reason for your happiness, even if just a little bit.

Just then, the door to Anton’s room opens, and Eunseok pokes his head in. He notices Anton on the phone and grins, stepping fully into the room. "Hey, who's that?" he asks, leaning closer to the screen.

You giggle and wave. "Hi, Eunseok! Guess what? I’m officially done with my exams!"

"Hey! That’s awesome! Congrats!" Eunseok says, his enthusiasm infectious. "So, Anton’s getting you something nice, right?"

"Yeah, he’s getting me a book series I wanted," you say, your excitement evident.

Eunseok smiles, "Want me to buy you something too?"

Your eyes sparkle with mischief. "Wait, really?”

He nods his head once and hums, “Yeah. Anything else you have your heart set on?”

“Want to take me out for some kbbq?"

Eunseok laughs, nodding. "Sure, Korean BBQ it is. I’ll text you to pick a date."

Anton forces a smile, trying to hide his disappointment. "Great, that sounds like a lot of fun."

You beam, clearly thrilled. "Awesome! Thanks, Eunseok. And thanks again, Anton, for the book series."

"Of course," Anton says, his voice softer now. "I’m really proud of you."

After a few more exchanges, Eunseok and Anton say their goodbyes, and you hang up. The moment the call ends, Anton feels a heavy weight settle in his chest. He can't shake off the sadness that you so eagerly accepted Eunseok's offer and that you would be going out to eat with him. It felt a bit too intimate, and jealousy gnaws at him.

Anton sulks around the dorm, trying to distract himself but failing miserably. Later on, once everyone has eaten and gotten ready for bed, Anton sits in the common area still pouting and eating an apple after skipping out on dinner because Eunseok was in charge of cooking tonight. Wonbin notices his friend's gloomy demeanor and approaches him with concern.

"Hey, what's got you all pouty?" Wonbin asks, nudging Anton gently.

Anton sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It's nothing. Just... feeling a bit off, I guess."

Wonbin raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Come on, what is it? I know something's bothering you."

Anton hesitates, then finally gives in. "It's just... ____’s done with her exams and I offered to buy her a gift, she was really happy about it. But then Eunseok came in and offered to buy her something too and she accepted without a second thought. It just... I don’t know, it feels different."

Wonbin nods, understanding dawning on his face. "Ah, I see. You're feeling jealous."

"Yeah," Anton admits quietly. "I know it's stupid, but I can't help it. I’ve been in love with her for years, and she doesn’t even see me that way. And now she’s going out with Eunseok... it just hurts."

Wonbin claps a reassuring hand on Anton's shoulder. "Hey, it’s not stupid. Feelings are complicated. But maybe it's time to tell her how you really feel. Who knows, she might feel the same way."

Anton looks at Wonbin, a mixture of hope and fear in his eyes. "Maybe. I just don’t want to ruin what we have."

"Sometimes you have to take a risk to get what you really want," Wonbin says softly. "And you deserve to be happy too, Anton."

Anton nods, taking a deep breath. "Thanks, Wonbin. I’ll think about it."

As he walks back to his shared room, Anton's mind races with thoughts of you, the possibilities, and the courage he would need to finally confess his feelings. But for now, he just hopes you’re happy, even if it isn’t with him.

The next day, you head over to Anton’s dorm, excited to pick up the gift and hang out with your best friend. The sun is shining brightly, and there’s a lightness in your step as you approach the familiar building. When you knock on his door, it opens almost immediately, and Anton greets you with a warm smile.

"Hey! Come in," he says, stepping aside to let you enter.

"Thanks," you reply, stepping into the cozy space. The dorm has always felt like a second home to you, a place filled with fond memories and shared moments.

Anton walks the two of you to his room before going over to his desk and picks up a carefully wrapped package. "Here it is," he says, handing it to you with a shy grin.

You take the package, your eyes widening in surprise. "Wow, you wrapped it and everything! How did you get it so fast?"

Anton chuckles. "The perks of Amazon Prime," he replies, looking pleased with your reaction.

You laugh and start to unwrap the gift, revealing the book series you’ve been wanting. Your heart swells with gratitude, and you look up at Anton with a beaming smile. "Thank you so much, Anton! This is perfect."

"I’m glad you like it," he says softly, watching as you flip through the pages of the first book.

Just then, your phone buzzes with a text from your roommate. You glance at the screen and read the message. “Ouu, Mina just texted me about a party."

You look up at Anton, excitement and a hint of mischief in your eyes. "Do you wanna come with me? It’ll be a great way to celebrate."

Anton hesitates, his brow furrowing slightly. "A party? I don’t know... that’s not really my scene."

"Please, Anton," you say, giving him your best puppy-dog eyes. "It would mean a lot to me if you came. We can have fun together, and it’s a good chance to let loose before I leave for the summer."

He sighs, but the look in your eyes makes it impossible for him to say no. "Alright, I’ll go," he agrees, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Yay! Thank you!" you exclaim, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. "You’re the best, Anton."

He hugs you back, savoring the moment before you pull away. "I’ll see you later then. I need to get ready," you say, heading for the door.

"See you later," Anton replies, watching you leave with a fond look in his eyes.

After you’ve gone, Anton turns to find his roommates. He finds all six of them in the common area, discussing their plans for the evening. "Hey, guys. We’re going to a party tonight," Anton announces.

"A party? Are you sure you want to go?" Sungchan asks.

Sohee nods, “yeah, I never pegged you as the party going type.

Anton sends a sharp glare their way. “____ invited me, I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

"I’m sure it will," Wonbin adds, glancing at Anton. He remembers the conversation they had last night and grins. "So, is this the night you finally tell her how you feel?"

Anton’s cheeks flush slightly. "Ahhh, hyung!"

Eunseok raises an eyebrow. "Wait, tell who what?"

Wonbin nudges the younger male. "Anton’s in love with ____. Has been for years."

All the boy's eyes widen in surprise, as they stare at their youngest in shock. Shotaro is the first to react, he breaks into a wide grin. "Really? That’s awesome! We need to make sure you confess tonight."

Anton groans. "No. Guys, please. I don’t want to make it a big deal."

His words go right over everyone's heads as they start coming up with a masterplan to help out their brother.

"Don’t worry, Anton," Wonbin says with a mischievous glint in his eye. "We’ve got your back. Tonight’s the night."

Anton sighs, knowing there’s no stopping them. As the evening approaches, the dorm buzzes with excitement. The guys are all determined to help Anton confess his feelings to you by the end of the party, and Anton can only hope that everything goes well.

___

Back in your dorm, you and Mina are getting ready for the party. The room is filled with the upbeat music Mina insists on playing whenever you two are preparing for a night out. You’re both rifling through your closets, trying on different outfits, and swapping opinions on what looks best.

“This party is going to be amazing,” Mina says, holding up a sparkly top against herself and checking the mirror. “Are you sure Anton’s coming?”

“Of course,” you reply, slipping into the black dress you finally settled on. “I convinced him. He’s not really into parties, but he agreed to come.”

Mina grins and raises an eyebrow. “You know, that’s probably because he has a thing for you. So, when are you going to confess your feelings?”

You roll your eyes, waving off her comment. “We’re just friends, Mina. He doesn’t see me like that.”

Mina gives you a skeptical look. “Are you sure about that? You two are pretty close, and I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“Seriously, it’s not like that,” you insist, feeling a twinge of discomfort. You don’t want to get your hopes up or think about the possibility of Anton seeing you as more than a friend. “Let’s drop it, okay?”

Mina shrugs, sensing the finality in your tone. “Alright, alright. But if you change your mind, tonight could be the perfect time.”

You finish getting ready in silence, both focused on your makeup and hair. Once you’re satisfied with your looks, you grab your bags and head out the door, excitement bubbling within you for the night ahead.

The party is already in full swing by the time you and Mina arrive. The house is packed with people, music blaring, and laughter echoing through the rooms. You’re greeted by a wave of familiar faces, everyone eager to chat and offer you drinks.

Anton stands off to the side, trying to blend into the background while watching you interact with ease. He sees guys coming up to you, talking and laughing, some even offering you drinks. A pang of jealousy hits him, but he tries to push it aside.

Sungchan, noticing Anton’s brooding expression, decides to take action. He grabs two drinks and walks over to Anton, shoving them into his hands. “Here, take these. Go talk to her. Stop sulking.”

Anton hesitates but knows Sungchan is right. He takes a deep breath and walks over to you, hoping to get a moment alone.

You notice Anton approaching and smile brightly. “Hey! I’m so glad you made it.”

“Hey,” he replies, handing you one of the drinks. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

The two of you find a quieter corner and start chatting about your summer plans. You excitedly tell him about your upcoming girls’ trip to Tulum, and he shares his plans to go on tour with the boys before heading back to New Jersey to spend time with his family.

“I’m so excited for you,” you say, genuinely happy for him. “Touring sounds incredible.”

“Thanks,” Anton says, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “And Tulum sounds amazing. You’re going to have so much fun.”

Just as you’re about to dive into another topic, Sohee appears out of nowhere, grabbing both of your arms. “Hey, you two! Come on, we’re starting a drinking game in the basement. You have to join us!”

You laugh, allowing Sohee to drag you towards the basement. “Alright, alright, we’re coming!”

Anton follows, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.

The basement is filled with a mix of excitement and apprehension as everyone gathers around in a circle for the game. The room is dimly lit, creating an intimate atmosphere perfect for a game of Dare or Drink. Sohee stands in the center, holding an empty bottle, and addresses the group with a mischievous grin.

"Alright, losers," Sohee announces loudly, "we're playing Dare or Drink. It's pretty self-explanatory, but here are the rules: we spin the bottle, and if it lands on you, you either do the dare or take a drink. Got it?"

Everyone nods, a mix of nervous laughter and anticipation rippling through the group. Seunghan is the first to spin the bottle, and it lands on Chaemin. The room holds its breath as he smirks.

"Alright, Chaemin," Seunghan says, leaning forward, "I dare you to kiss the person next to you."

Chaemin's eyes widen, her cheeks turning pink as she looks to her side and sees Shotaro. She bites her lip, hesitating. Shotaro's face is already turning red, a nervous smile on his lips. Chaemin quickly decides and grabs her drink, taking a big gulp instead of completing the dare.

You giggle, noticing Shotaro's embarrassment, and pat his shoulder comfortingly. "Don't worry, Shotaro. Maybe next time," you say with a playful wink.

Chaemin, still blushing, spins the bottle next. It twirls around before pointing at Wonbin. She grins mischievously. "Wonbin, I dare you to strip and go skinny dipping with me."

The room erupts in cheers and laughter, the boys howling at the suggestion. Wonbin, however, chuckles and shakes his head, opting to take a drink instead.

Sohee rolls her eyes dramatically. "Come on, guys! This game is boring if no one does the dares. Step it up!"

With a determined look, Wonbin spins the bottle, and it lands on Anton. Anton's eyes widen as everyone hoots and hollers, anticipating the dare.

"Alright, Anton," Wonbin says, his voice dripping with mischief, "I dare you to make out with the hottest girl in the room."

The group falls silent, all eyes on Anton as he blushes furiously. You can feel your own cheeks heating up, heart pounding as you wait to see what he'll do. Anton looks around nervously, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than the others.

Anton hesitates, his mind racing. He can feel the weight of everyone's eyes on him, especially yours. The truth is, he already knows who the hottest girl in the room is to him, but saying it out loud and acting on it in front of everyone feels daunting.

With a deep breath, he glances at you again, the unspoken feelings swirling in his eyes. "I—"

But before he can finish, the group erupts in cheers and laughter again, breaking the tension. Anton, still flustered, grabs his drink and takes a large gulp, avoiding the dare.

You can't help but feel a mix of relief and disappointment. You give him a supportive smile, hoping to ease his nerves. Anton looks at you, his eyes filled with gratitude and something else you can't quite place. The game continues, but you and Anton share a few more glances, the unspoken tension between you growing stronger with each passing moment.

As the game progresses and the drinks flow, the atmosphere in the basement becomes increasingly lively. Laughter fills the air, and the group becomes more daring with each spin of the bottle. You’ve mostly opted for drinks over dares, feeling the effects of the alcohol start to kick in. Your inhibitions are lowered, and a warm buzz settles over you as you join in the fun.

It's your turn again, and you watch as Sohee gives the bottle a playful spin. It twirls around before slowing down and pointing directly at you. The room erupts into cheers and laughter, and you can't help but giggle nervously as all eyes turn to you.

Sohee grins mischievously. "Alright, ____, I dare you to kiss the most attractive male in the room."

You scoff, feeling emboldened by the alcohol coursing through your veins. "Pfft, easy," you say with a playful smirk.

Without hesitation, you turn to Anton, your heart pounding in your chest. His eyes widen in surprise, his cheeks flushing as he meets your gaze. The room falls silent, anticipation hanging thick in the air.

With a boldness you didn’t know you possessed, you lean in and press your lips against his, the kiss soft but filled with an undeniable electricity. Cheers erupt from the group as they watch in amazement, some even whistling and hollering in approval.

For a moment, everything fades away except for the sensation of Anton’s lips against yours, the warmth of his embrace, and the pounding of your heart. It feels like time slows down, and you lose yourself in the moment, forgetting about everything else but the connection between you and Anton.

When you finally pull away, breathless and flushed, the room erupts into cheers and applause. Anton stares at you, his eyes wide with surprise and something else you can't quite place.

Sohee claps you on the back, grinning from ear to ear. "Now that's what I call a dare!" he exclaims, earning laughter and agreement from the others.

As the cheers and applause die down, you begin to realize the weight of what just happened. Your heart races with a mix of nerves and excitement, unsure of what this means for your relationship with Anton.

Anton's eyes meet yours, his expression unreadable as he stands and reaches out to take your hand, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "Come on," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Let's get out of here."

You feel a pang of disappointment as Anton leads you away from the group, away from the pulsating energy of the party. A part of you wants to stay, to revel in the adrenaline rush of the moment, but another part knows that you need to talk, to figure out what this kiss means for your friendship.

But as Anton guides you up the stairs, you can't help but whine, dragging your feet like a child being dragged away from their favorite toy. "But I don't want to leave," you protest, your voice slurred from the alcohol. "I'm having fun."

Anton shoots you a warning look, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "____, we need to talk," he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly, you follow him into an empty bedroom, the noise of the party fading into the background. Anton closes the door behind you, and for a moment, there's nothing but silence between you.

"I..." Anton starts, his voice trailing off as he struggles to find the right words. "I don't know what this means for us, but... that kiss, it felt..."

Before he can finish, you cut him off with a giggle, swaying unsteadily on your feet. "Anton, you're overthinking it," you say with a drunken smile. "Let's just go back to the party."

But Anton shakes his head, a determined look in his eyes. "No, we need to talk about this."

You pout, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the seriousness of the situation. "Fine," you mumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

Anton sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He realizes that you're too drunk to have a proper conversation, too caught up in the moment to fully understand the implications of what just happened. With a heavy heart, he decides to abandon the conversation for now, knowing that it's pointless to try to reason with you in your current state.

Instead, he takes a deep breath and gently guides you out of the room, back towards his dorm. You stumble slightly, leaning on him for support as you navigate the streets together.

When you finally reach his room, Anton helps you onto his bed, tucking you in with gentle hands. You mumble a sleepy thank you, already drifting off into a drunken slumber.

Anton watches you for a moment, his heart heavy with uncertainty. He knows that things will never be the same between you, that this kiss has changed everything. But as he looks down at your sleeping form, a small smile tugs at his lips. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the beginning of something new.

With a sigh, he turns away, grabbing a makeup wipe to gently wipe off your makeup. He changes you into one of his oversized shirts and a pair of his boxers, making sure to avert his eyes as he does so.

Once you're settled, he takes a pillow and a blanket, making himself comfortable on the floor beside the bed. He knows that he needs to be there for you, to take care of you, even if it means sacrificing his own comfort.

As he drifts off to sleep, thoughts of you swirl through his mind. He feels nervous about what the future holds for your friendship, but also excited at the possibility of something more. And as he falls asleep beside you, he knows that whatever happens, he'll always be there for you, ready to support you through whatever comes your way.

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow into Anton's room. You slowly blink your eyes open, groaning at the pounding headache that greets you. As you try to piece together the events of last night, memories flood back to you in bits and pieces. The party, the drinking, the kiss...

Your heart sinks as you realize where you are. You sit up slowly, the room spinning slightly as you take in your surroundings. You're in Anton's room, and the memories of the drunken kiss flood back to you with embarrassing clarity. You feel stupid for letting things get out of hand, for letting your feelings show in such a reckless way.

As you start to get dressed, pulling on your pants with shaky hands, the door creaks open and Anton enters, carrying a glass of water and some pills. You freeze, your heart racing as you meet his gaze. There's a moment of awkward silence as you both stand there, unsure of what to say.

Anton breaks the silence first, holding out the water and pills to you. "Here," he says softly, his voice gentle. "You'll feel better after you take these."

You take the medicine gratefully, mumbling a small thank you as you swallow the pills with a sip of water. Anton watches you carefully, his expression unreadable as he waits for you to speak.

Finally, he clears his throat, his voice hesitant. "About last night...," he starts, trailing off as he searches for the right words. "I wanted to talk to you about the kiss."

Your heart sinks even further, and you feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. "Oh, uh... yeah," you mumble, trying to play it off casually. "It was just a stupid drunken kiss. We were both drunk, and I... I didn't mean anything by it."

Anton's gaze softens, and you can see the doubt flickering in his eyes. He takes a step towards you, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you mean that?" he asks, his tone gentle but insistent. "Or... do you have feelings for me?"

You feel a lump forming in your throat, and you struggle to find the right words. "I... I don't know," you admit, feeling flustered and exposed under his gaze. "It was just a... a stupid mistake."

But Anton knows you're lying, knows you're trying to brush off something that meant more to both of you than you're willing to admit. With a newfound confidence, he takes another step towards you, closing the distance between you.

"____," he says softly, reaching up to caress your cheek with trembling fingers. "I've loved you for years. That kiss... it meant everything to me."

You stare up at him in shock, your heart pounding in your chest. You're not sure how to respond, not sure if you're ready to face the truth of your feelings for him. But before you can say anything, Anton leans in, his lips capturing yours in a gentle, hesitant kiss.

For a moment, everything fades away except for the warmth of Anton's embrace, the softness of his lips against yours. As the kiss deepens, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer, Anton hums, his right hand slides under your hair to rest on your neck.

You quietly moan when he spreads your mouth with his and slips his tongue into your wet mouth. Anton’s fingers are tangled in your hair, his thumb resting on the side of your face. He tilts his head and deepens the kiss. He moans when he wraps his tongue around yours. He rests his other hand on the small of your back as he reclines you slowly, carefully, until you are laying down and he is hovering over you. He retracts his left hand from your back and starts to slowly rub circles on the inside of your thighs.

You slightly push him away feeling overwhelmed with all the new sensations but you know you need to tell him this before anything else happens, “I love you too.”

Anton smiles down at you and pecks your lips once more, “I love you more.”

In that moment you feel a sense of completeness wash over you, a feeling of rightness that you've never experienced before. As you lose yourself in his eyes, in the warmth and safety of Anton's embrace, you know that this is just the beginning of your journey together, the start of something beautiful and true.

#lee anton #anton imagines #anton x reader #riize anton #anton lee #riize chanyoung #riize scenarios #riize imagines #riize x reader #riize #riize fluff #lee chanyoung imagines #chanyoung x reader #chanyoung imagines #lee chanyoung #chanyoung fluff #riize anton imagines

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superblysubpar · 9 days ago

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series masterlist | chapter two

chapter summary: Steve brings his daughter to her first day of Kindergarten.

the song: My Girl by The Temptations

6,251 words | please see the masterlist for warnings! | my blog is 18+

Steve can’t be sure if the sigh that escapes his lips and clouds up in front of him is due to the anticipation of the inevitable sticky situation that’s about to occur or annoyance in himself for continuing to provide her the jam. He supposes it could just be a sigh of acceptance, finally coming to terms with the new and almost constant state of his hair lately. Most likely though, it’s just a content, tiny burst of affection.

Because that’s the overwhelming feeling that blooms in his chest when sticky, sweet strawberry smelling fingers land in his freshly styled hair. His eyes flit up from the green sparkly laces between his fingers to see her tiny lips forming her patented pout.

Hair a bit lighter than his, curls slightly in a mind of its own kind of way beneath little pig tails, bouncing just above shoulders that are tucked up to her ears as she tilts her head to look around his. Big, curious eyes that he claims are like her mom’s, but everyone is adamant are also a carbon copy of his too - just like her nose that scrunches all too familiarly, dotted with tiny freckles that seem to multiple every day.

Steve taps the side of Charlie’s ankle as he finishes the first bow, and she sticks her other foot out for him, yellow lights at the center of daisies flashing as she stomps it down on the gravel. He glances back up to find her eyes still trained on the playground behind him, the furrow between her eyebrows only growing deeper as her fingers tug in his hair - either for his full attention like it isn’t already on her, or the aforementioned jam predicament, he isn’t sure.

“Daddy?”

He finishes the second bow, and removes her hands from his hair gently, running his thumb over the back of her knuckles and he sighs again. She is so sticky.

Steve shakes his head at his own thoughts and releases her hands to search his pockets, the other chucks the side of his knuckle under her chin.

“Talk to me, Goose.”

Her pout disappears, a giggle slips past her lips just like always, but it’s not long lasting when a shriek comes from the playground behind him. Her voice lowers as she asks in a wobbly tone, “Who will do the underdogs?”

“Well, uh, I’m sure your teacher knows how to do them, cutie,” he reassures while his forehead wrinkles and he tries to determine if she’s looking for some reason not to go suddenly or if she’s just genuinely curious. She does take her swings seriously, so it’s not an out of the ordinary question.

