#Shaking you shaking you Anon Do You Understand???
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nachrosas · 2 days ago
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QUANTUM FEELINGS | s.reid x reader
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summary: in which you said "i love you" to spencer when he's a little drunk. pairing: spencer reid x reader content warnings: just spencer being a little drunk in this one! word count: 915 a/n: night, night! thank you so much anon for requesting this (my first request ever), i hope it turned out well! hope you guys like it! feedback is always appreciated! also, my inbox is always open to chat! till the next one!
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Your living room was immersed in soft light, projected by the lamp in the corner of the room. Empty wine bottles lay on the coffee table as if they were telling the story of a night that had gotten completely out of hand. You were sitting on the sofa, watching Spencer lying on the floor on the dog, his cheeks flushed from drinking so much and the tie he insisted on wearing was now loose, falling awkwardly over his crumpled shirt.
“You know…” he began, pointing a trembling finger upwards as if to reveal something new. “Do you know that quantum entanglement is… is… basically proof that the universe is a real walking paradox?”
You tried to hold back a laugh, but the grimace on his face made you fail miserably. “Spence, I don't understand quantum physics.”
He raised his head a little, his eyes shining with a mixture of indignation and enthusiasm. “It's very simple!” he insisted, even though his speech was totally slurred. “Two particles are completely connected, no matter how far apart they are. If one changes, so does the other. It's like… instantaneous! And nobody knows how it works! Is it… fascinating? Terrifying? Sad?”
“Sad?” you asked, curious about what he had said.
“Yes!” he stood up carelessly, almost knocking over the bottles on the table. “Because… because… that means that although everything is connected, at the same time we are so… isolated. As if each person were a particle desperately trying to find their half, but never…never…”
The sentence hung in the air, lost between the pauses and the weight of the drink in Spencer's system.
You leaned forward, resting your chin on one of your hands as you watched him. “Spence.” you said softly, your voice with a tone of affection that overflowed before you could control it. “That's why I love you so much.”
He blinked, surprised, the silence filling the space between you as if there were a third person present. Perhaps because of the alcoholic state he was in, or the confusion in his expression, he gave a low, disconnected laugh, shaking his head as if he had just heard something quite absurd.
“I love tangled particles too,” he muttered, before downing the rest of the wine he'd found in a glass.
And you laughed, but the sound that escaped your lips seemed more nervous than you wanted.
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The sun streamed into the room through the ajar curtains, the kind of light that had only one purpose: to irritate someone with a hangover. Spencer woke up slowly, pressing his eyes shut as a slight pain throbbed at the base of his head. He let out a low groan, feeling the bitter taste of wine and regret fill his mouth.
The muffled sound of plates and cups coming from the direction of the kitchen brought a small semblance of normality but also ignited disconnected fragments of the night before in his mind. The conversation about quantum physics, his inability to articulate ideas clearly, and… something else.
He stood up slowly, rubbing his face with his hands as he tried to remember more. Quantum entanglement, isolation… laughter… and…
“That's why I love you.”
The words echoed like a bucket of cold water thrown in his face, so unexpected and clear that they made his mind freeze in place. He tried to rationalize. You must have said it as a joke. Or something that came out in the heat of the moment. But the tone you used… was gentle, totally natural.
Getting up slowly, he stumbled to your bedroom door, still wearing his crumpled shirt and loose tie, as a reminder of all the chaos that had been the night before. When he reached the kitchen, he saw you, casual as ever, stirring something in a mug.
“Good morning, my favorite Einstein.” you joked when you saw him. “How's your head after that magnificent lecture on particles in love?”
He stood still for a moment, waiting for his brain to process his speech. “I've been better.” he replied, his voice hoarse, as he looked away from her to the bench.
“Coffee?” you offered, holding out the mug in your hands.
He accepted it without hesitation, his fingers still slightly trembling. “I… talked a lot of garbage yesterday, didn't I?”
You shrugged, still smiling. “Well, it was quite a trip. But don't worry, I didn't judge your ramblings about cosmic loneliness.”
He let out a mirthless laugh, but the discomfort was still there, pulsing beneath the surface of his chest. As you turned your attention to the stove, he allowed himself to stop and watch you for a moment. The way you acted as if nothing had happened made him wonder if it had really mattered — or if he was just dwelling on something too small.
“Thanks for… um… looking after me last night.” he murmured, without looking directly at you.
“Sure, Spence.” you replied casually, with an easy smile. ”What are friends, if not entangled particles, right?”
He choked on his coffee, the phrase reviving his memory even more vividly of the night before. But instead of answering you, he just lowered his head and sipped his coffee.