Steve finds a napkin, and decides it’ll have to do for now, grimacing as the paper material hits his tongue.

“But what if she can’t, daddy?” Her voice whines as he continues his stand off with the sticky residue.

That’s it. He’s suing Smuckers.

He hums, squeezing her fingers that wiggle between his and the napkin doing absolutely shit all.

“Then we’ll just have to teach her, right? Everyone’s gotta know how to do the underdogs.”

Charlie huffs, but she shrugs her shoulders in some sort of agreement it seems. He wonders how someone so tiny can be full of such complicated emotions, curious thoughts, and brains that he absolutely can’t keep up with, yet still need her shoes tied and someone on jam removal duty most mornings.

Steve stares at her tiny hand in his palm, green sparkles on clear nails that make him swallow down something stuck in his throat, make his free hand run down his nose and swipe underneath it.

Don’t you dare cry, you fucking loser.

But he can’t help but feed the worm that’s been digging deeper and deeper inside of him for months: What if she’s not ready?

And he knows, he really knows, after all the long talks and preparation for this very moment, that it’s him who’s not ready, not her.

She’s so ready, and going to wow the socks off of every teacher with her brilliant and funny little brain and she is the greatest, most precious thing in the world and nothing bad is going to happen to her, dingus.

He recites it to himself over and over, verbatim what Robin told him as he tries to move on to her second hand. But as the gold heart shaped locket dangling from her neck hits his forehead, all he can think is, that starting today, the room full of people he trusts with her safety is expanding. And the problem with opening that door to the room is not Charlie exploring beyond the safe wall’s he’s built, it’s who can get in when he’s not there 24/7 to guard that door.

Visions of flashing Christmas lights, baseball bats meeting gray flesh, Russian guard’s hands and their beady eyes, potentially rabid bats and, you know, just the earth cracking in half and the world almost ending multiple times, while losing people he really cares about, threaten to overtake his mind and he huffs in then out, a quick and calming breath.

Steve wets the napkin with his tongue once more, but pieces of it stick to it this time and he sputters and blows a raspberry, and Charlie’s giggles soothe any worry that was climbing over him like writhing vines.

He let’s go of her hands and makes a bigger show of removing the wet clumps of cardboard tasting napkin from his tongue and coughs loudly. She laughs harder and his eyes widen and his mouth drops in a dramatic gasp.

“Are you laughing at your dad?” He jabs at her sides lightly, tickling and poking her while the napkin falls to the ground and she giggles harder. “Huh? That’s not very nice!”

Steve picks up Charlie, squeezing at her wiggling and gasping body as she laughs so loud he can’t even remember what he was so worried about. He blows a raspberry into her neck so she shrieks in a laughing protest, “Daddy! Too much…” she laughs and wiggles more, gasping around her words, “Too much happy!”

He’ll take the sticky fingers and messed up hair and cardboard taste in his mouth and worrying about another human more than he ever could about himself every day if it means he gets to hear that every once in awhile.

“Mr. Harrington?”

Steve spins at the sound of his name, slowing his tickling. As his body turns and he’s met with your smile, he nearly drops his kid.

You are so pretty.

His mouth goes dry, like the entire napkin is balled up inside of it. He’s sure his cheeks are turning pink from how warm he feels while staring at you. Your fingers wrapped around a bright yellow thermos tap at it while a clipboard rests wedged between your side and elbow. Your light gray tshirt is decorated with sparkly planets and the slogan “Kindergarten is out of this world!” and is tucked into a bright green skirt that he can sense Charlie eyeing appreciatively, though apprehensively from her new residence tucked into his neck.

He runs a palm down Charlie’s spine, reassuring her as you tilt your head and smile wider at her, your nose scrunching up when you do. It takes your kind eyes turning their gaze to him again for him to realize you’ve never met and you were asking if he was Mr. Harrington.

“H-hi. Yeah, I mean yes. I’m Mr. Harrington. I mean, I don’t, kids at school call me that, and I guess parents, but I mean that is my name. I’m Steve, Steve Harrington.”

He squeezes his eyes closed shut as if to erase that moment from existence forever. He can practically see Robin drawing a line on a whiteboard in the ‘You Suck’ column.

Your laugh drags his eyelids open, and it tugs at something inside of his chest that he thought disappeared a long time ago. Your hand extends and he bites his cheek, cursing all jelly and jam brands. He raises his hands up almost in surrender and Charlie clings to his neck harder, her face hidden in his shoulder as the back of her thighs balance in the crook of his elbow.

“I’m afraid we had a bit of a sticky jam situation this morning, so I don’t know if you want to proceed with a handshake.”

Proceed? With a handshake? Dude, you’re killing me here.

Your shoulders shrug, your voice all soft and smooth and a little sleepy as you joke, “They literally make us Kindergarten teachers take a class where they simply throw sticky substances at us, and if you flinch or grimace, you’ll never graduate. It’s all a part of the job.” Your hand clasps around his gently, but in a firm shake, as you introduce yourself, “I’m Miss Honey.”

He can’t help but notice the Miss not a Mrs.

Charlie perks up at your name, her forehead knocks his chin and he blinks rapidly from the sensation and her shout directly in his ear, “You’re my teacher!”

“I am?” You gasp, excited and smiling at her when you do and he thinks he might already be in love with you.

Charlie nods and then exclaims, “Daddy calls me honey!”

Steve fights a smile and his arm wrapped around her waist squeezes as he whispers, “How do we introduce ourselves?”

Charlie beams at him and slides down his front, foot pushing off of his thigh for leverage. She jumps to the ground forcefully, and almost trips and falls face first into the cement.

Steve’s already moving forward in anticipation of big crocodile tears, but stops himself when he sees you don’t move a muscle and simply watch her find her balance. He watches as you bite your lip in a way that tells him you’re hiding a smile as Charlie sticks her hand out towards you.

When you take it, she shakes it and takes a deep breath before slowly reciting, “My name is Charlotte Maxine Harrington. I live at six eight two Poppy Lane and my daddy’s phone number is seven six five four two…five-“

“Woah cutie,” he stops her, hands resting on her shoulders, and kisses the top of her head. “We don’t have to give her the whole speech, how about just the name?”

Crouched down to Charlie’s level now, you tilt your head at her, eyes widening as the tone of your voice turns to something syrupy sweet that he recognizes in the way he talks to her himself sometimes as you ask, “You memorized all of that Charlotte? That’s amazing! And there’s more? A whole speech?!”

She nods, eyes big and wide and voice excited as she hums, “Mhm. For policemans like Mr. Jim and firesmens like Uncle Eddie and teachers like Auntie Robin. Cause every-eveybody calls me Charlie, but if I’m scared and I need help they need my whole name and daddy’s phone number and if any food makes me itchy.”

Steve knows without a shadow of a doubt that not only are his cheeks pink, the tips of his ears are now too when you look up at him with raised eyebrows and something twinkling in your gaze. He clears his throat and focuses on his hand running through Charlie’s curls instead of you.

“Daddy’s gotta make sure his right hand gal’s got all the facts, right?” He kisses the top of her head again, inhaling her L’Oreal mangoes and strawberry and something distinctly his daughter that he is certain would be what the sun smells like if it could be bottled.

She tilts her head back, resting against his dark Levi’s so she can see him. Her grin is wide, showing off dimples she didn’t get from him as she nods again. “Right. Always be pepared.”

Steve brushes his thumb down her nose, and something stings behind his eyes again. He looks back over at you, slowly standing from your crouch with a fond gaze staring back at him. He swallows before his lips part, prepared to tell you that it’s all wrong. He’s not Steve Harrington, this is not Charlie Harrington, and no way is anyone starting Kindergarten today, but Charlie’s shriek never lets the words leave his mouth.

It’s like a bucket of ice cold water dumps over his head as he spins to watch Charlie race towards the parking lot, about to yell far too loud from fear, when she comes to halt right at the curb. Impatiently bouncing as her favorite person waves and runs towards her.

The familiar honey tinged red waves bounce as Robin scoops Charlie up in a hug that can only be comfortable for the two of them, all squeezing and no grace, kissing all over her face as she gushes and fawns over her like she literally didn’t see her last night.

“Hey babe! You look splendidly spectacular this morning! Did you do something different with your hair?”

“No!” Charlie giggles and spins once back on the ground, as if to show off her outfit. Which is pretty cute, if he does say so himself. Robin taps a finger to her chin. She holds up curls and circles Charlie, inspecting.

“Not the hair, not the hair…aha! Your nails! Green nail polish!”

Charlie shakes her head and puts her hands on her hips, and Steve relaxes as she tells her that Auntie Robin you painted them last night and how could she forget already, no it’s not that.

You’re watching him closely when he turns to look back at you, rubbing the back of his neck under your appraisal. Your smile all knowing as you reassure, “She’s gonna be fine, Mr. Harrington. Stopping to look both ways and being aware of cars is first week stuff, she’s a natural. And that speech? Time for you to relax.”

He knows he was never one for hiding how he felt from his facial features, but after having a kid and becoming a teacher, he’s had to learn to keep himself fairly composed. So he’s not sure if you can already read him that well or this is just the speech you give to all the parents. Nonetheless, he smiles back at you.

“I’ve never heard of that word before, what does it mean? Relax?”

Your laughter at his terrible joke makes something in his chest swell, almost as sweet of a sound as Charlie’s. He glances over to see Robin smacking her forehead and exclaiming that oh of course it’s the fabulous new green overalls.

“Also, call me Steve, please,” you smile politely and he knows you won’t, because he does the same thing to parents who tell him the same thing, “And I think it’s in that packet we had to fill out, but I’m a teacher over at the middle school, um, art, and so I’m only like ten minutes away if something happens, and she should be really good, she’s a great listener, but I know how she can be so please tell me. Seriously. And I know she didn’t do pre-school, but she’s so smart, she’s just struggling with her R’s and H’s sometimes, but I honestly think it’s because she talks so fast she just doesn’t care to slow down-“

Your fingers touch his wrist, catching it as he talks with his hands and he stops immediately, blinking at you with a held breath.

It’s like touching his skin shocks you and your fingers release from around his wrist quickly before you take a step back, shaking your head while biting your lip.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“No, it’s oka-“

“Dingus!” Wing woman extraordinare interrupts, “Why on earth did cutiepie here just tell me she did not get a picture in this fabulous first day of school outfit?”

He focus’ on the pair walking towards him hand in hand with a scowl he quickly hides, rolling his eyes at Robin when Charlie quips, “Yeah, dad!”

Steve rubs the side of his cheek, glaring at Robin as you make yourself busy with your clipboard. “Because, we were gonna be late after we were so focused on finding the green overalls, and the green hair ties, and the green shoelaces and the green-“

“Because green is the best,” Charlie interrupts while putting her hands on her hips as if it weren’t clear how exasperated she was with him from her tone.

Robin snorts from behind her and mirrors her pose before sticking her tongue out at him. “Yeah, dad!”

Your laughter reminds Charlie of your presence and she tugs Robin’s matching polished fingers with her own forward.

“Miss Honey, this is Auntie Robin. She lives at…um…oh yeah…four one three-“

“Woah kiddo!” Robin whispers and crouches down, looking around dramatically like a spy. “Does Miss Honey know the super secret password? ‘Cause, remember, only the friends who know the super secret password get to know where Aunt Robin lives.”

Charlie gasps like she’s just recalled this important fact and nods, face seriouos. Robin mimes zipping her lips, locking, then throws the invisible key over her shoulder. Charlie copies her, then promptly steps towards you and loudly whispers: “Pickles.”

Steve bites his cheek and Robin laughs, running a hand over her curls. “We’ll keep practicing the whole locking of lips thing, huh?”

“Kay,” Charlie shrugs before she tugs on Steve’s pant leg. “Daddy?”

“Yeah?” He watches her grip the side of jeans in her little fist and stare at the swings with that pout on her lips again.

“Can I swing?”

A lump in his throat forms when he looks up at you, you glance at your watch and nod with a smile.

“Sure, cutie.” He starts to take off her back pack straps and she’s already racing across the gravel and he calls out loudly, “Don’t forget to be nice to new friends! Take turns! Say please!”

“Tank you!” She shouts back over her shoulder.

Steve groans at it all, her racing away, her forgotten H. He watches her slow down as she reaches the swings and point to an empty one next to a boy already pumping his legs. He nods eagerly and Charlie talks animatedly with her hands as she climbs into the swing.

He lets all of his weight drop against Robin, Charlie’s backpack limp in his fingers when his temple knocks hers and he whispers, “I can’t fucking do this.”

Robin sniffles and his head whips up.

“Are you crying?”

She swats at his chest and avoids his gaze, “No. I have something in my eye. Both eyes. Like a branch or something. Just…” she holds out her hand and blinks blue eyes that have turned a little more shiny, “Give me your keys so I can go get the polaroid, ‘cause I know you brought it, you sentimental idiot.”

He drops the car keys into her palm and she quickly turns away from him before he can catch the tears slipping down her cheeks. When he turns back around you’re hiding a smile behind your thermos again.

Steve clears his throat and runs his thumb and forefinger down his nose, squinting at the playground.

“It’s okay to cry you know, most parents do.”

“I’m not,” he clarifies, words thick in his throat and a struggle to get out.

“Okay, I believe you,” yours easy and tinged with laughter.

“I’m not,” he begs, pleading with someone in the universe so the burn behind his eyes doesn’t fully form and fall.

You must hear it, and decide to give him an out, because you pull up your clipboard. “I actually did need to ask you a few questions, you were my last parent to snag before we all go inside. We never got your authorized pick up list? Just if you can’t ever pick up Charlie, who we’re allowed to send her home with? We tend to also use this as an emergency contact list if there was ever some reason we couldn’t get a hold of you.”

The word emergency makes his heart beat harder and he looks over at Charlie swinging to make sure he can still see her.

“Oh,” he nods, licking his lips as he thinks through it. “How many people can I put?”

“As many as you want,” you shrug before adjusting your coffee thermos in the crook of your elbow so you can write on the clipboard.

“Here,” he grabs the thermos, “Let me. I feel like if I let you spill coffee on that skirt, Charlie might actually never forgive me, as you heard, we’re in a green phase.”

He’s awarded that laugh of yours again before you whisper a quiet thank you. Your lashes kiss as you blink at him, pen poised on the paper. It’s when your eyebrows lift expectantly that he realizes you’re waiting for him to say something still.

“Oh! Um…honestly…” he looks at Charlie who’s smiling at Robin holding up the camera now and nods towards her. “Robin Buckley,” he lists her phone number before adding on, “She’s a teacher here, music, um, honestly she might be picking her up most days. I coach soccer here in the fall after school, so I should make it, but in the spring I’m over at the high school for baseball.”

“Okay great,” you smile as you finish writing her number and look up at him, “Anyone else?”

“I guess Eddie Munson?”

“The ‘firesmens’?” You ask as you write the name.

Steve laughs, fiddling with Charlie’s backpack in his hands, “Yeah, and I guess I should do Nancy too…”

He gives you both of their numbers along with Hopper and Joyce and he doesn’t even want to imagine what would be going on that you couldn’t get a hold of him, Robin, Eddie, or Nancy and had to resort to calling them. And what’s worse, if you couldn’t get a hold of them either.

“We almost never have to call even the second person on the list Mr. Harrington, she’s gonna be just fine.”

“Right,” he nods, but doesn’t really believe you.

“For relationship, Robin is Charlie’s Aunt is what I gathered?”

“Oh,” he laughs and rubs at his temple, “Um by blood? No. She’s just my best friend, but I mean, I guess, to Charlie, yeah. Closest person to having a real one I think.”

“Oh, okay, gotcha” you nod, glancing down at the list and writing.

Steve feels the need to clarify when you hover over Eddie and Nancy, and he isn’t sure why. “They’re married, shouldn’t have said that. And again, family friends I guess, but Charlie calls them Aunt and Uncle. And Jim and Joyce, do you know Hopper? The chief? Anyways, they’re just Mr. Jim and Mrs. Joyce, but they’re essentially her grandparents I guess? I don’t really know…”

Your face does that thing that he hates, the look like you wanna tell him you’re sorry, or you want to comfort him but don’t know how. And it’s not like he doesn’t appreciate where it comes from, he just hates anyone thinking he can’t handle it, can’t handle her, all by himself, or feeling sorry for him in any way. Because there’s nothing to be sorry for, not when he has her.

Your mouth parts, but before you can speak, thunder rumbles loudly overhead.

“Oh, shit,” Steve groans, looking up at the angry clouds. The clear morning sky slowly turning gray without him noticing and he looks over to see Charlie already running for Robin’s legs.

“Not a fan of thunderstorms?” You ask as you watch her and several other kiddos get scooped up by parents.

Steve shakes his head, lips turning down in a frown as Robin whispers in her ear and starts back towards him. “No, she really doesn’t. No matter what I say or do, nothing helps. I honestly don’t know where it came from, I don’t think it’s the loud noises of the thunder, we’ve never lost power…I feel so helpless. Or useless. Like I can’t fix it for her. ”

The smile you offer attempts to reassure, but Charlie’s eyes fill with tears and Robin rubs a hand down her back, looking over her head at Steve with worried eyes.

“Sorry, I gotta…” he apologizes but he’s already moving towards her and he hopes you understand.

Charlie’s sniffles grow louder as another rumble cracks overhead, burrowing her head into Robin’s sternum and kicking her shoes against her thighs so hard, the little daisies light up.

Robin grimaces at the rough kick, and Steve gives her a mouthed apology as he relieves her of her comforting duties. “Hey, calm down honey. I’m right here. It’s just the rain being a little loud, announcing it’s coming soon, remember?”

He watches you and Robin and some of the other teachers start to gently guide parents and kids inside, smiling and distracting from the incoming rain, and he starts to follow but Charlie wails in his ear as he gets further away from the car.

“Dad-dy, nooo,” she sobs, shaking her head, “I don’t wanna go.”

His eyes blur as he sets her down in the entryway, kids running past as parents give him kind smiles when they walk around them.

“What?!” He tries to sound excited, but he’s wavering, throat too tight and eyes burning, “Why don’t you wanna go now? You get to color, and meet new friends! You get to go play music with Robin!”

“But,” she hiccups around a big sob and his thumb catches a new fat tear trying to trail down her pink cheeks. “You-you leaving and and I don’t like the storm and-“

“I don’t have to leave yet! We get to go put your backpack away, and see your new classroom together. Can we do that? I was so excited to see where you get to sit and draw me pictures every day.”

He’s grasping at straws as she shakes her head no and tries to climb into his lap. And he doesn’t even care if he shouldn’t, he lets her. And he squeezes her and kisses the top of her head as he cradles her, walking deeper inside.

Steve whispers in her ear about how Miss Honey must be magic cause guess what? Char, your cubbie is green. How’d she know? And oh my gosh, no way, someone has a sleeping beauty lunchbox. All the while humming her favorite lullaby between the exciting things he hopes grab her attention. And soon she’s not crying anymore, wet lashes tickling his neck as she peeks at the things he’s pointing out. Soon she’s climbing off of his lap as he forces his voice to sound happy about her hanging up her power rangers backpack she just had to have, and holding his hand as she walks to the doorway of the classroom.

All the parents are gone, aside from a few taking last peeks at their kids drawing or playing and Charlie clings to his knee as he hesitates in the doorway himself.

You’re knelt on the ground pointing at some books with two kids when you spot them. He’s not sure what you say to them, but then you’re walking over to them and not even looking at Steve as you crouch in front of Charlie hiding behind his leg, your sole focus on her and making her feel better.

“Thank goodness you’re here, Charlie!” You tell her, thoroughly relieved, “I have the biggest hugest favor to ask you, will you help me?”

Charlie looks at you, and takes a step forward as she quietly asks, “Help?”

Your nod is so enthusiastic, and you reach out your hand for hers, waiting until she rests her fingers in yours to lace them together. “I heard you are your dad’s best helper, and I need help finding all of the green crayons, can you do that with me? There’s so many in this bin! We need them for a special project we’re going to do later.”

She’s about to nod, he knows she is, when lighting flashes outside, and despite the blinds being closed, she knows. Charlie flinches and starts to retreat but you sigh, and nod your head, smiling still. “I know, rain can be scary sometimes. Do you know what I like to do when it rains?”

Charlie shakes her head no, and you smile encouragingly at her as she gets closer and places both of her hands on your arm instead of holding your hand, squeezing close to your side. “I love to bake cookies. They make my house smell so good. What’s your favorite kind of cookie?”

“Um…” Charlie swipes at her cheek and looks around the room at kids playing and laughing. “Monstermashes.”

“Monstermashes? What are those? I’ve never heard of them, can you tell me what all goes in them while we find all the green crayons?”

She let’s you lead her to the table with the bin where two other kids coloring smile at her and say hi. She sits and you squeeze her shoulder as she tells you all about the cookies. It’s when you risk a glance at the door that Steve realizes he’s just standing there, crying.

Your smile is kind, but your head tilts ever so subtly, telling him to slip out while he can and he knows he should, but the fact that he doesn’t get to hug her goodbye or say have a great first day or I love you is ripping him apart and he squeezes his eyes closed.

He’s not sure how he makes it out to his car with how clouded his vision is, but he does. Thankfully he doesn’t have a sob leave his lips until the maroon door is slammed and his forehead presses to the leather wheel. He notices a little stack of polaroids under an orange post it that says “You sentimental idiot” on the passenger seat. He cries more when he sees the curled fingers around his. He cups his cheeks and slaps them, clearing his throat while muttering under his breath to get a grip.

And he does, eventually.

He goes to teacher workshop and sets up his own classroom and lesson plans and catches up with his co-workers. The thunder only lasts about a half hour, and then it’s just a normal rainy day, which he hopes you’ve managed alright with her. He only calls Robin once but that’s only because she yells at him that of course she’s fine, you think she’d let anything happen to that sweet angel? And he only grabs his keys to go early three times, but never makes it fully out to the car. He does have to take something from his little orange bottle when his breath isn’t quite right when lights flicker for no reason, but turns out it was just the custodian doing some checks. And then finally, it’s already time to go pick her up, and he’s not proud of this, but he speeds at least ten over the whole way there.

So maybe he’s a little early.

He’s slow to approach the classroom, and leans against the wall on the other side of the doorway, just out of sight. He hears your voice singing some sort of clean up song and the kids responding, he closes his eyes and tries to focus on if he can hear her. When the song is over, he opens his eyes to find you smiling at him from the doorway. Your shirt is stained, your hair messier than it was this morning. You’re clearly exhausted but absolutely overjoyed that this is your job as you call for anyone who’s favorite color is green to come grab their back pack. Charlie races towards the door with a few other kids and waves excitedly at him from her place in line.

When you tell them to grab their backpacks, she exits the room and leaps into his arms when he crouches down, expecting the hug. He squeezes her tightly, “Hey cutie, did you have a good day? I missed you so much!”

“So so so so good daddy, we played with cars and colored planets and Auntie Robin taught us a new song and and oh my gosh there’s too much happy to tell you.”

He gets a little choked up at that, a sob threatens to hiccup out of him that he tries to cover up with a laugh, kissing her cheek. “That’s so great! Go get your backpack, I think Miss Honey is waiting.”

“Oh!” She jumps out of his arms and skips to her cubbie, and brings it to you where you slip some papers into a folder, notably sparkly and green, into her backpack after you do the same with three other kids and three different colored folders. The others go sit down on a rug and you smile at him.

“Hi Mr. Harrington, Charlie had such a great first day! She was my awesome helper and she has some art projects to show you that I think you’re really gonna like. There’s also a note about what we did today for you in there, that also has some dates to keep in mind and it’ll always have announcements for things like snack rotations.”

Charlie tugs at his pant leg as Steve smiles at you, “Hold on, sweetie.” He runs a hand over her curls before turning back to you and lowering his voice, “Thank you. For this morning, but also, you know, the whole day.”

“It’s literally my job,” you joke, but you smile warmly at him, “But, you’re welcome. You just need to sign Charlie out and then you’re all set!”

You grab a binder from it’s place by the door and flip to the H’s, and hold it open for him. Typed up information about Charlie on top, and the dates of the month in a calendar for signatures, and at the bottom, the list of names. He gets a little emotional seeing: ‘Robin Buckley - Aunt’ and all the other relationships you’ve given instead of family friend.

Charlie tugs harder, this time on his belt loop and he laughs, picking her up. “Hey, I said hold on, what’s got ants in your pants, huh?”

She taps at his cheek, big eyes blinking at him as she whines, “Daddy, this is so impotant, I promise. No ants.”

“Okay,” he laughs, signing his name in the today’s box, “What’s up?”

“What are the crunchies?”

She asks it so seriously and he has no idea what she’s talking about, he looks to you for help.

You’re thanking the kids for the calm and listening bodies before you’re calling up kids who’s favorite animal is a penguin, so he looks at Charlie who’s waiting expectantly. “What are what?”

“The crunchies daddy. What are they? Miss Honey doesn’t know them.”

“Cutie, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What are crunchies?” He bends down with her to grab her backpack that’s still on the floor and he hears you laugh.

“Daddy the monstermashes,” Charlie whines, like he should know this.

“Oh,” he draws it out, “The M&M’s? The chocolate candy I put in?”

“No,” Charlie whines, and she turns to you with a pout. “Daddy doesn’t know too. It’s no use! Hopeless!”

He doesn’t know how or where she learns these phrases so quickly and how she uses them so correctly but he does know that he’s not alone in thinking it’s the cutest thing ever when you smile at her.

“Hold on, I bet we can figure it out together!” You tick off on your fingers as kids who love potato chips go to their cubbies and get their equally different folders and a second parent enters the hallway. He starts to wonder how many folders you bought to be prepared for all their different interests. Colors, animals, shapes, characters, sparkles and no sparkles. He wonders what else you did today.

“Let’s see, we have peanut butter…” Charlie nods and you gasp, “Is it crunchy peanut butter? Peanuts?”

She makes a face, much to his dismay they’re a creamy peanut butter household, so Steve shakes his head no and you tap your chin. “Okay, and it’s not the m&m’s or…” you smile at Steve, emphasizing the R’s in a way that tells him the very important letters were left out of the word, “Butterscotch.”

Charlie nods and the two of you are silent so he chimes in with, “Rice Krispies? The cereal?”

You smile and Charlie nods, “That’s it! Krispies!”

Crunchies, krispies, he has to give it to her, that’s pretty close. And from the way you react, he knows you knew all day, you just wanted to keep her distracted.

“I’m so glad we figured it out! I had such a great time learning with you today, Charlie, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Charlie nods and waves, shouting in his ear, “Bye Miss Honey!”

You wave back, smiling at the two as the next parent takes his place and you call up a boy named Matt.

Steve heads down the hallway, looping her backpack over his shoulder as he whispers, “Should we make Miss Honey some Monstermash cookies tonight? You can bring them tomorrow?”

Charlie shouts yes directly in his ear again and his hair gets trapped under her hand in her excitement and all he can do is sigh.

A content, tiny burst of affection, for sure.

#superbly subpar's writing #My Girl universe #steve harrington #singledad!steve harrington #teacher!steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington series #steve harrington fic

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sissyisawitch · 4 months ago

Text

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

Relationship: Ominis Gaunt x You

Summary: Even though the two of you are not on good terms after a certain event, you and Ominis decide to go and explore Salazar Slytherin's Scriptorium in order to help Sebastian. But you know what they say, danger helps to reconcile… but also to bring out the truth. Alternative : My take on the Scriptorium incident.

Word Count: ~5.5k

Author's Note: Hi! It's been a while... I haven't had much time for myself lately, so I've put writing aside. But summer's here, so I took the opportunity to finish this draft that I've had for far too long. And what better way to come back than with some Ominis fluff? Enjoy!🌞

Warnings: Major spoilers for the "In the Shadow of the Study" quest

“I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say ‘I love you.’”

You felt a wrench in your heart as you read those few words written by Shakespeare. It was astonishing how a few drops of ink on the page of a book, a simple garland of lines and curls drawn in different directions, could trigger disproportionate reactions. Did everyone else feel the same way, or was it just that you were too sensitive?

Or perhaps it was simply that these damn love stories reminded you that you had not had the right to your own, that the boy to whom you had offered your heart had given it back to you completely mutilated?

Another wrench in your heart.

‘It’s simple and concise for a declaration of love… but at least she had the right to one, and one that had the merit of being clear and direct to boot’, you could not help thinking as you reread your book.

Time had passed, but you still felt it all. The disappointment, the humiliation, the resentment that came with the sensation of having had your feelings played with, the hatred you felt towards yourself for having let yourself be fooled, not to mention the torrents of tears you had shed. But the most devastating feeling was undoubtedly the despair you felt when you remembered that you had absolutely ruined everything with one of the most important people in your life.

Ominis… Sweet, caring, beautiful Ominis… Your best and closest friend. And to think that three little words of love spoken a couple of weeks ago – the same ones you had just read – had been enough to destroy the strong bond between you two.

Once again, it was astonishing how a series of letters, a succession of various sounds, could trigger such a disproportionate reaction and write over months of shared moments of laughter, of little attentions to one another.

“So!”

You abruptly lifted your head from your book – which you were only skimming through – after Sebastian abruptly dropped down next to you on the sofa in the common room.

“Still moping around?”

“Nah, I’m in tip-top form, can’t you see?” You deadpanned, your voice brimming with irony.

“My, my. No need for the attitude.” Sebastian smirked at your feisty character.

Sebastian had got used pretty quickly to this new dynamic. He would have breakfast with you because you were both late risers. During the day, he would sit next to either you or Ominis depending on the class, making sure to maintain an equity. For example, he would sit with you in Defence Against the Dark Arts because he loved duelling you, and he would sit with Ominis in Potions so that he could help him. As for the evening, he would have dinner with Ominis, and then come back to see you once the blond had gone to bed.

In fact, without even exchanging a single word, you and Ominis had concocted a shared custody schedule of your best friend.

Sebastian continued, entirely oblivious to your reveries, “Anyway, I’ve got something to take your mind off things!”

You could not hold back the sigh that left your lips, “Another brilliant idea of yours, I presume?”

“And your presumptions couldn’t be more right.”

Sebastian proudly explained his latest discovery, that Salazar Slytherin had a secret Scriptorium here at Hogwarts. He was evidently determined to explore it, insisting that it might hold answers as to how to heal Anne.

So far, it seemed to be just another of Sebastian’s plans…

“…The only problem is that only a Gaunt knows where the entrance is… So we have to ask Ominis.”

You raised a dubious eyebrow at him, “This… is your brilliant idea to take my mind off things?”

“Oh, come on! It’s important to me! And if you don’t want to do it for me, then do it for Anne! You can tolerate his presence for a few minutes, can’t you?”

As you looked down and pinched the bridge of your nose, another sigh escaped you. It was becoming an unfortunate habit when you were around Sebastian.

You sighed once more, this time in capitulation, “Okay… I’m in.”

When a beaming smile started to tug at the corners of his lips, you immediately interrupted him with a menacing finger pointed at his chest.

“But! You do the talking. The less I talk to him, the better I feel.”

“Deal.” He replied with a mysterious glint in his gaze. “Come on, let’s get this over with. I’ll lead you to him.”

“What? Now?” You exclaimed with wide eyes. It had to be said that you had no desire to go, and that postponing the fateful moment until as late as possible sounded fabulous at the moment.

“Of course, now! Do you really want to do this in broad daylight and get busted by the teachers?”

“When you put it like that… Let’s go.” Without wasting another second, you got up from the sofa with a newfound determination that you had not suspected, but which Sebastian always knew how to awaken using the right words.

After climbing the spiral staircase leading out of the common room, Sebastian led you – if not dragged you – through various corridors of the castle which you were not used to venturing into, and which were very rarely frequented.

If you were reluctantly following, the boy accompanying you was as cheerful as could be. You could tell by the way he moved with haste, his steps almost bouncing. He looked like a young child who had just had one of his whims indulged (and, in a way, he had).

Sebastian suddenly stopped in his tracks and nodded his head towards Ominis who was standing on the other end of the corridor, “Go on, go convince him.”

You turned sharply towards him, giving him a disapproving look, “You said you’d do the talking!”

“Exactly, the talking, which I already did, and it didn’t work. So now, you go do the convincing.”

“Sneaky bastard.” You muttered under your breath, sending him one last murderous glare.

As you approached the mysterious blond, you could not help but analyse him from head to toe. His silky hair was as well-brushed as ever, giving him his typical elegance. He was leaning against a wall, the features of his face impassive, making you wonder what could be going on in that impenetrable, but undoubtedly fascinating, mind of his. Merlin, everything about him was so adorable…

Fuck. You could not go on thinking like that. You had to move on from him, even if it was going to take a colossal effort.

But… that did not mean you had to stop watching him categorically. No, you could continue to observe banal things about him, like the way he suddenly took a deep breath before his shoulders relaxed, while you were only a few steps away from him.

Before you could announce your presence, Ominis called your name.

“U-Um yes, hi… How… How did you know it was me?” You stammered awkwardly, still mentally unprepared to start a conversation with Ominis.

“Your perfume. I’ve got used to it. I could recognise it in a million.” He declared easily, as if it were the most banal thing to say to someone you had recently rejected.

“Oh…”

Upon hearing your long and awkward silence, his serene and composed appearance was quickly overwritten with his own discomfort, “Listen, about last time… I wanted you to know that I sincerely apologise. I should not have avoided you for so long and–”

“Let’s not talk about this, alright?” You cut him short, physically pained just by the memory of your last conversation. “I just want to forget this ever happened… Besides, that’s not what I came to talk to you about.”

“I’m listening.”

It did not take long to convince him to reveal the location of Salazar Slytherin’s secret room, just a few minutes at the most. After all, you knew Ominis like the back of your hand, so it was child’s play to find the words he needed to hear.

But that didn’t mean you kept talking to him afterwards.

Once you entered the Scriptorium, you did not utter a single word. Your demeanour, which had been warm and understanding a few minutes earlier, was now nowhere to be seen. Seeing you acting so silent, cold and detached, Ominis must certainly have thought you were unrecognisable. If that was the case, he did not show it. On the contrary, he was always trying to get as close to you as possible, all the while scratching the back of his neck, or running a hand through his hair nervously, as if he wanted to start a conversation but did not dare. For some reason that eluded you, he also insisted that you stay behind him whenever you entered a new room.

The only thing you knew for sure was that he was desperate to reweave the invisible string between the two of you that had been the source of your formerly close friendship. But there was a problem… it was still too early and too painful for you to mend it on your end.

So you simply solved the various challenges you came across, and eventually silently handed the letters you found from Noctua to Ominis, so that he could read them for himself with his wand (admittedly, you wanted to avoid him, but you still had enough compassion left to give him what was left of his late aunt). Meanwhile, you let Sebastian do the talking to lighten the mood (he had kept his promise after all). Everything was going well so far.

That is… until you entered a new room, and the stone door slammed shut behind you three, producing a loud crash that bounced off the walls.

“Merlin!” You cried out in fear.

“Yeah, I think we’re locked in.” Sebastian agreed nonchalantly.

“No! Merlin!” You repeated in panic but, this time, pointing at something on the ground with a trembling finger.

Sebastian looked down, and quietly gasped before holding his breath. Never in a million years would you have imagined that you would stumble across bones, and therefore be confronted with the fact that someone had died right in this very spot.

It was only then that you realised that the three of you were potentially next in line, that there was a possibility you might never get out of this room. At this morbid realisation, you froze entirely. You were unable to move, to think, to speak. It was impossible for you to react. It was as if, in a panic, your body had already accepted its fate and was getting used to the fact that, soon, it would no longer respond to anything.

The silence in the room lasted a second too long, and Ominis too began to panic, “Well, what is it?”

“…A skeleton.” Sebastian said coldly, although the grimace on his face betrayed him and showed that he too was in turmoil. “And Noctua’s last journal entry. She mentions being trapped here – blocked by an Unforgivable Curse.”

Because of the shock, you had not even registered that you had the remains of Ominis’s aunt in front of you.

For fear that your words would be clumsy and worsen the despair Ominis must be feeling, you decided it was better to remain silent and act instead.

Slowly but surely, you approached him. While he had his back turned to you, you wrapped your arms around his slim figure and hugged him from behind. It was not a gesture you would normally have made towards Ominis after what had happened between you two. But in view of the gloomy circumstances in which you found yourselves, you had found the strength to put your resentment aside.

And it had to be said that, underneath your unaffected exterior, you still had a huge soft spot for this boy. Letting him go through this ordeal on his own would simply have broken your own heart, as well as his.

“Ominis…” His name rolled off your tongue by itself.

You felt him stiffen at your touch, and you took in a sharp breath. In your eyes, it was just another rejection. He obviously did not want you by his side, both literally and figuratively. So, in an attempt to protect your fragile little heart, which had mistakenly let its guard down, you decided to let Ominis go.

But he stopped you.

“No. Stay.” He said firmly, though his voice sounded obviously shaken.

He held you back against him by grabbing your hand. He squeezed it, then pressed it against his chest with his own, just above his heart. His heartbeat echoed in your palm. You could feel it speeding up, matching the rhythm of yours, as if they were connected.

In response, you surrendered to the embrace by resting your head between his shoulder blades. However, once again, your touch had the effect of a painful electric shock on him, and he abruptly pulled away from you. This was just another example of how exhausting Ominis could be. He had always acted like this with you: one moment he was giving you hope that he was returning your feelings, and the next he was pushing you away.

Ominis moved away from you to get closer to Sebastian, shouting in a distraught manner, “This – is where she died. This is where we’ll die. I shouldn’t have listened to either of you!”

“Ominis, I’m truly sorry about your aunt. But I know what to do. It’s going to be difficult.” Sebastian replied in a calm, composed voice that contrasted radically with that of his friend.

Sebastian subsequently proceeded to explain his plan, that the Cruciatus Curse – the incantation for which was written on the floor – was to be used to open the next room. Knowing that Ominis categorically refused to be associated with the Dark Arts, and that you were unwilling to learn any of the Unforgivable curses, Sebastian’s last remaining option was to cast Crucio on you.

Ominis stared at him, speechless and dumbfounded, as if he had just uttered the most grotesque of abominations, “Are you out of your mind? Do you even realise what you’re saying? You want to torture your friend? Our friend!”

Sebastian raised his voice to match Ominis’s, “And you, can you think for two seconds? It’s either I hurt her temporarily, or I let her die in that shithole! And us with her! There’s no need to think about it, it’s a no-brainer!”

“And I’m telling you it’s out of the question! I won’t let you hurt her!”

“So what, then? We wait for you to come up with some wonderful solution where no Unforgivable Curse is involved? You know very well there’s no such thing! It’s Salazar Slytherin we’re talking about, you should have expected it.”

Sebastian paused, making the atmosphere even heavier. His tone had subsided, but you knew all too well that it did not mean that his anger had subsided along with it. Quite the contrary.

“You know something? For a guy who likes to control everything to the point of dictating other people’s choices, I think you’re being awfully passive right now.”

Though unseeing, Ominis’s eyes glared at Sebastian, looking daggers at him, “What exactly are you insinuating?”

“That you’re a control freak who’s got no balls.”

“Boys, stop it.” You tried to calm things down as you heard their voices escalate and their words sharpen.

But Ominis ignored you blatantly, to the point where you wondered if he had even heard you, “Oh, really? Do you want me to tell you what I think of you?”

‘‘Just you try!”

“You’ve become a complete nutter ever since Anne has been–”

“ENOUGH!”

Your outburst seemed to be just what was needed to put an end to the two boys’ cockfight. They both turned brusquely towards you, their eyes wide open. It had to be said that seeing you angry was already a rare event, so to see you furious with them was even more staggering.

“Enough.” You repeated firmly, sweeping your eyes over the two boys to make sure you had fully regained control of the situation. “Sebastian, shut up. You’ve gone too far. And you, Ominis, I don’t need you making decisions for me. It’s not your job to defend me.”

You gave Ominis a black look. It was foolish because he could not see it, but something told you that, somehow, he could still feel it. Especially with the double entendre in your words, which implicitly referred to how Ominis had rejected you, as well as all the bitterness you retained from it. It was petty, but you could not help yourself.

You then turned to the other boy, looking determined, “Do it, Sebastian. I’m ready.”

The brown-haired boy nodded and positioned himself in front of you. He raised his wand in your direction and concentrated.

“Crucio!”

A bolt of red light came out from the tip of Sebastian’s wand, and hit you square in the chest, right in the heart.

“NO!” You heard Ominis’s voice protest.

Was it really Ominis though? Maybe you had just dreamt it. You could not be sure, for every single one of your senses was overstimulated by an electric shock running through your body, and causing you to collapse to the ground on all fours. It was brutal but manageable, you thought.

Little did you know, that was only the preamble. The worst was yet to come.

Rapidly, every muscle in your body contracted, including those in your chest and throat, preventing you from breathing. The spell slowly left you suffocating, while the pain took care of absorbing what little energy remained in your body. It was as if a billion needles were sticking into every inch of your skin, sinking deeper and deeper with the aim of piercing your soul and finishing you off.

It seemed to you like this hell lasted for an entire hour, even though you were confident Sebastian would never let you endure this kind of torture for more than a couple of seconds.

And then it stopped. Though the remnants of the curse remained.

You had suspected that such a cruel curse was not going to leave you alone so easily. Still, you were not prepared for how agonising it felt.

Your ears ringing. Your vision fogged with black spots. Your anarchic breathing. Your body crumpling to the ground, inert. And all of this because of the lack of oxygen. All your senses were rendered nonfunctional, leading you to believe that you would remain in this state for the rest of your life.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian asked you with genuine concern in his voice, to which you nodded silently, your strength gradually returning.

Of course, Ominis was unable to see you, and began to get upset, thinking that you were still unresponding, “Of course not, Sebastian! Do you really think anyone can be alright after receiving the Cruciatus Curse?”

You wanted more than ever to say something to shut Ominis up. Or was it to reassure him? Probably a combination of both. Either way, the reality remained the same: you were still too weak to utter a single word. Your vocal cords were still paralysed from the agonised screams you had let out.

Thankfully, the door opening put an early stop to the boys’ bickering.

“It worked!” Sebastian exclaimed and immediately entered the room to explore it, leaving you alone with Ominis.

Ominis had no idea what to say to ease your pain. Unfortunately, he had already endured the Cruciatus Curse himself – and at the hands of his family to boot – so he knew how you might feel. However, no one had ever comforted him, so he had no idea what words would be likely to soothe you.

But if there was one thing his beloved Aunt Noctua used to tell him, it was that words come from the mind, and gestures from the heart. And it was always better to speak from the heart.

So Ominis let his heart guide him.

He knelt down beside you, and helped you to lie on your back, so that you would be more comfortable. But to your surprise, he did not stop there. He made you rest your head on his thighs, then stroked your hair with a hesitant hand. It was only after a moment that he spoke again.

“Can I be of any help?” He whispered, as if afraid of disturbing your repose while you were recuperating.

“H-Help–” Your weak voice got caught. You had to cough a couple of times before you could start again. “Help me stand up, will you?”

“You should take your time and lie down for a while. You just went through a lot–”

“I’ll survive.” You cut Ominis off abruptly, in a clearer but above all more irritated voice. You had had more than enough of his constant mood swings towards you, where one moment he could not be more doting on you, and the next he was acting as if he had never met you.

Ominis remained silent. You did not get the impression that he was hesitating over his next words, but rather that he was taking the time to digest how you had harshly refused his advice.

“…If you say so.”

“You know, I’m tougher than you think.” You kept the same cold, distant tone.

While he kept the same nonchalant and stoic tone, “I know.”

“Good.”

An awkward silence settled in, where you could do nothing but contemplate the ruins of your friendship. Where once stood a fortress of shared complicity and happiness, now remained only the vestiges of two acquaintances who were unwilling to rebuild what they had once known in the past.

To put an end to this heart-wrenching moment, you headed for the next room, without adding a word. Ominis followed suit, guided by his wand which pulsed red light at its tip.

“Guys? Care to lend me a hand, or do I have to explore this room all alone?” Sebastian called out without ceasing to rummage through Salazar Slytherin’s belongings.

You were about to answer when you suddenly saw Ominis stride resolutely in front of you. The frown on his face was unmistakable, as were his tense features.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve asking us for help! Not only did you just cast the Cruciatus Curse on your friend, but you didn’t even have the presence of mind to ask me if I was all right after finding my aunt’s bones!”

Ominis’s anger only seemed to have the effect of amusing Sebastian, “I thought it was stupid to ask someone if they were okay when it’s obvious they’re not.”

“It’s a question of common sense, Sebastian! If you had any, you would have realised that it would be best for you to lie low for a while and fend for yourself.”

“Excuse me for not being perfect. Not everyone can be a saint like you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sebastian.” Ominis visibly cringed upon hearing his friend’s words.

But it only made Sebastian’s smirk grow wider, “For once, you’re right. I’m being ridiculous. You’re far from being a saint, because if we’d listened to you, we’d be rotting in the previous room, and we’d be letting Anne die too, since you’ve also given up on the idea of curing her, just like everybody else.”

“Don’t start that again. You know perfectly well I haven’t given up on her, or else I wouldn’t be here having this nonsensical conversation with you.”

Sebastian’s arrogant smile fell, “Oh, stop it, Ominis! We both know you’re not here for Anne, but you’re too shitscared to admit it to yourself. Which goes to show, even when you’re already blind, you can still be blinded by fear.”

“SHUT UP!” Ominis roared in a deeply enraged way that you had never heard before, to the point where it made you recoil. “You’ve gone too far this time, Sebastian!”

Still frightened by the turn this argument was taking, you decided to intervene, “Guys, please don’t start fighting again. We’re all on edge and–”

“Come. We’re leaving.” Ominis announced sternly, holding out his hand for you to take.

“W-What?” You stammered, bewildered.

“You heard me. Are you coming, or not?”

You had never heard Ominis give you or anyone else an order in this way. Confused as to where this excess of chauvinism was coming from, your instinct advised you to go with the flow. You took his hand – not without shooting Sebastian an apologetic glance – and let the blond boy guide you out of the Scriptorium.

Except that once outside, he continued to drag you through the corridors, towards what you recognised as the direction of the common room. Holding your hand so tightly to the point where it was almost painful, he walked ahead of you at a run.

“Ominis, not so fast.” You requested, but your plea fell on deaf ears.

“How dare he speak to me like that, and insinuate things he has no knowledge of? After everything I’ve done for him! He truly deserves to be left alone; it would surely teach him a valuable lesson. Although… if he was left unsupervised, I’m afraid he’d do even more stupid things. I don’t know what more I can do to get him to listen to reason– What am I saying? It’s not my duty to keep an eye on him. He should just fend for himself for a change!” The blond Slytherin kept rambling, spiralling out of control.

At this stage, nothing and nobody could stop him from getting worked up over Sebastian. He was so consumed with his anger that he was completely oblivious to your distress at walking, your legs still suffering from the aftermath of the Cruciatus Curse. You found it hard to keep up with his rapid pace without tripping over your own feet.

“Ominis–”

What was bound to happen did happen. Your legs gave out, and you found yourself on the cold, hard stone floor, which was undoubtedly going to leave several bruises on your skin. A blush of embarrassment crept up on your cheeks. The only good thing was that the sound of your fall had startled Ominis, who stopped and turned towards you.

He came dangerously close to you, “Pardon me if this is improper, but I can’t let you go on like this.”

Next thing you knew, you were off the ground, lifted by Ominis’s strong and protective arms. He held you securely against his chest, and with a newfound reflex, you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Your blush intensified, but this time it was because of your racing heart. You were speechless, taken aback, and mind going blank at the realisation that one of your dreams – to be in Ominis’s arms – was coming true, but not in the right circumstances.

“I’m sorry. I was too worked up to notice you were having trouble walking. I should have paid more attention to you.” He apologised as he resumed his walk.

Once in the common room, you thought he was going to put you down at the bottom of the stairs leading to the girls’ dormitories, so that you could go and rest, but instead he went and settled himself on one of the leather sofas opposite the fireplace, the exact same one where you had been sulking a couple of hours earlier. He sat down, cradling you in his lap, while his arms tightened around you a little more, as if he feared you might suddenly decide to break free of his embrace.

Assuming you were going to stay in that position for a while, you rested your head on his chest. You could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ribcage. Your best guess was that he was still on edge after what had happened with Sebastian.

Trying to soothe him, you murmured, “Don’t be too hard on Sebastian… He’s only ready to do anything to help his sister.”

Ominis let out a long, fed-up sigh, before replying, “And can’t you see that this is precisely the problem? He’ll do anything – even hurt you – and I can’t let him.”

“He hasn’t hurt me, Ominis.”

A frown was beginning to form between his brows again, “Oh really? Because receiving Crucio was a pleasure cruise for you?”

“He had no choice.”

“We always have a choice. This time it was Crucio, but what will it be next time? How do I know he won’t cross the point of no return?” Ominis raised his voice. He got so carried away with his anger that he failed to notice that he had started stroking your thigh with his thumb.

“He told me he would never hurt me.” You answered in an unwaveringly serene tone.

“And yet he already did. He’s a hypocrite.” He snarled. “Actions speak louder than words.”

You quirked an eyebrow, “Does this apply to you as well?”

“What do you mean?”

“Here you are, caressing my thighs after carrying me in your arms, and yet you still claim to see me as nothing more than a friend.”

Caught in the act, Ominis’s hand froze, as did the rest of his body; he even seemed to be holding his breath. He pressed his lips into a thin line, as if trying to seal them shut, for fear they would say something that would put his life on the line.

“Come on, Ominis. Now’s the time to tell me what you really think, don’t you think?” You said, giving him the last little push he needed to confess everything.

“…All right. I lied. Of course I have feelings for you… How could I not? You’re so considerate and graceful… But those feelings come with fear. Fear that you’ll be disappointed in me, that you’ll realise I’m nowhere near good enough for you, that you could find a thousand men better than me. But what I’m most afraid of is being with you. Because believe me, darling, if one day I have the honour of tasting your lips and your caresses, I know that I’ll never be able to live without you ever again.”

For the umpteenth time that evening, Ominis blew your mind in ways you had never imagined. And the worst part – or rather the best part, given the circumstances – was that he had no intention of stopping there. He had so many feelings in his heart that begged to be verbalised and brought to light.

“You made me want to get up in the morning again, if only to hear your voice for a split second. Before I realised it, you hadn’t just become more than a friend, you’d become my reason to live.”

With infinite delicacy, Ominis took your dainty hand in his, feeling the warmth of your skin against his. Slowly, as if to prolong this magical moment, he brought your hand to his lips and placed a light kiss on it, full of tenderness and respect.

“You are both my greatest desire and my greatest fear. Don’t you see how illogical this is? You’ve made me lose control, and I happily let you. I hope this is proof enough of how enamoured I am of you.”

Although you had regained your composure and your vocabulary, you still kept quiet, but this time it was on purpose. You had a very specific idea in the back of your mind.

“I’m begging you, love, say something.” Ominis’s trembling voice implored.

You replied, without the slightest hint of what you were thinking in your tone, “Actions speak louder than words, Ominis. Your words, not mine.”

Ominis did not need to be told twice, although he did take his time to make sure he did things the right way. His hand, which was still resting on your thigh, was trembling from the torrent of emotions running through him. With his fingertips, that same hand skimmed the contours of your body, and moved up to cup your cheek, sending shivers down your spine at the same time. You closed your eyes to savour the contact and understand a little better what the boy in front of you was feeling.

With his thumb, he sought out your lips, before tracing them to fully appreciate their voluptuousness. He felt the smile that had just appeared on your lips. Encouraged by this sign, Ominis leant towards you, his heart beating wildly. As he drew closer, your breaths mingled.

At last, your lips met, timidly at first, then with a passion that had been held back for far too long. This kiss was a moment suspended in time. The world seemed to stop around you, giving way to the magic of that perfect moment.

And suddenly, all the Shakespearean love stories you had ever read seemed derisory. Mere words of love were not enough, were no longer enough, now that you had tasted the unctuous proof of love from the handsome, touching blond boy who electrified your skin with the slightest touch.

Who needed a trite, dull ‘I love you’, when you had the loving touch of Ominis?

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt fanfiction #ominis gaunt fluff #ominis gaunt angst #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy fanfic #fanfic

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forcemeanakin · 1 year ago

Text

𝗙𝘂𝗰𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱 ('𝘀 𝗱𝗮𝗱) - 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝟮

•WARNINGS: Semi-smut. Age gap !!! Infidelity kink !!! (you’ve been warned, so if you do not agree pls leave because I’ll delete any hateful comments about this). Dirty talk, teasing in a public space, voyeurism, make out session. Mentions of an unhappy relationship/divorce/troubled marriage.

Pairing: dilf!Anakin Skywalker x female!reader.

Series Summary: Luke takes you home for Life’s Day. On the edge of giving up on you two, Skywalker manages to light up a fire inside of you again. Problem is… wrong Skywalker.

Part Two Summary: After your little moment with Mr. Skywalker last night, you’re determined to persuade your father-in-law into fucking you. Right on the dinner table with everyone else around. Including your boyfriend.

Word count: 3.5K.

Link to Part One

A/N: NOT PROOFREAD, english is my second language, so please be gentle. If there are any mistakes, pls let me know in private so I can correct them, thanks :) Also I have a serious issue between differentiating “in” and “on” situations, so bare with me lmao.

I’m super excited to announce that I’m very motivated to continue the journey of this pairing, so I’ll be turning FYBD into a series! :) but please be patient! I don’t usually deliver short fics, that’s why it takes me so long to post ! (also look at me trying to polish my themes, omg who am I?)

NEXT PART WILL BE PUBLISHED ON SATURDAY !!!! <3 Consider this as a Part 2.1. If you wanna be tag on it, leave me a comment below :)

“Alright, everyone gather at the table! Dinner 's ready!” Padmé yelled, placing the last set of plates while Leia dropped the center piece.

“Sugar, you look like a million bucks.” Luke complimented your outfit while you finished up accessorizing, hiding your eye roll by clipping your earrings.

Last night, you eventually made it to bed with him, feeling uneasy the rest of the night. You gave Luke your back, refusing to cuddle or respond to his arms wrapped around your waist. Tossing and turning, every time you shut down you dreamed about Anakin and his lustful orbs. And, unlike someone with common sense, you didn’t feel guilt from your forbidden target. No, it riled you up even more.

Being spooned by your boyfriend while thinking about his dad.

The naughtiness of it was a thrill you didn’t want to stop chasing.

“Is that dress new?” From the moment you woke up to this very instant, Luke hadn’t stopped apologizing and drowning you in compliments and demonstrations of affection.

Yet you still hadn’t responded to him with the same tenderness, prolonging your fight. The reality was that you had already forgotten all about the “slut” bomb, but staying angry at him somehow justified daydreaming about fucking Anakin.

“Thank you.” You replied coldly, checking yourself one last time in the mirror, turning around to make sure the back side wasn’t wrinkled.

You had chosen the tight, long, black dress even before making it your personal mission to seduce your boyfriend’s dad. You were now thanking Y/n from the past for packing something so flattering and form fitting to this particular event. It’s not like you were out of place, everyone was dressing up as well.

“Guys! I’m not calling you again!” Padmé rushed.

“Y/n I don’t want us to keep fighting… Not this weekend, please?” Luke caught your attention by trapping your hands inside his palms. “I’ll do better. Be more adventurous for you…” He murmured, caressing your arms with tenderness. Arching an eyebrow at your cleavage, “Maybe make it up to you tonight?”

Disappointment settled in your chest at the prospect of not spending the night with Anakin.

“Sure.” You faked a smile. “I’d like that.”

“Great.” He kissed your cheek, missing your horrorized face. “Now, after you, m’lady.” He exaggerated a bow for you to walk in front of him.

You snorted, “You’re such a dork.”

Luke escorted you to the table, pulling your chair to sit right in the middle of him and the empty head of the table. Right in front of you was Padmé, with a gorgeous light blue gown and beside her was Leia, who was trying to sit down Han at the other head of the table.

“I don’t want to sit right in front of your dad!” He whispered-yelled, being harshly pushed by his girlfriend to sit his ass down. To be such a tiny person, she sure was strong.

“Try to bond!” She whispered back, fanning herself so the sweat wouldn’t ruin her makeup.

“I'll get food poisoning” He huffed, crossing his arms in a childish manner. “And he’ll puke in my face.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, accepting Padmé’s offering of a glass of wine while observing Han’s pout.

“Easy for you to laugh, newbie.” He scoffed with his usual feistiness. “Could you please do something despicable so he hates you instead of me?”

Oh, you sure had done something to scare him off.

After he practically ran away from you at full speed, you hadn’t seen him all day. Leia and Han adopted you the whole morning, taking you to pick up some stuff for dinner and showing you around the area. Luke joined in at lunch time, after dealing with a way-too-long call from his friend Din. And even when you came back to the house, Anakin was secluded in his little cave, his personal workshop, in the back of the house and hadn’t showed up at all.

“Y/n, love that dress, you’ll have to lend it to me.” Leia complimented mid sip.

“Manners, Leia.” Padmé scolded her, head moving in disapproval as she set her napkin on her lap.

“You can borrow it whenever you want.” You winked at the short girl, earning a heartfelt smile.

“It’s perfect for my funeral.” Han dramatically threw himself on the backrest.

“Han, I can’t think of something I could do that would make him dislike me more than you.” You joked, cracking a breadstick.

Yes, you could.

“Maybe you could kick R2. At least that’s what Han did.” Luke snorted, Han’s head snapping to send daggers to the blonde.

“I didn’t kick R2!” Han raised his voice while wincing.

“Yeah, you did.” Leia murmured under her breath.

“I accidentally fell on him! How was I supposed to know that he was behind me?” Han freaked out, dramatizing the scenery. “Oh, who am I trying to convince? You already made up your mind about it.” He dismissed the potential debate, shooting the rest of his beer.

“Han, you’re overreacting, he doesn’t hate you.” Padmé reassured him with a soft smile. “That much.” She said under her breath.

“How bad could dad actually be?” Luke rolled his eyes, picking one of the entreés to stuff into his mouth in one bite.

You googled him while you were supposed to be showering: the “Hero with No Fear” had enough battles, manslaughtering and war crimes under his belt for Han’s panic to have grounds, your deep investigation showed.

“Ha! You haven’t endured his bullying for two years.” Han crossed his foot over his knee.

“And counting.” The voice that had you clenching around nothing boomed through the air, his figure appearing just when Han was about to eat a piece of breadstick, immediately choking. “Good, now I don’t have to do it myself…” Anakin muttered under his breath.

Anakin’s eyes widened when he distinguished that the seat reserved for him was right by your side. His usual seat was always at the head of the table, but having you at arm's reach was exceptionally dangerous after the occurrences of last night. It felt like all his hard work of avoiding you all day was just thrown into the trash with a single sweep. He convinced himself that he had to push through dinner, eating faster than usual and quickly returning to his workshop and wait until everybody left the dining room, so he could safely seek refuge in his bedroom.

Nonetheless, faith had a different path for him. One of painful blue balls and heavy sweating.

Why did you have to wear that dress? Was it indeed appropriate for a family dinner or was it just him thinking too much of it with the head inside his pants?

And why were you smirking at him like he was the meal you were about to devour?

“Anakin, good, you’re here. Let’s say grace so we can properly start eating.” Padmé announced, glaring at her son that was currently on his third appetizer.

Padmé thanked the Maker for having the whole family here, making special emphasis on being grateful for you this year, the new member of the family. You popped an eye open, and voilá, Anakin was staring at you while her wife praised you to the rest of the table. Separating your palms from praying position, you dropped one on top of his, careful not to make a single noise. You drew random figures inside his palms with your nail, biting your lip as you checked him out. If his handsome face wasn’t enough already, he was wearing a full suit, black tie on top of a white buttoned up.

Perfect to rip apart.

“And please bless this delicious meal that it’s about to feed us… Amen.” Right before she could pronunciate that final word, Anakin had slapped your hand away. “Alright, let’s dig in! Ani, honey, could you do the honors and carve the turkey?”

Whatever that would keep him away from temptation.

Getting up, Anakin picked up the utensils, turning the turkey around to cut into it. Doing the proper round, he asked every single person their meat preferences before making the incision, starting with his wife. Anakin quickly ruled that him with knives and using his strength to lash a large piece of meat wasn’t the best evasive mechanism when he spotted you drooling over his flexed bicep.

“Dad, I want a leg.” Leia requested, passing up her plate to him.

“Sure, darling.” Anakin propped the leg on her plate carefully. “Good choice.”

“I want one too, please.” Han put his plate up in his direction.

Anakin glared and huffed, but eventually dumped the requested piece on Han’s dish. “Fucking child…”

Giving up, Han dropped on his chair, violently biting the leg. After Luke picked white meat, Anakin had no other choice but to pay attention to you.

“Y/n-” He cleared his throat, ignoring your subtle attempt to press your cleavage against the table so your tits would pop into his vision. “How do you like your meat?”

Anakin regretted that question the second he formulated it. Although, he was appreciative that the brawl between the twins deprived everyone else from your answer.

You offered your plate to him, wide doe eyes as your foot grazed his shin. “I like my meat tender.” Your velvety voice sent an electric wave directly to his groin.

The rest of the dinner was no better.

Playing footsie, curling your hair with your finger, glancing at him longer than necessary, more lascivious than necessary. There was this particular moment that still had his mind-blown: You, leaned over to Luke to whisper something in his ear, gaining a laugh from him in complicity and sealing the adorable scene with a quick peck, all while your sandal made its way up to an escalating boner inside Anakin’s underpants.

“Pass the salt, please.” Anakin requested out loud, clearing his throat, seeking a distraction.

But you were fast as a bolt.

“There you go, sir.” Flashbacks from your face all flustered calling him that kicked in, the salt shaker falling from his hand at his nervousness and the contact of your hand.

“Y/n, question.” Leia broke through the madness of noises.

“Of course, shoot.” Anakin was amazed at your ability to smile like nothing was happening underneath the table, like you weren’t trying to touch his thigh underneath the table cloth with the hand that wasn’t supporting your chin.

“What’s your major? I think I haven’t asked you that yet.” Leia swallowed a spoonful of sweet potato casserole.

“I’m a psych major.” You drank a bit of your wine.

“Oh, that solves the mystery. You’re dating Luke as an experiment, aren’t you?” Leia mocked, earning a kick from her brother. “Auch, laser brain!”

“Leia!” Padmé scolded her.

“My God, have you been psychoanalyzing us this whole time?” Han stopped chewing his biscuit as he stared deep into your soul. “How bad is it?” He was dead serious.

“Oh my- No! No! I haven’t, I promise.” You totally had.

“Could you please prescribe something to mom so she relaxes once in a while?” Leia begged. “Or give her a session, whatever works.”

“Bet you are thrilled to hear Y/n is a psychologist, huh, sir? Know how much you love shrinks, Mr. Skywalker.” Han’s sarcasm revealed -in a very obvious way- how much Anakin did not like your profession.

“Still better than being a smuggler.” Anakin bit down on a piece of meat with venom directly right at Han.

“Oh, dad!” Luke exclaimed. “You should do dad!”

You grinned at the way Anakin almost spit his drink.

“I’m so open to that, sir.” You turned to meet the former Jedi’s face and smirked with mischief at Anakin’s knuckles turning white on his grip on the chair.

“Do you do the little shrink couch thing?” Han wondered with his mouth full.

“I mean, if the patient wants to lay down while I do all the work, that’s fine by me.” You laughed innocently, batting your eyelashes to Anakin the second everyone got distracted trying to guess what you would diagnosed Han with.

Sensing Anakin’s heavy breathing, you did the whole charade of dropping your fork onto the floor, obliged to pick it up. As much as Anakin tried to nervously hide the bulge in his pants, you confirmed that your little game was in fact working. You sat back on your chair with a victorious snicker.

“Oh, c’mon dad! Let Y/n work her magic on you! You bottle so much stuff, it’s good to let them out.” Leia reasoned, completely missing the panicked face of the woman that gave birth to her.

“Suddenly, I’m full.” Anakin announced, cleaning the sauce off the edges of his mouth and tossed the napkin to his plate, getting ready to leave.

“You can’t go, we haven’t had dessert yet.” Padmé frowned, signaling with a harsh glare to sit back down.

“Why don’t Luke and I take care of that?” You stood up, picking up the empty plates around.

“Oh, no, sweetie, you’re a guest-”

“No problem at all! Please let me take care of you.” The fact that you said that while collecting Anakin’s plate was a true coincidence.

“Only if you let Han and I wash the dishes!” Leia negotiated, following her mother’s welcoming values.

“Shut up, I bet they were going to do it anyway.” Han grunted with gritted teeth.

“We’ll be back with dessert.” You declared, dividing the tower of plates and walking to the kitchen with your boyfriend.

While Luke threw away the leftovers, you came back to scoop up the rest of the plates with the side dishes and so. You surveyed everyone about their dessert preferences, until you reached a spot next to Anakin.

“Padmé, back me up here! Wouldn’t it be cool if we save money on rent and live in the Falcon?” Han upped his voice to match Leia’s.

“I'm not living on a ship that’s falling apart, Han!”

“It would be an adventure every day!”

Sliding by Anakin’s side to hoist up the gravy bowl, you briefly grazed his shoulder with your chest, excusing the lame contact by your need to stretch for the dish. While you were leaned over him, the low-cut of your dress exposed to his delight, you turned your head and asked him:

“Would you like dessert, sir?” No one would figure that your question had any double meaning, but Anakin knew the filthy desires your eyes hid.

“Not for me, thanks.” He smiled curtly, doing a superhuman effort not to fall into the teasing of your playful peaks behind the tight fabric.

“Are you sure, Mr. Skywalker? The pie’s so soft and warm, very creamy. Baked it myself.” Anakin visibly shuddered, inhaling sharply as he closed his eyes while gripping the armrest.

You grinned, thanking your hair for covering your expressions to the rest of the family so you could bite your lip lecherously.

“On a diet.” He spat, playing with his fork to avoid the magnetic pull of your wanting eyes. And if you hadn’t taken the hint, he rubbed his eye with his left hand, showing off the gold band in his ring finger.

“Please, it’s cheat day.” You curved your lips into a smirk, feeling clever at the pun. “Just a taste? Bet you’ll love it.” That tortuous glint in your eyes. It had him, it had him good.

“He’s always playing hard to get, Y/n. Bring him a piece!” Padmé interrupted the moment, smiling at you and Anakin, unaware of the tension she had just cut off.

“I see that.” You finally left the table, not without grazing his back with your swaying hips.

“You know what? I’ll help you with these.” Anakin barked, standing up and picking the few dishes left.

“Oh-” You stiffened at his huge figure walking towards you. You were not prepared for him to bite into the trap. “Not necessary, sir. I’ll come back for the rest.”

“Let me. It’s the least I can do.” Standing in front of you, he raised his eyebrows to hurry you.

Nervously, you made your way to the small aisle before the kitchen, feeling the powerful pounding of your heart. His presence hung heavy behind you and suddenly the bravery you had flagged during supper had magically disappeared, the only trail it left were your jelly legs. Mere feet from the kitchen door, you felt a pull from your waist, your back stamping against the wall.

“Is this funny to you?” Anakin glared at you, pressing your torso enough to threaten your ability to breathe. “Trying to break up a marriage, being the homewrecker of your boyfriend’s family? While he’s at the table?”

You tried to escape, fighting against him for your release. But if the enlarging of his nostrils was any sign, you were not going anywhere anytime soon. It was time to summon that feistiness back.

“You can’t mess up something that’s already broken.” You snapped, squinting your eyes. “Why are you really here Anakin? To tell me off?” You cocked an eyebrow, glancing down at him. “You don’t seem rather convincing.”

Being between a rock and a hard place had a whole other meaning when you were sandwiched between the wall… and Anakin’s crotch.

“Stop it.” He demanded, seeing the way you put aside the dishes on a nearby table to play with the lapels of his suit.

“That’s not what you were saying last night.” You grazed your lips against his chin, enjoying the quivering that came from it. “Why do you fight it, Anakin? And don’t pull up your lame excuse of a marriage, when we both know that’s not the reason.”

Anakin pushed you by your throat, your head hardly banging against the wallpaper. He overlooked your whining, taking advantage of your dizziness to get his point through.

“Forget me, Y/n. All about me. All that happened.” He warned in a deeper voice. “For my sake. For yours.”

“Tell me you don’t want me, Anakin, and I’ll stop, hell, I’ll fucking leave.” You murmured with a fire in your eyes letting him know that you weren’t joking around. “Just say the words and I’ll be out of your face.”

Disappointment settled in Anakin’s chest at the prospect of not seeing you anymore.

So he stayed silent, waiting for the duel inside his head to end and speak the winner’s name: lust or reason. Luke’s voice calling for his girlfriend helped the struggle come to a conclusion.

“You haven’t answered the question.” You reminded him, to his disdain. “I want you, Anakin, you-”

“Forget me, Y/n. It may be too late for me, but there may be salvation for Luke and you.” He advised, pushing the plates back to you, stepping back.

“Y/n! I need help over here!” Luke again.

“Alright. Loud and clear, sir.” You spat, brushing past Anakin while he still stared at the floor.

Marching down to where the voice was calling you, you encountered Luke elbow deep into the water.

“Hey, you brought the rest of the-”

“Did you mean it? When you said you wanted to be more spontaneous?” Your breathing was irregular from the adrenaline rush.

“What?” Luke frowned, drying up his forearms with the hand towel.

“Kiss me, Luke. Kiss me now.” You demanded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing against him.

“It’s everything okay? Why-”

“Luke! Please.” You purred on his ear, peppering smooches along his cheek. “Kiss me, please.”

Once Luke caught up with your level of neediness, he delivered the antidote for your hornyness. Hands fixed on your hips, Luke’s lips found yours and played along at the dangerous pace you set. The makeout session quickly escalated: out of nowhere you were roughly jammed against the counter top, manly hands sliding to your back side to squeeze some of the fat. You reciprocated Luke’s attention by playing with his hair as you sucked his bottom lip. It wasn’t nearly as exciting as kissing Anakin; because even when you and Luke were almost sucking each other’s face off, he was still too gentle for you.

But thrill didn’t take long to appear through the door.

Anakin’s stroll to the kitchen ceased at the door frame, when he spotted the heated embrace you two were entangled in. Thankfully, the only person he could see was you and barely because of Luke’s back. So your visual connection was only possible because you managed to angle your boyfriend so you could see Anakin above his shoulder.

Luke moaned when you hugged him tighter, kissed him harder.

“Y/n.” He moaned, unaware that your sudden passion was boosted at the sight of his dad’s heaving chest.”You’re so hot, sugar.”

“I want you.” You whimpered, staring dead into Anakin’s eyes. “I need you.” Your naked leg escaped the slit from your dress, surrounding Luke’s hip. “Just do it. Give it to me.”

Whatever sweet nothing Luke murmured into your ear flew right under your radar as you delighted yourself with the view of Anakin’s hurting frown. The image was ripped away from you when Luke physically circled your attention back to you.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n. You’re too much for me.” Thanking him, you came back to kissing, the only escape route you had at hand to evade his love bombarding.

However, Luke’s cringy dirty talk was the second most disappointing thing to happen in that kitchen, just after Anakin leaving.

taglist : @darthgloris @ingrid69ers @shulipp @bookishnights03 @anakinswh0re419 @fuckmyskywalker@dxviiin

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jwonsite · 1 year ago

Text

e(nnn)-

(a no nut november series)

what will happen when two boys bet a ps5 if either one of them make it through no nut november?

heejake x fem!reader (y/n is a different y/n for each hee and jake!)

smut!! mdni!! warnings will be posted on individual works

masterlist!

authors note!!! this series will NOT be finished. i’m going to leave the heejake versions up but the other members will not be posted. i’m really sorry to everybody who looked forward to it 😞

prologue

“just sit on my lap, it’ll be fine” - lee heeseung

release date: nov 5th, 2023

warnings: p in v, cockwarming, oral (f receiving), hickeys, grinding, exhibitionism (? the boys hear them over the mic😭), unprotected sex (wrap before u tap!!), lmk if there’s anymore!

“happy birthday, pretty boy” - sim jaeyun

release date: nov 18th, 2023

synopsis: while your boyfriend is trying his hardest to win a bet made by his best friends to not have sex for a month, you couldn’t help but give him a little show on his birthday

warnings: oral (f&m receiving), making out, 69 position, lingerie mentioned, idk what else to put help me

hi guys!! i am so excited for this series since it is my first one!! i hope you all enjoy and i apologize for the shitty titles i kinda rushed to get this out since i planned for it late :((

tag list (closed!) -

@yannew @hanienie @beomgyusonlywife @akirakinimi @multifandomgurllll @boutyouwonu @kissmunalodz @5xiang @ibsysbsfsunsbs @guqsnfics @hellaboredd @wvnkoi @kpopslover @heerinnie @climbingmandevillas @rikisly @simeonswhore @lilriswife4life @daegutowns @harrietbarnesblog @wonniie3 @ariadores @yizhoutv @lilizinho @firstclassjaylee @olivehues @ikeusol @bunhoons @electrobutterfly @choijxn

(if your name is not greyed out i cannot find your acc!)

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bloatedandalone04 · 4 months ago

Text

In The Way I Need You | Part 12

Series Masterlist

➪in which you and clay spend some much needed alone time together, and you find out some scary things that come with falling in love with him.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 5.4k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ | THANK YOU FOR 4.8K FOLLOWERS

Clay was in a significantly better mood now that he fixed things between you and him, and he was making damn sure to not have a third fuckup any time soon.

He was lucky to have had you forgive him twice already, he was sure he was on thin ice with you by this point. Now that you and he had talked things through, he was determined to prove to you that he was all in with you.

His mother had just left with Joey, and Clay already missed his kid more than he thought he would in so little time.

But you were already on your way over.

Clay had texted you and asked if you wanted to spend the weekend with him since the house would be empty, and he felt like he needed to make up for the time he spent away from you during the week while you were pissed at him.

Your instant response of ‘YES’ had him feeling like a fucking teenager again who had just invited his crush over, but he was pushing twenty eight, and you were his girlfriend.

He spent a good portion of his morning tidying up the already spotless house and trying to think of ways he could make this weekend as casual yet romantic as possible. As he was tidying up the kitchen counters, he remembered watching the maids his mom hired when he was younger clean up, and then he realized they only stopped once he brought Joey home. How privileged can one guy, no, one family be?

Just as he heard you call out to him from downstairs, informing him of your arrival, his phone went off with an incoming call from Jack, his friend and doctor that saved his life when he had his heart attack a few years back. Clay sighed and quickly walked over to the top of the stairs, calling out, “Up here,” before he answered his phone.

“Clay, good to hear your voice, buddy,” Jack said in his usual cheerful voice as Clay leaned against the banister.

“Hey, Jack,” he greeted just as you reached the top of the stairs and saw that he was on the phone, your overnight bag slung over your shoulder making him smile. Your brows rose and you brought a finger up to your lips, signaling that you would be quiet as you walked over to him and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“I’m just calling to make sure you’re still coming by on Monday for a checkup,”

“Yeah, that’s the plan,” Clay answered, snaking his arm around your waist when you began to pull away. He tugged you back to him and held you against his chest as he continued. “I actually have company right now, is that all you needed?”

“Company?” Jack laughed and Clay could hear the squeak of his doctor’s office chair in the background. “I thought Mrs. Beresford was away with the youngest this weekend.”

“She is,” Clay confirmed, looking down at you with a smirk as you stared up at him, waiting for him to finish his call. “It’s a different kind of company, Jack.”

“Oh, I see,” Jack mumbled. “I’ll let you go then. See you on Monday, Clay.”

Clay was already pulling the phone away from his ear as he muttered, “Yeah, see you then,” and ended the call. He slipped his phone into his pocket and wrapped his other arm around you, pulling you right up against him as he finally greeted you. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi,” you laughed, bracing your hands on his chest. “Who was that?”

“My doctor,” he murmured, leaning down to brush his nose against yours.

He saw the way your eyes widened slightly as you pulled back. “Your doctor? Why was he calling? Is everything okay?”

Clay laughed quietly and felt a warmth take over his body at how concerned you sounded. “Everything’s fine, baby,” he rasped, watching as your shoulders dropped in relief. “I have a checkup on Monday after Joey goes to school.”

You nodded, smoothing out his t-shirt. “Got it,”

He hummed, leaning down to kiss you softly, feeling the way your fingers immediately bunched up his shirt and made it wrinkled again. “Do you want to come with me?”

You pulled back again, your brows furrowing slightly. “To your appointment?”

“Yeah,” Clay nodded, gripping your waist. “I’ll have the rest of the day to myself until Joe comes home.”

You pressed your lips together and slid your hands higher up until you were holding onto his shoulders. “Oh, well in that case,” you trailed off, leaning up to kiss him quickly. “Yes, I want to come with you.”

Clay grinned down at you and bumped your nose with his again before kissing you deeply. You hummed against his lips as he took your bag from you and slung it over his own shoulder, then you were pulling away with a pretty smile. “I’ll take this upstairs,”

“Are you going to put it in the guest room?” You teased, leaning against the wall opposite of the banister as he walked around you.

Clay paused on the second step, matching your smirk as he braced one hand on the railing. He remembered the first night you stayed here and how you slept in the guest room, and then he remembered the one night you slept with him in his bed after he picked you up, and his smirk grew. “If you want to sleep in there, sure,” he answered, walking up a few more steps. “But my bed is comfier. You know that.”

You smiled and looked down. “Have you eaten today?”

“Uh, no,” he answered, pausing his ascent again. “I spent most of my morning cleaning.”

“I can tell,” you laughed, looking around the second floor hallway. “It looks great in here. And you know what? For all your hard work, I’m going to make you lunch.”

Clay smiled and shook his head. “You don’t have to do that, baby,”

“I want to, and I am going to. Jess told me this really good sandwich recipe she has at the cafe, and it’s all I’ve been craving recently,�� you said, pushing off the wall and beaming up at him. “So I’m going to make it for you. You’ll like it, I promise.”

“I like anything you make,” Clay murmured and you grinned before turning and making your way towards the kitchen. He shook his head again before finally walking up to the third floor and going right past the guest room door and towards his.

He set your bag down on the edge of his bed, doing a quick scan of his room to make sure there was nothing that resembled Sam - even though he knew there wasn’t - before heading back downstairs.

When he walked into the kitchen, he found you sitting at the table with two plates in front of you. You hadn’t touched yours, which made a dumb smile form on his face as he moved to sit down next to you. “That was fast,”

You shrugged, pushing the second plate towards him. “You have to be fast if you work at Jess’,”

Clay nodded in understanding, and he noticed how you still hadn’t eaten anything and were probably waiting for him to take the first bite, so without another word, he picked up the perfectly made sandwich and bit into it.

“So?” You asked, not even three seconds after he began chewing, nervously sliding your plate closer to you.

He laughed, waiting until he swallowed to answer you. “You were wrong, I don’t like it,” he started, smirking at the way your face dropped a bit. “I love it. Best thing I’ve eaten all month.”

You reach over and lightly smack him on the shoulder, letting out an amused scoff. “Don’t mess with me like that,” you scolded, but he knew you didn’t mean it. One of his favorite things about you was how easily you and he got along, and how you were able to tease each other like this from day one.

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughed, setting the sandwich down as he looked over at you with a small smirk.

“No you’re not,”

“No, I’m not,” he replied immediately and you both looked at each other for a few seconds before he was moving his chair back and you were out of yours. You settle on his lap, your food long forgotten as you grip the sides of his face and press your lips to his. Clay leaned back against the chair as his hands grab your waist, leaning up to deepen the kiss while you moan softly against his mouth. “I missed you.”

You smile, tracing your fingers along his jaw. “You just saw me yesterday after work,” you teased, brushing your nose against his. “But I guess I missed you, too.”

Clay grinned, sliding his hands up your sides. “You just miss my kid and my fridge,”

A blush took over your face as you bit down on your lip. “It’s your fault for having such a cute kid and immaculate taste in diet soda,” you beamed then your eyes trailed over to the dining room table. Clay knew what you were looking at, but he still followed your gaze anyway. “Wow…that’s a pretty rose, Mr. Beresford.”

Clay laughed, squeezing your hips and helping you stand up. “I’m glad you think so,” he murmured, standing up as well before walking over to the bigger table and picking up the single rose. “It’s for you.”

Your blush deepened as you took it from him. “Clay,” you said quietly, bringing the rose up and inhaling the fresh scent. “I love it…it reminds me of…”

Clay watched as your eyes widened slightly and you moved closer to him. “Reminds you of what?”

Your eyes darkened a bit as you answered, “Reminds me of when we went to Times Square and I told you that story about my neighbors and the roses,”

Clay’s brow curved up and he shrugged. “I vaguely remember that,” he lied, obviously, too. Of course he remembered the story about Mark and Cindy, and he especially remembered how happy you got when you told him. And maybe he wanted to be the Mark to your Cindy for a day and give you a rose when you got here.

You shake your head, letting him take the rose again and set it down on the table as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. Then you were leaning up to kiss him, trailing your fingers through his hair as his arms wrapped around your waist. “Thank you for the rose,” you mumbled against his lips, tugging at the hair on the back of his neck as he gripped the backs of your thighs. “And for thinking of me.”

“I’m always thinking about you,” he confessed as he brushed his lips along your pulse point. “You and Joey, all the time.”

You let out a soft whimper as he lifted you up and placed you on the table next to the rose. “I’m so glad I have no sense of direction,” you laughed quietly, caressing his face as he thought back to when he met you; when you spilled your coffee all over his shirt and then bombed your interview at that hotel, giving him the perfect opportunity to have you be around him almost daily.

“Me too,” he rasped, bunching up your shirt in his hands as he leaned back up to kiss you. “Who knew ruining a two hundred dollar shirt would end up being the start of something so good.”

You pull back after only letting him kiss you for a second, your eyes wide as you grab onto his shoulders. “That shirt was two hundred dollars?!” You asked in disbelief, making the corners of his lips turn upwards.

“Around there,” he nodded, “Yeah.”

“Clay!” You gasped, tightening your hold on him. “Now I feel even worse! You have to let me pay for it.”

Clay laughed, shaking his head as he began placing kisses along your collar bones. “It happened weeks ago, baby,” he murmured. “Trust me, with all you’ve done for me and Joey, it’s already more than paid off.”

Another pretty blush took over your face as you massaged the sides of his neck with your thumbs. “Are you sure? Now that I’m working at Jess’, I can-”

Clay cut you off with a quick kiss to your lips, shaking his head once he pulled away. “I’m positive,” he said, “Now can we go back to eating? Then maybe we can pick this up?”

You smirk and nod, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he helped you down from the table. “Sure, though maybe not on the dining room table?” You laughed as he led you back towards the kitchen after you picked up the rose again. “As nice as it is…it’s not the most comfortable thing.”

“Of course, babe,” he grinned, sitting back down at the smaller table, and he was once again reminded of how privileged he really is.

Instead of going back to your makeout session on the table, Clay guided you towards the living room.

You weren’t complaining; you had a strange infatuation with the living room ever since you had your first kiss with him in there. You also spent most of your time with Joey in there when you were watching him, so it was definitely your favorite room in a house full of rooms.

It was nearing six in the evening and Clay offered to put a movie on so you both could unwind from the past work week. Since you picked the last one, you told him to choose one as you got the pillows and blankets sorted on the couch.

He was crouched down and rummaging through the cabinet of DVD’s you shamelessly organized one night when you were babysitting Joey as you sat down on the couch and looked at the coffee table. There were cards scattered on it, some overturned and showing off someone’s impressive hand, and you bit your lip as you glanced over at your boyfriend. “Hey, Clay,” you laughed, leaning back against the couch.

“Yeah, babe,” he called back, looking over his shoulder at you.

You gestured to the table, “You play often?”

Clay furrowed his brows, turning back to the cabinet and grabbing something before standing up. When he caught sight of the cards, he laughed. “Oh, yeah,” he answered, walking over and putting the disk in the DVD player. “My mom and I do. Well, she plays, I lose.”

You let out a laugh, draping a blanket over your lap as you look up at him. “That’s adorable,”

Clay shook his head and you could’ve sworn you saw a faint blush spread across his face. “We played for a bit before bed last night,” he said, leaning over to pile the cards in a stack. “I can’t believe I cleaned every inch of this place but managed to forget about the coffee table.”

“It’s alright, I think the spotlessness of every other inch makes up for it,” you teased, reaching for the bowl of popcorn you made after the very late lunch.

“As long as you’re impressed by it,” he grunted, setting the card stack in the middle of the coffee table before leaning back and wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“It doesn’t take much,” you admitted, looking up at the TV. “What movie did you pick?”

As soon as you asked that, the menu for Twisters came onto the screen. “I hope you like disaster movies,” Clay grinned over at you. “If I have to watch one more Disney movie, I might never watch anything else again.”

You laughed, leaning into his side. “How many Disney movies does Joey make you watch?”

Clay huffed, “Too many,” and pulled you closer to him. “But I wouldn’t trade those moments in for anything.”

A smile formed on your face and you pressed your cheek against his bicep. “You’re so sweet, Clay,” you whispered, lacing your fingers with his as the opening scene of the movie started. “Watching you and Clay together…it just makes me feel things. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Clay pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m the same way when I get to come home early and see you and him together, too,” he confessed. “Joey never really had someone other than my mom and I in his life. He’s so used to us, he never really gets to be around other people. That’s another reason I’m glad he’s in school now.”

You blushed, laying your head against his chest. “Having you be the main person in his life doesn’t seem too bad,” you teased.

Another kiss was pressed to your head, followed by a quiet laugh. “You’re sweet,”

It was nearing the end of the movie when you shifted and cuddled closer to Clay’s side. He wasn’t in his usual attire of a suit, he was clothed in sweats and a t-shirt, and you were feeling the same way you felt the night he picked you up from Hanson’s.

You wanted him.

But exactly how much could you have of him? You weren’t entirely sure, but there was no harm in asking.

You knew about his heart condition, but you didn’t know the full extent of it.

When the last scene of the movie began, you moved to sit back against the couch, putting some space in between the two of you. Clay’s eyes drifted from the screen and over to you, his arm loosening around your shoulders. “Everything okay?”

You nodded, playing with the corner of the blanket you and he were sharing. “Of course,” you trailed off, turning to face him. “Can I be nosey?”

Clay’s mouth turned upwards and he turned to you as well. “Always,”

You smiled at that, leaning your head against the top of the backrest. “Your heart condition…how bad is it?”

Instead of him getting defensive about it or shutting down the topic, he took your hand in his. “About as bad as a heart condition can be,” he answered, his thumb tracing the back of your hand. “I’m on a transplant list, but it’s been years now. I got on it when I had my heart attack.”

His words leave you speechless for a second as you process them, your face quickly beginning to heat up. “You…you had a heart attack?” You asked in a whisper, your hold on his hand tightening. “When?”

“When I was twenty,” he rasped, shifting closer to you.

You swallowed, looking down at your joined hands. “What happened? Did something trigger it?”

“It was sudden, nothing really happened to trigger it,” he said quietly. “I was told when I was a teen that having one was really likely, but I wasn’t prepared for it to happen a few years later.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but stopped himself short. You didn’t know if you wanted him to continue since your body was already on fire and your hands were shaking. But you also wanted to know everything you possibly could know about him and his condition. “What are you not telling me?”

“Baby,” he trailed off, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “In the hospital, my heart stopped and I died for a few minutes.”

“Clay,” you gasped, holding onto his hand even tighter. You hadn’t realized just how serious it actually was. He died. You felt like you were going to be sick as you used your grip on his hand to keep yourself grounded, despite the fact that you were already sitting. “Oh, my God.”

“I know,” he whispered, letting you cling onto his hand. “It’s scary. A few years later I had Joey, and then Sam left, and I nearly had another one because of the stress I felt with her being gone. I guess that’s why my mom is so protective of me…it was a hard time for her. I don’t think she’s fully moved past it yet.”

You nodded in understanding, pressing the back of his hand against your cheek. “Thank you…for telling me,”

Clay frowned a bit as he ran his knuckles along your cheekbone. “I don’t want this to change anything, okay? I don’t want you to think I’m just waiting around to…you know,” he mumbled and you were glad he didn’t finish that sentence. “I’m okay for now, and there’s nothing anyone can do to change that until they find me a donor.”

You nod again, looking up at him with a guarded expression. “Okay…”

“I mean it,” he stated, “What you and I have…it makes me forget about all of it. Joey and my mom, too. I don’t want to be just another sick person, and I don’t want that to be what you see me as. So please, don’t treat me differently now that you know everything.”

You bite down on your lip and nod slowly, looking down at your hands as you run your thumb along his fingers. “I won’t,” you whisper, hoping you could stay true to your word. “I promise, I won’t.”

“Okay,” he said quietly, bringing his other hand up and caressing your jaw. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Raising your brow, you give him a pointed look. “Unlikely,”

Clay huffed out a laugh, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your mouth. “I’m fine,” he promised, tugging at your bottom lip with his thumb.

You believed him, “Okay,” and then you were kissing him again, but a lot more gently than you have in the past. You knew you were already breaking your promise to him, but you couldn’t help it. The chance of him having another heart attack and surviving was extremely unlikely, even you knew that, and you refused to be witness to it.

But Clay wasn’t easily fooled. “Babe,” he groaned, pulling away and giving you a stern look. “Baby, you don’t have to treat me like glass. I told you, I’m fine.”

“But-”

“Nothing,” he cut you off, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. “But nothing. I can handle my mom treating me like I’m broken, but not you…not you.”

You hold back another complaint and nod, and he gave you a look that told you he didn’t fully believe you. Without another word, he pulled you onto his lap and held you against his chest. “Clay-”

“Don’t worry about me, okay? I’ve told you everything you should know, and I’m trusting that it won’t change anything between us,” he murmured, leaning in and kissing along your neck.

“Okay,” you agreed, feeling the worry and fear begin to fade away. What replaced it was an undying want and need for the man you’ve grown to care so much about. The man you were sure you’re falling completely in love with. “I just…I like you, so much.” He didn’t need to know that your fondness for him had grown tremendously since the day you met him.

Clay hummed, pulling back to look you in the eyes. “I like you, too. So much,” he said, and you were given no choice but to believe him. You shared a look, one that showed how much you both wanted each other. Perhaps even needed. Clay’s expression softened and his hands caressed either side of your face, “Do you want this?”

You swallowed and slowly nodded, reaching up to hold onto his wrists. “But if you can’t-”

Clay cut you off with a kiss this time, and he wrapped his arms around your waist. “I think we both know that I can,” he grinned and you felt your face heat up in a blush as you realized that he definitely can since he ended up being a father at twenty two.

“Right,” you muttered, a bit embarrassed now.

But Clay just laughed, holding you close to his chest as he stood up. “Right,” then he was carrying you towards the stairs while the end credits for the movie played.

Clay felt like he was shaking as he carried you into his room and gently set you down on his bed.

He hadn’t been intimate with someone since Sam, and that was quite a few years ago now. He never felt the desire or want to until he met you, and suddenly all he wanted was to feel that sense of closeness, both physically and emotionally.

Clay turned around and closed the door out of habit, and when he looked at you again, you had kicked your leggings off, leaving you in just your panties and shirt. His hands were shaking a bit as he pulled off his tee, and he tossed it aside to find later as he crawled onto the bed and hovered over you. “I’m gonna ask one more time,” he whispered, bracing his elbows on either side of your head. “Do you want this?”

Your eyes were wide and needy as you nodded up at him, your hands sliding up his chest. “I want this,” you said back, “I want you.”

Clay smiled down at you, leaning in to brush his nose against yours before kissing you deeply. “You’re perfect,” he mumbled, kissing down your neck as his hands played with the hem of your shirt. “Anyone ever told you that?”

He almost didn’t believe you when you slowly shook your head, but you never gave him a reason not to believe you, so he wasn’t going to start now. “No,” you answered as he tugged the thin material of your shirt up your body. “Never.”

Clay’s eyes darkened a bit at both the sight of your exposed stomach and your words. “What kind of boys have you been with before this, baby?” He teased, watching as a pretty blush took over your features.

“They’re not important,” you mumbled, lifting your body so he could pull your shirt the rest of the way off.

“That’s right,” he praised, his eyes raking over your lace covered chest. “They’re not important.”

His fingers played with the straps of the pretty, light blue bra you were wearing, his eyes damn near the same shade as the material. You moaned softly as he stared down at you. “They’re not you,”

Clay’s eyes flickered up to meet yours as he reached around you and unclasped the lacy fabric and slid it down your arms. “No, they’re not,” he hummed in agreement, dropping your bra to the floor as he pressed kisses down your chest. Your hands tangled in his hair as his moved up to grope your soft breasts, his lips peppering kisses all over you.

“Clay,” you moaned, pulling softly on his hair. “I need you.”

Your words, the beautiful things they were, had him growing hard for you, and he slid his hands down your body as he leaned in and kissed you deeply. “Say that again,” he nearly begged, running his fingers along the waistline of your white, but equally as lacy panties.

You oblige instantly, “I need you,” and reach for his sweats. “Please.”

Truthfully, Clay needed you just as badly, if not more.

He would’ve spent his time with you, but he couldn’t handle much more either. Four years without touching someone will do that to you.

Clay pushed the lace down your legs, his fingers slowly dipping into you as you worked on ridding him of his sweats and boxer briefs. You were wet, and took his fingers eagerly as you moaned his name and returned your hands to his hair. “Please,” you begged again. “Please please…please.”

He groaned, pulling his hand away from you. “Okay, baby,” he rasped, reaching for his nightstand. “Just let me get-”

“We don’t need one,” you quickly say, looking up at him with hooded eyes. “My last boyfriend was when I was nineteen, and I’m not the kind of girl to sleep around. I’m clean, I promise.”

Clay’s eyes darkened even more as he settled back down on top of you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you answer, biting down on your lip as you grab hold of his shoulders. “Unless you want to use one…that’s okay, too. I don’t know when your last relationship was.”

“Yeah, you do,” he laughed quietly, reaching down to hike one of your legs around his waist.

Your eyes widened a bit, “She was your last? Like, the last person you-”

“Yeah,” he answered, resting his forehead against yours. “She was my last. I never felt the need or want to be with someone else after. Then I met you.”

Your expression softened and you wrapped your leg tight around him, giving him the silent signal to take that final step. “Clay…” you trailed off, parting your lips to say more as he slowly pushed into you. Your words die on your tongue as you moan against his lips when he leaned down to kiss you, and the tightness of your body as his eyes squeezing shut.

He braced his forearms next to your head as he pulled out halfway, only to bury himself back in. A deep groan left his mouth as you took each thrust, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you tilt your head back. “You feel so good,” he praised, pushing his face against the side of your neck as he began to rock into you. “So good.”

You moaned softly, wrapping your other leg around his waist. “Clay…oh, my God,”

He grunted, kissing along your neck as he started to move faster, almost as if he wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t as fragile as people say he is. His heart was weak, but that was the only part of him that was. “Baby,”

Your eyes roll back as you drop your head against his pillow. “Clay, you feel so good…I knew it,” you gasped quietly, holding onto him tightly. “I knew you would. I knew it would feel so good with you.”

And somehow he knew it, too. “Yeah?” He breathed out, feeling the way you clenched tightly around him. “You’ve been thinking about this?”

He thought the way he added a teasing edge to his voice would make you blush again, but you just nodded shamelessly. “All the time,” you admitted and he groaned quietly, his jaw going slack as he thrusted into you a bit harder. “God, Clay, I want you all the time.”

He’s been thinking about you, too, and you were even better than he thought you would be, if that is even possible. He was convinced no one has ever felt better than you, but he had no plans to further test that theory out.

“Fuck,” he moaned, reaching for your hand. He laces his fingers with yours and pins them to the pillow beside your head, leaning down to kiss you. You whimpered against his mouth and the sound only made him want to keep going and make you forget all about the guys you were with before. The ones that didn’t deserve you.

Clay wasn’t usually a jealous guy, but he was sure that would change in no time, as long as he stayed with you.

“Oh, God,” you moaned, pulling away from the kiss with swollen, wet lips as you buried your face against his shoulder. “I’m close.” You said it with a bit of disbelief in your voice, making him believe that he was the first one to bring you to the edge this quickly.

To be fair, you were both pent up with desire and want for each other, and a few days ago, Clay was sure he would have never gotten to experience this with you because of the picture you found.

But here you were, whining and writhing beneath him and letting him hear all the pretty and perfect sounds that came from your lips.

“Please,” you begged. “Don’t stop…I’m so close.”

Clay continued to roll his hips into yours, and soon enough you were moaning loudly, your fingers grabbing onto his hair and your back arching off the bed. “There you go,” he muttered, watching your face as you came undone for him. He felt his own release creeping up on him, and he managed to find enough control to be able to ask, “Where…where can I..”

You whined, brushing your lips against his ear as you answered, “Inside…don’t stop,”

Clay squeezed his eyes shut as he let out a deep groan, his pace faltering as he came. “Oh, fuck…baby,” he huffed, burying his face against your neck as he wrapped you up in his arms.

You moaned quietly, running your fingers through his hair as he rolled you onto your sides. “Are you okay?” You asked in a soft voice, trailing your hands down to his neck.

Clay let out uneven breaths as he nodded, taking your hand in his and looking down at you. “I’m okay,”

“You promise?” You ask again, tangling your legs with his. He leaned in and brushed his lips against yours before pulling away and nodding, a lazy smile on his lips as he held you close.

“I promise,”

#hayden christensen #hayden christensen imagine #hayden christensen edit #hayden christensen gif #hayden christensen icons #hayden christensen fanfiction #clayton beresford imagine #clayton beresford #clay beresford x reader #clay beresford imagines #clayton beresford imagines #in the way i need you series #in the way i need you #awake 2007 #awake #clay beresford

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thecharacterchronicler · 4 months ago

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Friends With Benefits… And A Baby (Part 2 ) || Sebastian Sallow x Reader || Smut

Outline: You and Sebastian decide to be “friends with benefits” during your pregnancy.

Word count: 2’500

Warnings: explicit smut, (accidental) pregnancy, characters aged up (20s) and probably a few mistakes here and there because English isn’t my first language.

Author’s note: This is the second part of Exams, poltergeists and supply closets, hope you’ll all enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing this little series.

(( Part 1 - Exams, poltergeists and supply closets )) - (( Part 3 - Mandrakes, dusty books & an apology )) - (( Masterlist ))

“What’s wrong with you ?” Ominis asked, as you sat down at the dinner table, after rushing out of the Great Hall when a very smelly dish of fried fish appeared in front of you, the smell instantly making you nauseous.

“I gave her some Bertie Bott’s beans before dinner, guess she ate one that tasted like boogers.” Sebastian shrugged, in an attempt to cover for you but all it did was give you the urge to throw up again.

“I felt ill for a moment but I’m okay now.” You assured your friend, not so convinced by your words yourself. You placed a boiled potato on your plate, the only thing among the various other dishes on the table that seemed edible to you in your almost constant state of morning sickness.

“Maybe we should walk you to the infirmary after dinner.” Ominis suggested, obviously still very worried. “You haven’t eaten much these past few days, it might be more serious than you think.”

“How would you know ?” Sebastian asked, before you could come up with an excuse to refuse paying a visit to the school nurse. Surely, she’d know what’s going with you at first glance and then you wouldn’t be able to hide it from anyone much longer.

“I have ears, Sebastian. You eat loudly like an animal next to me every day and yet I can still hear that her fork and knife are barely touching her plate lately.”

“I’m fine.” You stated, as confidently as you could fake it. Yet, a wave of nausea came to prove you wrong, making you gasp and cover your mouth. You couldn’t decide between swallowing it down and staying at the table or running off to the bathroom once more.

“See ? There’s only so many days she can go on without eating, it could be dangerous.” Ominis pleaded, and Sebastian’s gaze landed on the small potato in your plate, that you were pretty sure you wouldn’t eat anyway. Then, he looked up at you, his expression now as worried as your friend’s.

“Maybe he’s right. Maybe we should get you checked up, just to be safe.”

“I’m fine.” You repeated, once more. The only thing stronger than your all day sickness was the irritation you felt towards your friends at this very moment. You were determined to finish your last year at Hogwarts normally, passing your exams as brilliantly as you could and graduating with pride. The baby that Sebastian put in your belly will have no choice but to go along with your plan.

“The Gaunts are important contributors to the Saint Mungo hospital, if I send an owl I might be able to get a doctor to visit you here if it makes you more comfortable.” Ominis suggested, which brought you to the conclusion that there was no point in keeping it a secret from him any longer. Would he still be insufferably worried about you if he knew the truth ? Probably. But at least he would stop pestering you about seeking medical attention, if only temporarily.

“I’m fine, Ominis.” You stated again, for the third time at this dinner table. He opened his mouth to protest but you leaned closer, lowering your voice. “I’m pregnant, that is all.”

“Pregnant ? That is all ?!” Ominis exclaimed, repeating your words in disbelief before both you and Sebastian urged him to keep it down. You were sitting at the very end of the dining table but students nearby might still catch a glimpse of your conversation. “What were you two thinking ?! Do you have any idea of the gravity of such a situation ? What it means for your future ? By Merlin, what on earth went through your head to let you think that you two absolutely reckless lunatics could be capable of raising a child ?”

“H-How do you know it is mine ?” Sebastian asked him, surprised.

“Oh please, you both can’t shut up about each other when you’re not together.” Ominis retorted, as if it was the stupidest question his friend had ever asked him.

You exchanged a look with Sebastian, both of your faces blushing.

“What were you thinking ?” Ominis asked once more, shaking his head much like you imagined your disappointed parents will when they’ll find out.

“To be fair, not much went through my head the moment it happened.” Sebastian said, smugly.

“You should have controlled yourself, Sebastian !” Ominis scolded him, as you desperately tried to hush him up again.

“Easy for you to say, you weren’t there. If you heard the way she moans when she likes it and felt how wet…”

“Alright, that’s enough.” You interrupted before he got too carried away with very private details. “There’s no point having this conversation, it happened and now we have to deal with it.”

“At least this child will have one reasonable parent.” Ominis hissed, shaking his head at Sebastian, still way too cocky about it all next to him.

You were sitting down on the cold bathroom tiles, your back pressed against the wall, trying to focus on your homework. You barely noticed the door opening until you realized someone was standing in front of you, a concerned expression on his freckled face.

“This is the girls’ bathroom.” You informed him, which simply made him shrug.

“Imelda told me you were here.” He said, approaching and crouching down to your level, taking in the open books on the tiles with an amused smile. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to keep our secret if you move in into the bathrooms.”

“It’s just so I don’t have to run across the castle every time I need to throw up.” You explained. “Nobody will notice, when I told Imelda I had a stomach bug she just told me to stay away from her because she’s planning on winning the Quidditch cup this year.”

“You have friends that are more caring than Imelda Reyes.” He said, making a point. “And you know, I did some research in the library last night and found out that the best way to beat morning sickness is to actually eat.”

“But I’m not hungry.”

“Not at all ? Isn’t there something you’d be happy to eat ? Whatever it is, I’ll go get it for you.”

You smiled at him, grateful to have such a caring friend. Because that’s what he was to you, right ? Just a friend. A friend that happened to be your future baby’s daddy… But still, just a friend.

His traits softened as he smiled back at you, moving to sit on the floor by your side. His shoulder pressed against yours and you found relief in his familiar scent of old dusty books and faint remains of smoke, your nausea easing up a bit for the first time in days.

“Do you need help with…” He reached out to check the cover of the book on your lap. “One thousand magical herbs and fungi ?”

“I do but not yours if I want a chance to get a good grade in Herbology.” You replied playfully, which made him laugh.

“Fair enough.” He shrugged, his hand absently finding yours, letting it rest on your thigh as your fingers intertwined together. “We’ll figure it out, you know.”

“I know.” You nodded, knowing that he wasn’t talking about school anymore.

“And if we look at the positive aspect of it all, it means we can hook up as much as we want to for the next eight months without having to worry about getting you pregnant.”

“Right.” You rolled your eyes at his words, your giggle resounding against the bathroom tiles.

“And there’s no better way to find your appetite back than a bit of exercising.” He insisted, jokingly but you knew he definitely was trying his luck under the guise of making you laugh.

“Do you really think that would be reasonable ? I don’t think that’s something friends do.”

“We can be friends with benefits… And a baby.” He shrugged, unaware of how tempting the idea was to you. His presence next to you was the only thing that had managed to ease your symptoms and, if you were being totally honest, Sebastian Sallow had never looked more handsome than right now, with his sleeves rolled up and his tie slightly loosened, his hair tousled and that odd pride you saw in his smile every time he talked about hooking up with you - and getting you pregnant - that definitely made up for the slight panic you still sometimes noticed in his gaze.

“Okay.” You nodded, breaking the silence that had taken place between the two of you.

“Okay ?” He repeated, his brown eyes widening in surprise. “You… You want to do it ?”

“Yes, why not ? It’s not like I’d be comfortable hooking up with Garreth in the boat house anymore, anyway.” You replied, adding that last part to mess with him, not expecting the instant jealousy that took over his features.

“Garreth Weasley ?! This walking fire hazard…” Sebastian groaned, his hand tightening its grip on yours possessively. You smiled, flattered that your friend cared so much about you.

He was still mumbling to himself some colorful words about Garreth when you leaned in and pressed your lips against his to silence him. At first, you felt his surprise but soon, he kissed you back, his body irresistibly gravitating closer.

“What if someone walks in ?” He asked, when you moved to reach for his pants, taken aback by your boldness. The first time you had crossed the line of friendship with him, you had sounded so shy and cautious that he couldn’t quite believe you were the one with your hand inside his pants this time, fishing for his rapidly growing erection.

You knew you were breaking school rules by doing this. Again. And you promised yourself that next time, you’ll make sure to abide by the regulations and find another location, out of Hogwarts, to have your fun with Sebastian... But right now, your need for him was too urgent to be ignored. The images of that night in the supply closet were haunting you every night, to the point you sometimes could feel his kiss on your lips and his warm touch on your body in the darkness and loneliness of your dorm room. But you knew nothing could compare to the real thing, and having the opportunity to actually see him while giving in to your desires was something you didn’t have the strength to refuse.

“Then they’ll think that we hook up in bathrooms and won’t question why I’m in here that often anymore.” You told him to ease his concern, the heat of his cock in your hand making you wonder if he had a sudden rush of fever. You pulled it out of his pants, shamelessly looking down at it. He gulped and blushed in front of your fascination, your thumb carefully caressing his pink tip, collecting the clear and sticky precum that was already coating it. His cock was still growing, getting longer and harder in your palm, the veins under his flesh becoming more and more apparent. Then, it was your turn to gulp down and blush as you took in the size of it, wondering how you had even managed to take it all in without any pain the first time.

You lifted your eyes and met Sebastian’s gaze, staring at you with still a slight pink blush coloring his freckled cheeks. You had been so bold that he was waiting on you to take the lead and be in charge, this new side of you not helping him control himself and his urge to tear your school uniform off of your body and show you how wild he could get when it came to fucking you.

“Can I see you too ?” He asked, managing to act like a gentleman, although he truly wasn’t one, judging by the amount of filthy thoughts he had about you and what he wanted to do to you on a daily basis.

“Alright…” you agreed, your voice trembling slightly. You could understand his curiosity, after all, he hadn’t seen anything of you in that dark closet a month ago, only felt your body against his but your self confidence wasn’t at its best after being sick for almost an entire month, with your hormones acting up to make it worse.

He carefully reached out, popping open the buttons of your shirt one by one until you were left with nothing but your bra on. He looked at you questioningly, and you nodded, giving him a silent permission to remove it too.

His eyes instantly widened when your bra dropped on the tiles, your bare chest exposed to him.

“I didn’t think they would grow so much in so little time.” He stated, clearly dumbstruck by the view.

Your hand returned to the hard buldge between his legs, perking up at your touch as you closed your hand around it and pumped it up and down a few times, pulling him out of his daze and making him gasp in reaction. You didn’t think it possible but the movements made his cock grow even bigger and larger.

A groan dropped from his lips as he momentarily closed his eyes, as if he was struggling to keep control over himself.

“Sit.” He told you, his voice so low it sent shivers down your spine. His hands flew to your waist, already maneuvering you to get you in a sitting position over his lap.

You held your skirt up, your legs pressed on the cold tiles on either side of his thighs. His hand slipped underneath your clothes so swiftly you didn’t notice at first, until you felt his fingers pulling your panties aside, baring your very wet pussy.

With his other hand still on your waist, he guided you down until you were low enough for his erection to push past your entrance, stretching your walls as you sank lower and lower until his full size rested inside you.

You gasped at the sensation, your hands on his broad shoulders to help you support yourself and he grinned, the hand between your legs moving all the way up to your hair, gripping on a piece and pulling them back so that you’d bare your neck to him, allowing him to plant a few wet kisses all the way down to your collarbones as you still adjusted to his size inside you.

You slowly moved your hips in wide circles, exploring the pleasant sensations it sent throughout your entire body. He seemed to enjoy it too, his breathing instantly becoming ragged and desperate.

When you pushed on your knees, pulling yourself up before sitting back down and impaling yourself on his hard cock once again, you heard him curse under his breath. One of his hands held your skirt scrunched up in his fist while the other found your hip, guiding you in a faster rythym as you rocked up and down onto him many more times.

He pulled you closer to feel your swollen boobs on his face, appreciating the way they moved in synch with your hips, wanting to bury his face between them until he suffocated. Your moans and whimpers were causing his mind to go blank once again, unable to think about anything other than the pleasure you were apparently having while bouncing on his cock.

You dug your nails in his shoulders, the bliss bubbling up in your core becoming so intense it was almost unbearable. You would have slowed down, afraid of the strength of your own imminent orgasm, but Sebastian kept guiding you at an unrelenting pace, his tip hitting so deep inside your core each time that you barely managed to not let out a scream that could have echoed through the castle’s hallways, your body violently shaking and tensing with the pleasure that spilled into every fiber of your being.

Sebastian had been holding himself back from the very moment you pulled his cock out of his pants. In all honesty, he could have cummed in your hand right then and there but he had fought it long enough to make sure that you’d enjoy it too. He wanted to make you feel good as it felt like the only thing he could do to help you out right now, and now that your body had collapsed over him, effectively suffocating him with your plump chest, crying out his name in a way he would never forget, he allowed himself to come too, shooting his full load inside your still pulsating pussy.

“Are you okay ?” Your voice asked him, after a moment, your chest moving away from his face and leaving him cold.

“Of course.” He answered, panting and smiling. “What about you ?”

“I’m fine.” You told him which, for the first time in days, wasn’t a lie. You moved to sit next to him, his spent cock gliding out of you easily, drops of his white release lightly staining his pants and your skirt in the process. “You know, I think I’m kind of hungry now.”

“Ah! I told you it would work !” He exclaimed, excitedly. “What do you want to eat ?”

“A waffle with chocolate.” You told him, without hesitation.

“Alright, a chocolate covered waffle coming right up !” He nodded, immediately jumping to his feet, adjusting his clothes and walking away, determined to bring you exactly what you had requested. Surely, he’d be able to bribe a house elf for a waffle. And if not, he would sneak into the kitchen and cook one for you himself, how hard could it be ?

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#smut #smutty fanfiction #hogwarts legacy smut #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow x you smut #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow oneshot #sebastian sallow x reader smut #sebastian sallow fic #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian sallow x mc #hl sebastian #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow smut #x reader smut #x reader #x you #x you smut

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justlemmeadoreyou · 9 months ago

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secret little rendevous-3*

Summary: The meeting with HR goes well (surprisingly). But, there's something else that'll break your heart soon, and Harry will be the one to crush it into pieces.

Words: 3k

Words: ANGST! ANGST! ANGST! There's a bit of smut too, but there's lot of fighting, swearing and degradation. and daddy kink.

(previous part here) | (series masterlist) | (main masterlist)

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Harry hadn’t always been so cold-hearted. He believed in true love and had always dreamed of finding his soulmate. But that all changed after one fateful night.

It was a regular Friday night and Harry was out with his friends at a local bar. He spotted a beautiful girl across the room and couldn't take his eyes off her. She was there with her friends, her short skirt riding up her legs everytime she moved on the dance floor.

Harry stared at her for long enough that one of her girlfriends approached him, saying it was a bachelorette party, and the girl he was eyeing was the bride.

Oh.

That should have stopped him from taking it any further, should’ve made him take his eyes off her, but he just couldn’t. He was mesmerized with the way she looked, the glow on her face, and with the tiara she had worn on her head, she looked like a goddess to him.

He mustered up the courage to approach her, when none of the other girls were nearby.

As the night went on, they grew closer and closer. They danced, they kissed, and before they knew it, they were back at Harry's place. They spent the whole night together, lost in each other's arms. It was magical.

At least for him.

It was a long night, full of kisses and making out and sex. The thought of her being engaged, and never being his was pushed into the back of his mind, and locked into a cage that he never intended to open.

So, the next morning, when she got up frantically, looking for her clothes through the house and stuffing them in a carry bag, pulling her dress on, Harry frowned.

“You’re-you’re leaving?” he asked, and she raised her eyebrows, suggesting how already obvious it was.

“Yeah, duh. What-do you expect me to stay?”

She brushed him off, and he picked his t-shirt from the floor, putting it on and sliding towards the edge of the bed, where she was getting dressed.

“Well-I-I-” she put her finger over his lips, shutting him up, “Shh, you know I’m engaged, right?”

“Well-”

“I know that you know I’m engaged. Marie told me as soon as she told you to back off. But I knew you would come for me, because well-” she finished dressing up, picking up the rest of her stuff, ready for the walk of shame.

“I could drive you home-”

“No, thanks”

Clearly, she didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. Last night was all she wanted, and it seemed like she regretted quite a lot.

“Okay, well-”

“Let me leave, Harry” she blurted out, and he closed his mouth, watching her go away.

Harry couldn't believe it. He had just spent the most amazing night with this girl, Natalia, and now she was leaving him. He watched as she walked away, her hair swaying with each step, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of longing for her. He wanted to reach out and pull her back to him, to tell her to stay, but he knew he couldn't force her to do anything. So he just sat there, watching her disappear into the busy city streets.

For the next few days, Harry couldn't focus on anything else. He couldn't stop thinking about Natalia, replaying every moment they had shared together. He remembered the way her lips felt against his, the way her body fit perfectly into his, and the way she moaned his name in pleasure, as he made her cum multiple times. He couldn't shake off the feeling that she was the one for him, and he couldn't let her go without a fight.

So he did what any hopeless romantic would do, he tracked her down. He found out where she worked, and he waited for her outside her office. When she finally emerged, he approached her, determined to win her over.

“Hey,” he said, a nervous smile on his face. “I know this might seem crazy, but I can't stop thinking about you. I had the most amazing time with you the other night, and I just wanted to see you again.”

Natalia looked surprised to see him, but her face softened as she looked into his eyes. “Harry, I had a great time too, alright? But I don't think it's a good idea for us to see each other again.”

Harry's heart sank at her words, but he wasn't ready to give up just yet. “Can I at least take you out for dinner? Just one more time?”

Natalia hesitated, but eventually gave in. “Okay, just one dinner. But that's it. I’m done then”

Harry grinned, feeling a sense of hope rising in his chest. He took her to a fancy restaurant, where they shared a delicious meal and talked for hours. As the night went on, they both felt a strong connection between them, and before they knew it, they were back at Harry's apartment, tangled in each other's arms once again.

But as the sun rose the next morning, reality came crashing down, once again. Natalia had a husband, and she couldn't keep seeing Harry behind his back. She tearfully explained that she had been going through a rough patch with her husband and had been seeking comfort in the arms of another man. She knew it was wrong, and she couldn't continue to hurt her husband like this.

Harry was devastated. He always knew she was engaged, and had gotten married. But he couldn't deny his feelings for her. So he made a promise to himself that he would wait for her, that he would be there for her when she was ready to leave her husband.

Months went by, and Harry couldn't forget about Natalia. He tried to move on, to date other women, but no one compared to her. He couldn't bring himself to fall in love with anyone else, because deep down, he still hoped that Natalia would come back to him.

One day, he received a call from her. She was crying and begging him to meet her. He rushed to her side, only to find her in a state of panic. Her husband had found out about her affair, and he was furious. He had threatened to break off their engagement if Natalia didn't end things with Harry.

Natalia was torn. She loved Harry, but she couldn't lose her fiancé and the life they had built together. She tearfully told Harry that she had to go back to her husband, but promised to never forget him.

Harry was heartbroken, but he understood. He knew that Natalia had to make a difficult choice, and he couldn't force her to choose him. So he let her go, but he never stopped waiting for her.

Years went by, and Harry never fell in love again. He lived his life, but a part of him always belonged to Natalia. He never forgot about her, and he never stopped hoping that one day, she would come back to him.

. . .

At first, the prospect of being called daddy in bed was not appealing in the slightest for Harry. The thought made him uncomfortable, and the kink was never fully understood. He always knew the girls who would call him daddy had daddy issues, and it wasn’t one to feed onto it.

But since the day you had called him daddy, even if it was just because you had been in subspace, he couldn’t shake the way his mind was filled up with it. Your trembling voice, tear-stained cheeks as you asked him to take care of you, vulnerable and exposed, it awakened something in him he didn’t know existed.

He now wanted you to call him daddy again, but only when he was balls deep inside you, fucking you so good, you can’t even think straight, and the word should flow out of your mind mindlessly.

So, here you were, spread out in front of him, his cock buried deep in your soaked cunt. Your nails were scratching down his back, his cock hitting places that had your mind turning into mush.

The HR meeting had gone well. Olivia was dismissed, because she had no proof of whatever she was accusing you of. And since you were in different departments, they had no issue with it, as long as it didn’t affect your performances at work.

Well, it didn’t.

You didn’t tell Harry the whole story, because you knew Olivia would. After the meeting, you had tried to call him too, but his line was busy.

Of course.

Olivia would’ve called him before you.

So, you left a text, calling him to your house tonight to hook up.

He replied about 10 minutes later, saying that he was working overtime tonight and then he had a doctor’s appointment, so he couldn’t do it tonight. That seemed genuine, because month end was approaching, and the workload was heavy. You replied in affirmative, and waited for the next day, when you could see him.

And now, here you were.

It wasn’t planned for–no. You had called him that once before, and it slipped from your mouth without a second thought.

“Fuck, daddy please.”

Harry’s mind went back immediately, his hips halting and he looked into your eyes immediately, bringing his mouth back up from where it was buried in your neck, biting and creating marks.

“Say it again.” He breathed out, his belly tightening in anticipation as his dark green irises stared down at you.

You blinked in response, not realizing that you’d just said the word in bed, even though you both didn’t like it.

“Har–Harry, I swear–I didn’t mean to-.”

“Say. It. Again.” Harry demanded, his hand snaking its way to your throat, lightly applying pressure to the base of your neck. “I won’t ask again. Say it.”

“Daddy.” You moaned, the grip on your neck dizzying. Harry felt more precum ooze out of his cock, and into your tight cunt, his cock twitching as the name fell from your pretty, swollen lips.

“Fuck, that’sit.” Harry groaned, pulling out his cock completely, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. You whined, and he shushed you, before ramming it back into you with such force it sucked the air from your lungs. “Say it one more time, baby girl.”

“D-daddy, please.” You repeated, growing more confident with using the term. You threw your head back into the pillow behind you, biting your bottom lip as his started fucking you once again.

“You want to cum?” he asked, teasing you. He knew you were close, the tight grip your pussy had on his cock, and the way you were clenching and squeezing him, gave it away.

“Yes, please” you nodded, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes, it felt so fucking good.

“Daddy, I need to cum,” you moaned, your voice becoming more desperate with each passing second. You could feel the pressure building in your core, ready to explode at any moment.

“Say please” he urged, beginning to rub your swollen clit.

“Oh-fuck!Daddy-daddy please?”

“Good girl. Cum for me. Soak me, baby”

And that you did. Gushed around his cock, wetting his cock and balls as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. He came too, pulling out and emptying his load on your stomach.

“God-fuck! Shit-” he cursed as he came, and you couldn’t help but watch in awe as his head threw back, pink lips parting as he gave you all he got.

He laid down beside you, catching his breath.

“You’re so good for me” he mumbled afterwards, wiping the sweat off your forehead and kissing your cheek softly.

He went to the bathroom, to clean himself up, and bring you some toilet paper to wash his cum off.

And it was maybe by some cruel twist of fate that you decided to open Olivia's message from last night, exactly at that moment.

And it's everything you were scared of happening.

It says "Guess who he chose" with a picture of Harry's back attached below. He is lying naked on her bed, and probably asleep.

And you know it's Harry, because you would recognise those curls everywhere, plus you can see the fading nail marks on his back that you gave him weeks ago.

What the fuck?

Mr.I-don’t-do-stayovers was sleeping in her bed just after you saved his ass from being fired hours ago.

Great. Just fucking great.

When he emerged from the bathroom, you were already getting up. You wiped yourself clean with a stray napkin he had kept on his chair, throwing it near the trash bin.

“What-what are you doing-did you clean it up? I brought this-”

“Where were you last night?” you asked, voice stern.

“What-why would you ask that?”

“Answer the damn question, Harold. Where were you last night?”

“I told you, I was working overtime and I–I had an appointment–”

“Save your lies, you bastard–I know you were with Olivia last night. You were fucking her, and then you slept on her too. What else did you do with her that you can’t do with me? Do you kiss her while you fuck her too? Or is it just my lips that give you blue balls?”

“I-”

It was like he wasn’t even trying. He wasn’t even trying to tell you that he didn’t treat you like shit, that he treated Olivia the same way he treated you.

“Or have you committed to her? Became her “boyfriend”?”

“You know I don’t do that stupid stuff. And I didn’t sleep, okay? I left after a while”

“Shut up. Just-shut up, okay? Stop lying. She sent me the message at 2am. And I know you’re blind and you don’t drive in the dark.”

“Alright-fine! I stayed over at hers, but that was it, okay? There’s nothing more”

“And what is it with me, then? I’m too, just a couple of holes you fuck when you get bored with another? Hm?”

“It’s not like that, okay? She told me how you dragged her into HR for sleeping with me and how she saved my ass, my job, so I–I had to give her something in return”

“What the fuck? That bitch didn’t save your ass, okay? I did. Why do you think they’ll listen to her? I was the superior one. And she was the one who went to HR to rant and cry over us.”

“Us?”

“Yeah. You and me sleeping together.”

“But she told me–”

“Well, she’s a fucking liar.”

You fell back on the bed, your head throbbing from all of it. How could she lie like that? Apparently, it didn’t matter that she did, because you knew he would go after her again.

You got back up, staring at him with eyes full of anger.

“Tell me, Harry, who is better? Me or her.”

“What?”

“Tell me, me or her? So I can take myself out of this fuck-up you have created and find someone else who isn’t afraid to commit to me, and who doesn’t treat me like shit”

You yelled and once you finished yelling, your eyes were brimming with tears.

But you won’t cry. Not in front of him.

“There’s no fucking competition, Y/N. I’m not “choosing: anybody”

“So just choose her, then. I bet she feels better than me, doesn’t she? She takes you better down her throat too? I guess that’s the way to get you to stay loyal.

“I’m not fucking loyal to her—”

“Why? Why aren’t you fucking loyal–”

“I-love someone,” he confessed.

Your eyes widened. Harry, the cold-hearted moron, who can’t even commit to sleeping with one woman, loved someone?

And then he told you the story of Natalia, the girl who discarded him like trash, and somehow, that gave him the right to do the same to other women.

“If she came back to you, would you still go back to her?” you asked him, voice still shaking and broken.

He stayed quiet, his gaze to the floor.

“FUCKING ANSWER ME, HARRY!” you yelled, and he flinched. He had never seen you like this. You were always sweet and soft and polite to him, even after he treated you like shit most of the time.

He still didn’t say anything, and you knew the answer. He never even thought of something other than sex with anyone. His heart was already full for her, it always had been. He never even thought of you twice, and here you were, catching feelings for him.

“You’re so full of shit. She used you and threw you away like you were nothing. When you had given her everything she needed to stay. And the first chance she got, she went back to him. She doesn’t love you. When will you realize that?”

You got up, walking to him and standing right in front of him.

“Tell me” you demanded once again.

His voice shook, raspy, indicating he had shed a few tears, “I don’t-don’t want to. I don’t want to realize that, okay? She still loves me. And I’ll wait for her. No matter how long it takes”

You looked up, trying to stop the tears from falling. Your heart was broken, and he didn’t even seem to realize what he had done to you.

“Do I matter to you, Harry?! Do I mean anything to you?”

Still no answer.

“Great. Just fucking great. I am the one who has been with you for the last 4 months, even if it is just for sex. I am the one who got you the promotion so you could pay your fucking bills. I am the one who fought with HR so we could both keep our jobs. All that’s nothing? I did that for nothing! And that bitch, who couldn’t even stay committed to her own fiance. Slept with you once and your stupid heart is made up for her–”

He shot his eyes up, his fists clenching beside him in anger.

“Don’t you dare say anything about her”

He looked angry, eyes red and jaw clenched.

“Fine. I’ll leave, then”

You announced, wearing your clothes in a haste. Picking up your phone, your keys, your toothbrush and your spare clothes that were lying on the chair.

You walked out the room, going straight for the door. You were turning the doorknob when you heard him, “And delete my number from you damn phone”

“I never saved it,” you replied.

And it’s after you reach home that you break down into tears.

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tell me if you like this! i wanted to end it here, but i know, it's too sad :(, and i know this isn't soo good! but read it, please, and tell me what you think! >.<

feedback

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pandapetals · 24 days ago

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Grading Papers

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

You and Logan are grading papers late and you end up falling asleep.

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

The clock on the wall ticked quietly, marking the slow stretch of hours as you and Logan sat side by side at his desk, each buried in your own mountain of work. The soft glow of the desk lamp pooled around you, casting long shadows across the papers that seemed to multiply as the night wore on.

You glanced over at Logan, catching the way his brow furrowed slightly as he scribbled notes in the margins of his students' history exams. He worked with that focused, no-nonsense expression you’d come to know so well, the tip of his pen moving with precise, deliberate strokes.

You sighed and leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head. "If I grade one more essay on ‘Romeo and Juliet,’ I’m going to start quoting it in my sleep."

Logan smirked without looking up, his pen still moving. "That so? Sounds like somethin’ to look forward to," he teased, glancing sideways at you with a raised brow. "Could be worse. At least you don’t have to read about the Treaty of Versailles for the tenth time tonight."

You made a face, dropping your pen onto the desk with a soft clatter. "Alright, tough guy, let’s make this interesting. First one to finish gets bragging rights for the week." You leaned in, eyes gleaming with challenge.

Logan’s smirk deepened, that familiar, cocky glint in his eyes. "You sure about that? Hate to embarrass you in your own subject."

"Oh, please. I’m practically done," you shot back, grabbing your pen with renewed determination. "You’re the one who’s gonna be stuck here all night."

With that, you both dove back into your work, the playful competition fueling a burst of energy. The room fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of pens scratching against paper and the occasional rustle of a page-turning. Every so often, you’d glance over, catching Logan’s focused expression, and your own resolve hardened. You weren’t about to let him win this.

Minutes turned to hours, the quiet of the night deepening around you both. The stack of graded papers slowly shrank, but your eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment. You scribbled another note in the margin of a student’s essay, your handwriting growing messier as your energy started to flag. You stifled a yawn, blinking hard to keep your focus.

But Logan noticed. He always did.

"Slippin’ already?" he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "Told ya that’d be too much for you."

You shot him a tired but defiant look. "I’m fine," you insisted, though your voice lacked conviction. You turned your attention back to the essay in front of you, determined to push through. You could feel the weight of Logan’s gaze on you, but you stubbornly kept your eyes on the page.

Another minute passed. You made it through one more sentence, maybe two before your pen hovered uncertainly over the paper. Your vision blurred slightly, the words blending together as exhaustion finally caught up with you. You blinked, trying to fight it, but it was no use. Your hand stilled, and your head dipped forward ever so slightly, your breath evening out.

Logan glanced over again, and this time, his smirk softened into a tender smile. You were still holding your pen, but it dangled loosely in your fingers, your head now resting gently on your arm, cheek pressed to the cool surface of the desk.

He sighed quietly, shaking his head with a fond smile. "You stubborn little thing," he muttered under his breath, setting his own pen down.

Rising from his chair with a quiet creak, Logan stepped behind you, his hands gentle as they slid under your arms, carefully lifting you from the desk. You stirred only slightly, too far gone to notice much of anything beyond the warmth of his touch. He cradled you against his chest, the quiet strength of him steadying you as he walked upstairs toward your bedroom.

"You always gotta push it, don’t you?" he whispered, though there was no real scolding in his tone—just that soft, amused affection he had for you. His boots made barely a sound on the wooden floor as he carried you through the dimly lit hall.

When he laid you down on the bed, you mumbled something incoherent, shifting slightly as he pulled the blanket over you. His hands lingered for a moment, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, watching the steady rise and fall of your breathing.

For a moment, he just stood there, looking down at you, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smile. "Sleep tight, darlin'," he murmured.

Then, quietly, he turned and padded back to his office, settling into your abandoned chair. He glanced at the half-finished stack of papers you’d left behind and picked up your pen. The familiar scent of ink and parchment filled the air again as he started where you’d left off, the scratch of the pen steady and sure.

As the minutes passed, Logan worked through the papers. He knew you'd wake up in the morning, probably a little grumpy about not finishing your grading. But when you saw the neatly stacked pile waiting for you, every paper marked and graded, he'd get to see that smile—the one you tried to hide when he did something unexpectedly sweet.

And that, he thought with a quiet smirk, was worth staying up just a little longer for.

#fluff #logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x you #x men wolverine #x men logan #james logan howlett #marvel #logan x reader #mcu #x men movies #x men #professor howlett #professor logan #days of future past #hugh jackman

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therealflickerman · 5 months ago

Text

Split Lips (tasm!peter parker x reader)

Part three

series summary: Its simple hating peter parker, the cocky asshole who has made it his mission to one up you every chance he gets. In the same vein, its simple loving spiderman, the sweet masked vigilante who has made it his mission to ensure your safety. How simple will it be when the two worlds meet.

______________________________________________________________

chapter summary: Spiderman takes you for a swing and shows you why he does what he does.

word count: 4.6k

chapter contents: reader is intended to be fem! , language, a little banter and a little fluff, reader is anxious and a mess, idk anything about school in america or school in general, small mention of injury ig

note: Ya’ll I’m so sorry that I haven’t uploaded I’ve been so sick the past few days the fanfic author curse is coming for me, also im sorry yall I gave in, I had to make the reader a little bit of a horror fan. I hope yall enjoy!!

masterlist

series masterlist

chapter one / chapter two / chapter three / chapter four (ongoing!)

Your foot taps rapidly against vinyl flooring, eyes locked on the one question that you can’t wrap your brain around, it's a longer question with a few points riding on it, and you wrack your brain as to how you’re going to answer it. You’d flown through the rest of the test with confidence, yes this was partially due Peters and his perfect note taking skills but you’re choosing to ignore this fact. You reread the question before giving into your temptations, flicking your eyes to the front of the room to find the familiar mop of brown hair, Peter seems to have finished his test and now sits tapping his pen against the table softly, he looks so sure of himself, as per usual, and you suck in an anxious breath before turning your eyes back to the test with a newly found sense of determination.

It takes you a moment though you’re now knee deep into the question, letting out a breath of relief as you write away you feel pressure drop from your shoulders.

Finishing up the question you flip through the test, reading over your answers and editing bits and bobs where you need to. You catch the time on your watch and notice there are still twenty minutes on the clock, a small smile curls on your face.

You notice Peter turn in his chair and you look to meet his gaze, he sends you a cocky grin and flashes you a thumbs up before turning it to a thumbs down, trying to gauge where you’re at. You send a smile with a thumbs up in return and he nods softly before turning to look back up at the board.

The bell for lunch rings and you’re quick to grab your things, handing your test to the teacher without a word, you skip a step trying to make it past students as they pile out of the room.

“Peter,” you yell softly across the hall and he barely catches your voice over the volume of student chatter. He turns his head, searching for whoever it was that called his name, a grin curling on his lips as he sees it's you dodging through the crowded hall. “So, how’d it go” you huff, catching up with him, “wouldn’t you like to know,” he grins stupidly and you retort with a, ‘why do you think I asked’ and an eye roll.

“It went great thanks for asking,” his tone is teasing, “how about you”.

“I think I’ll pass,” you grin.

He hums a laugh, “and… do you have anyone to thank for that?” He raises a brow.

Yours furrow as you think for a second, “no one comes to mind,” he nudges you softly.

“I wasn’t planning on giving you the satisfaction but seeing as you though saved my ass” you preface with a smile, “thank you Peter for your notes”.

He watches you with a cocky smile, “You’re welcome.”

Your brain thinks back to the conversation you had with Spiderman last night and you swallow a nerve. “Hey I was thinking maybe we could study together some time,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself, sinking your teeth into your lips, you watch him grin. “Were my notes really that good?” he asks with a raised eyebrow and you roll your eyes.

“Forget I asked,” you grin.

“I would like that,” he wears a smile and the both of you sit in an awkward silence for a moment.

“Well I better… I um have to print photos,” he points his camera in the direction of the photography room.

“Course,” you nod, “I’ll see you,” you mumble.

He gives you a wave and heads off.

______________________________________________________________

For the first time in the past week you feel a pressure lift off of your shoulders. Humming softly along with your music you put one foot in front of the other as you walk home, a smile adorns your face as you think of Peter. You’ve had a hard time making friends, putting yourself out there and letting people in. You’ve also spent hours watching as friends study on picnic blankets, listening to the giggle of teenage girls as your mum picks you out ugly sweaters at the mall, watching friends struggle to find a lunch table that accommodates so many people. You've felt the twist of jealousy in your gut more than you’d like to admit and you’re more than sick of it.

You push open the door to the apartment complex, letting out a huff as you start the climb to the fifth story. As much as the stairs hurt, Spiderman's way of getting around is far more frightening and your feet are grateful for their contact with the ground as you stomp up to your floor.

You feel around in your pocket for your keys, wiggling them around in the old lock as they struggle to turn, the lock eventually gives way and you push open the door with your shoulder.

Letting out a content sigh you head straight to your room. Ripping out your ear buds, pausing your music and flopping your phone on your bed before following your phone and collapsing face first. You lay for a second, enjoying the comfortable silence of your room, the only sounds to be heard are the hum of cars outside your window and the low buzz of the fan that you forgot to switch off that morning.

A groan slips from your lips as your phone rings, its volume is jarring and without moving from your position you aimlessly grab for the phone that lays on the bed above your head. Getting your grasps on it you answer and bring it to your ear.

“Hey love, I’ll be home late tonight,” your mum’s voice rings from the other end, you let out a lazy hum in response and she lets you know there’s leftovers in the fridge that you can have for dinner. Oscorp had recently been working on a big new project, something to do with a DNA rebuilding serum, though it was ‘top secret’ and she ‘really shouldn’t be telling you this in the first place’. This meant all hands and deck in the labs, and therefore your mother had been out working hard until two a.m. most nights.

You wish her good luck, telling her you think you did well on your test and that you would see her in the morning before hanging up the phone.

The next few hours manage to escape you, you’re not quite sure how, though you do know what one moment you were studying quite happily, and now you’re sat in your bed with a blanket draped over your shoulders and a pillow clenched between your arms, your face contorted in disgust.

‘The Thing’ plays on the screen and despite having seen it a thousand times it never fails to make you squirm, another body get ripped to shreds as a knock rings out from your widow and you jump, your eyes flicking to the window across the room from you, you spot a body of red and blue standing on your fire escape.

Pausing the film and pushing your laptop to the side you jog to your window, sliding it open the old window with as much muscle as you can muster. “Do you know that you pick the worst times to sneak up on people,” you let him into the warmth of your room.

He lets out a soft laugh, “so I’ve been told,” you can hear the grin in his voice.

Taking a seat on your bed, you give a nod, motioning for him to sit down at your desk.

He swivels the chair and takes the seat, you watch his eyes explore your room, noticing the covers on your bed, the posters hung up on your walls, the bits and bobs that litter your desk. “Nice posters,” you let out a small laugh, “thank you”.

“So, what are you doing here?” you question with the raise of an eyebrow,

“I told you I was going to take you on another swing” he grins, you can hear it in his voice.

“No, no no.” You mumble with a shake of your head, “no way,” your voice is final and a laugh bubbles in his chest.

“C’mon… you’ll like it I promise.”

“I’m not quite sure I trust you” you tease with a furrow of your brows,

“If you hate it I’ll take you right home,”

You sit in though for a quick second with a bite of your lip, “fine, but you take me straight home if I hate it okay.”

“Okay, you got it,” he laughs.

You pull on a pair of shoes and his hand guides your back as the both of you slip out your window.

You brush off nerves with a shake of your hands, looking down from the fire escape, “and you’re like one-hundred percent sure you won’t drop me” you breath looking up to meet his eyes. “I’ve held a semi trailer from Queensboro bridge for half an hour, I think you're good.”

“Show off,” you mumble under your breath.

Letting out a nervous breath you give him a nod, “okay I’m ready,”

“Are you sure becaus-” he starts with a stupid mocking voice.

“Shut up. I’m ready,” you nod with a determined face, he lets out a soft chuckle and places a tight arm around your waist before shooting a web. A small scream escapes your lips and your stomach drops, you slam your eyes shut and your arms shoot to wrap tightly around his neck.

“Holy shit,” your voice wavers as wind rushes through your hair and past your ears, the newly familiar feeling of plummeting to your death sends shivers down your spine.

“Open your eyes,” you can feel Spiderman's voice in your ear. If it weren’t for his mask his breath would run down your neck. “I don’t know if I can,” you yelp, holding onto him tightly as you fall for a particularly long second before he shoots another web propelling the both of your forwards.

“C’mon, you’re missing the view,” he coaxes you softly, raising his voice ever so slightly so you can hear him over the sound of the wind. Hesitantly, you crack an eye and you’re met with the most beautiful view of the city that you love. The lights that reflect off of building windows dance just as the stars do, it's the first thing you notice as you take in the sight, you let out the breath you’ve been holding in as your eyes look to the streets below, your stomach flipping as you notice how high up you are.

Spidey watches you with a soft smile sat behind his mask, his eyes flick to the towers in front of him, focusing on his swinging before flicking back to watch the look that lights up your face.

You try to catch the view as you fling through the streets, your eyes flick through beautiful streets, an open park full of food trucks and people, a church lit up and seemingly holding a late night service, a string of expensive restaurants where the rich eat their meals, you’re seemingly ripped from them every second or so as Spidey swings you through each scene.

The both of you fly upwards swiftly, he swings you both upwards towards a tall building in the heart of Queens that sits higher than its neighbours, your feet land softly against the roof and your arms slowly drop their grip on Spiderman.

“Oh my god,” you swallow a nerve, a breath of relief escaping your lips as a big grin curls on your lips.

“I told you you’d like it,” he watches your face as you take weary steps towards the edge of the tower. “It’s amazing,” you push the words out as you struggle to know what to say, it was like seeing the city for the first time.

“Still terrifying though,” you add with a grin, “I think I peed my pants just a little” you giggle and he shakes his head with a laugh.

“You get to see this everyday,” you watch the busyness of the city below, the cars look like little ants in their respective colonies as they follow the flow of traffic. You can barely see the people about their everyday lives as you sit so far in the sky, though you watch business men and women sitting at desks in neighbouring buildings, all in their own small cubicles, each the same as the story below them.

He hums with a nod, his eyes trail on yours as you watch the world go by.

“I think I like it here where I’m not focused on falling to my death,” you tease, turning to meet the gaze that burns holes into your temple. “I can understand that,” he smiles down at you and this time he’s cursing the stupid mask that adorns his face.

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence looking down at the view, the air is filled with the distant honk of cars and chatter of people.

“I asked Peter to hang out… kind of,” you break the silence, you meet each other's gaze, “really?” he asks, putting on a smile and swallowing a pang of guilt. “Yeah… it went well enough” you nod, looking back down at the view, “I mean we have these bursts of awkward moments and I feel like I want to claw my eyes out for even starting the conversation, but I guess that's just a part of it” you shrug.

“Apart of it?” he asks.

“Making friends, being acquaintances…I don't know what we are” you mumble and it comes out as a question.

“You’re friends.”

“What makes you say that?”

He shrugs, “I have lots of friends, I know how it works” he teases and you roll your eyes.

You hum, “sure you do” a giggle escapes your lips.

“I do!” he defends although it’s not entirely convincing.

“That's why you spend all your time with some high school chick that you met on the side of the road.” you tease with a grin.

“That’s because you’re my closest friend,” he mocks, elbowing you softly.

“Some friends you must have,” you giggle and it draws a laugh from his lips.

“We should get back out there,” he nods his head towards the city and you give him a silent nod.

You shut your eyes tightly gripping onto him as he jumps from the building, dragging you down with him.

“Web something asshole!” you shout not daring to open an eye at the velocity in which the two of you were dropping. A smirk grows beneath the mask before he shoots a web to a nearby building and the two of you glide forwards through the air, you force your eyes open and watch as you glide between cars, you send sheepish smiles to civilians as they eat their dinner outside of expensive restaurants before Spiderman slings you both higher into the sky.

The two of you spend the next few hours swinging through each and every corner of Queens, stopping to talk and look at the view before repeating the cycle. You’ve never felt so free and a part of you finally understands why he does what he does.

Your feet land firmly on your fire escape, and you already miss the freedom of the webs.

“Told you you’d have fun” he grins and you roll your eyes, “yeah yeah”, a big smile spread across your face.

“Thank you Spidey,” you nod with a sheepish smile and a wave of shyness flows over you. “Of course,” a genuine grin sits behind his voice and you smile at his words, the two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a small second before there's a soft knock on your bedroom door. “I’m home love, why are you up this late, who are you talking to?” your mothers voice is muffled through the door and your eyes widen as you place a hand on his chest, softly pushing him towards the window. “Uh, yeah mum just on the phone sorry,” you call out in the most believable voice you can muster in the moment of panic.

“Goodnight” he whispers sweetly and you send him a quick smile, before shutting the window on his face and running to crack open your bedroom door.

He peeps over the bottom of the window, watching as you make up a frantic excuse sending your mum a goodnight and a hug before shutting the door a little louder than you had planned.

He cracks the window open ever slightly, "It's good you stayed calm,” he mumbles keeping his voice low. You turn abruptly and send him an eye roll, kneeling before your window you meet his face on the other side, “go home psycho,” you whisper with a smile and he laughs, “okay.”

He sends you a look before jumping from the fire escape, shutting the window you’re conscious to leave it unlocked before you slide into bed for the night.

______________________________________________________________

When spiderman had promised to take you swinging again he had meant it, in fact you’d practically patrolled with him every night for the past week, he would pick you up from your room or your way home from work, dragging you into the cold so the two of you could explore the city and talk about anything and everything. You had to admit you felt like you were distracting a very important person from doing a very important job though that thought quickly crumbled as you stood wide eyed, watching from afar as Spiderman beat in the face of a man who had been mugging and beating young high school girls who were just trying to get home from school and work. The sickening crack of the man’s nose breaking rang out into the empty alleyway, as did his pathetic whimpered apologies, part of Peter had wondered if he had maybe gone too far that night and if it was maybe because the man's choice of victims struck a small nerve deep inside him.

Needless to say from that point on Spidey didn’t take you out swinging so late into the night, although did make it a habit to visit you every night after patrol.

______________________________________________________________

You tap your pencil rapidly against the plastic of the science room desks, the boy next to you, Adam you think his name is, asks you ‘what you wrote down,’ for the third time that period as the two of you complete the worksheet to go along with the practical the class completed today. You blink for a moment, finding the kindness within you and sliding your booklet his way, “why don’t you just copy it all down,” you give him a pressed smile.

Your eyes flicker to Peter's seat, it’s as empty as it was the last five times you checked and you let out a sigh.

He had been in English class that morning and you had seen him in his usual spot sat by himself during lunch, and you’re sure you’d seen him running through the halls just before this period though his seat remains vacant.

Your eyes flick up as your teacher announces that he’s handing out the results of the Bio test and a smile curls onto your lips.

“Good job,” Mr Khan smiles down at you, placing the test paper on your desk, “Adam, you see me after class,” he musters a smile and the boy looks up from copying your work with a shrug.

“Um sir,” you blurt as he attempts to move on from your desk, “Peter wanted me to grab his test result for him,” you put on the most convincing smile you can muster.

He gives a knowing smile, “I’m sorry but you and Mr Parker should know more than anyone that I don't give out test results to other students, Peter will just have to wait till tomorrow to get his results.”

You roll your eyes as he passes you and you flip over your own results, you find a ‘98%’ in a big red circle and your lips curl into a small smile, you had prayed over and over for a 100% but you have nothing to complain about as you read the 49%, ‘see me after class’ from Adams results and you send him a pressed smile.

Swerving through the slow herd of students, you gently nudge past a group of particularly sluggish friends as they take their time groaning about their science grades and how ‘their parents will kill them’. It had been a long day and you simply want to make it home as early as possible, if you hurried now you’d have a chance of making the early subway and effectively cutting twenty minutes from your trip. Jogging softly you keep your eyes tracked on the ground in front of you, focused on the task at hand, you pay little mind to the quiet murmurs of students that fill the air, that is before you hear the soft spoken name of ‘Spiderman,’ your head shoots up in an instant and you clear your throat softly as you realise you look pathetically eager with your eyes darting around the buildings trying to spot him.

Your eyes soon catch his as he swings past the school and you send him a soft eye roll as a small grin curls onto your lips. The chatter around you rises as students watch him fling through the streets before dying down as they lose sight of him, though your eyes track the direction he swings in and you slip through traffic, crossing the road and heading through the backstreets to meet him.

“You know if you keep showing up around my school people are going to find out you’re having some weird friendship affair going on with a high school student” you sneak up behind him as he stands waiting for you.

You had spent a lot of the past week attempting to sneak up on Spiderman, though you had failed to consider his stupid ‘Spidey-Tingle’, which he had affectionately named it, and how it would pretty much ruin any and all chance you had of getting the payback you seeked.

“Would that really be so bad?” he teases turning to greet you.

“Well the tabloids would either paint you as a big fat pedo or they’d find out about your secret high school student identity.”

“I told you I’m not in high school,”

A sceptical hum slips from your lips and a soft smile curls on your face, a laugh bubbles in his chest and he extends you his hand, “would you like a ride home?” “That would be great,” you grin, taking his hand before wrapping your other arm tightly around his neck.

To say you were at ease now with swinging was an understatement, it took you a night or two to get used to it, the stomach turning feeling, the emptiness between yourself and the ground, now it was by far your favourite part of your day. It was the feeling of freedom you loved the most, it was more than your first car or the moment you turn Twenty-One, it was like flying, like not even gravity could control you, and Spiderman had chosen to share it with you.

At first you found it a little strange that it was you he had insisted on taking you swinging almost every night although the more that the both of you had sat and talked for hours you decided that he must just be young, and lonely, and had found a friend in your company, and you had more than happily made a spot for him in your life.

“Thanks Spidey,” you lean against the window sill of your room.

“Just doing my job,”

You hum a laugh and your lips curl into a smile, “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Course,” he hums and wishes you congratulations on your test results and good luck on our study session.

You hum along to the soft music playing from your phone, laying amongst your sheets you work on finishing up your Maths homework, your brows unconsciously furrow and a lip slips between your teeth as you think for a particularly long minute about the question on the textbook in front of you before you complete it and write it down in your book.

There's a thud on your window and your head swiftly flicks up, a smile quickly plastering itself across your face as you push your work to the side, your homework papers get muddled together but you fail to care as you watch Spiderman slowly crawl through your window.

“How was your night bugboy?” you ask though your smile falters as you watch him clutch his side before collapsing into your desk chair.

“Why do you have a desk if you’re just going to study in your bed,” he teases, releasing a strained breath.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, ignoring his question.

You spring off your bed and come to his side, your hands hovering over his ribs as his own grip them tightly.

He hums in response, “there's this, big… I don't know…” his words roll over on his tongue, “Lizard guy.” His eyes meet your, you can feel his gaze through the mask.

“You’ll see it on the news” he adds, “got me pretty good,” a soft laugh bubbles in his chest, a spit of anxiety bubbling in your own.

“Is there anything I can do,” you feel the wideness of your eyes though you can’t seem to help it.

You hadn’t known Spiderman long though you’d been waiting for the moment something like this had happened, and though he sits in front of you, not a speck of blood nor a tear littering his suit, promising you that he’s fine, you can’t help but feel a small sense of unease boiling in the pit of your stomach.

“What about an ice pack?” you push.

He hums a soft laugh, “I’m okay.”

You nod and the two of you sit in silence for a small second.

“What happened… I mean with the Lizard?” you question, meeting his gaze.

“He was tearing up a bunch of streets, flipping cars and sending them into restaurants, he also sent me into a restaurant,” he hums another laugh and lifts his hand from his ribs.

“Shit” the word escaped you in a soft mumble.

“Did he get away?”

He hums with a nod, “I was helping a kid out of a burning car, and he slipped away. He seems to have gone back home for the night but I’ll get back out there to be sure though,”

“It’s late Spidey…” the words hang on your tongue.

“I know but if he’s still out there…”

“You have school in the morning” you nudge him softly and he lets out a wince of pain alongside a small laugh.

“Sorry,” you mumble with a sheepish smile and he shakes his head, “it’s okay,” he laughs.

The two of you sit in silence, you want to say more but you don’t want to push him, he knows far more about what he’s doing than you do.

“I better get going, I just wanted to let you know that I was okay,” he mumbles softly and you can hear the tiredness laced in his voice.

“You go home Spidey,” you whisper

“Okay,” he gives you a nod, “I will.”

You send him a smile and wish him a goodnight.

He climbs onto the fire escape and returns your sweet dreams, “you lock this window okay… I know that you keep it unlocked for me,” he mumbles and you give him a small grin, “okay.”

He gives a small goodbye and swings from the ledge.

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