At that moment, he realized that the discomfort he felt in his heart didn't come from your words, but from the way they made him feel. It was something new, unexpected. Something he couldn't imagine how he was going to explore, but he was sure he wouldn't be able to ignore.
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tanadrin · 3 days ago
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I am sorry for the anon but I feel too vulnerable to come off due to the nature of my question.
I am slowly losing friends due to my refusal to engage in negative/nihilistic/doomer views of the future. My friends are 1000% convinced Trump and Republicans are going to crash the economy on purpose, leading to a depression, and carry out a Gilead situation. I told one of my friends the other day how, despite everything and the political situation, I am trying to be as positive as possible - or at least neutral. Her response to me was, "Why? I don't understand your optimism. You know they're going to enslave us all like in The Handmaid's Tale, right?" and it has become so dreadful now to interact with them. Anytime I disagree, they try to intellectually dominate me or put me under them in a way where I have no choice but to just leave the conversation.
I know this was a lot. But is there any advice you might have for someone like me? Because I sometimes feel like I am being painted as crazy. I know things will be hard but they genuinely want me to believe I have no future and I can't stand that.
Also, would it be too much to ask if you maybe mind sharing some of the other people/blogs you follow?
I once heard advice on dealing with Qanon family members who had fallen down the rabbit hole and only ever wanted to talk about conspiracy theories or the outrage bait they'd seen on Fox News or OANN or whatever, about not challenging them on their views but basically saying "I don't want to talk about this; let's talk about our plans for the weekend, or what movie we wanna go see later, or what interesting books you've read lately." The idea being, arguing with someone can only further entrench their beliefs, and if you really want to shake someone out of their dismal universe of conspiracism, it helps to remind them of all the things that aren't the fear-and-anger-activating content they're stuffing their brains with for hours every day.
Maybe something like this could help? I have a hard time imagining that someone really believes The Handmaid's Tale really is just around the corner--if you really believed that, surely you would be trying to flee to Canada or doing some political volunteer work or something--and sometimes doomer stuff can be kind of reflexive or phatic, like making a crack about how your retirement plan is to die in the water wars or something. But even if it isn't, I don't think there's any point in trying to argue about this stuff in the moment. Instead try to build on the things you still find fulfilling in that friendship, the conversations and interests and activities with those friends that caused you to become friends in the first place.
If you can't do that--if hanging out with them is always a constant grind of full-throttle doomerism, and they express no interest in actually trying to do something with their feelings of anger and frustration--you are perfectly within your rights to spend less time around them. You could, if you wanted to and you felt that you owed them at least that, give them a heads up as to why. If a close friend of mine or a family member was doing this, I would certainly talk to them about it. But your obligation to subject yourself to someone else's self-destructive idee fixe is not bottomless. Even with a partner you are within your rights to eventually say "I'm not going to talk about this with you anymore."
(And that's not only true of politics or conspiracy theories, by the way! If you have a close friend or family member or partner who--for example--has severe depression but refuses to seek treatment for it, you are not obligated to be the sponge for their misery forever every time they need someone to talk to. If someone in your life is in a relationship or a job that is making them miserable, and won't do anything to leave that relationship or find a new job, and just wants a friend to complain to, you are within your rights to eventually shut that down. Lots of people fall into a holding pattern in their life where they are unhappy but unable to do anything about it, and they will make this their friends' or loved ones' problem. That doesn't make them bad people: lord knows I have found myself doing this before. It's a very human thing to do. But sometimes the Good Friend Thing is to say "I love you, and will support you if you want to actually *do something* about your situation, but otherwise, oh my god shut the fuck up." But, you know, nicely.)
But if your friends want to make themselves miserable because hanging on to an endless stream of toxicity and doomerism from social media (and I will bet this is primarily coming from social media) is more important to them than your friendship, and they can't handle you not agreeing with them, you may lose them as friends. If you do, I'm sorry. That sucks. It's hard to lose friends, and it's even harder later in life when making new friends is more difficult, and I don't want to pretend like that's not a big deal.
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endwersed · 19 hours ago
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WIP Wednesday 🎇
Kicking off with my first WIP Wednesday of 2025 - how exciting 😄
As requested by @anon, here is a li'l 🤏 snippet of the fic I'm currently working on! It will be a high school AU with gay loser Stiles and closeted jock Derek. Derek also happens to be dating cheerleader Paige...
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“Whoa, whoa, just – calm down,” Stiles cuts in, because Derek is dialling himself all the way up here, ratcheting to tip over the deep end in a matter of seconds, and it is really starting to freak him out. “It’s literally just some unoriginally homophobic bullying, dude. I’m used to it by now. Why the hell are you getting so worked up about it?”
A harsh breath flares at Derek’s nostrils, his earlier tirade now bitten back behind the snap of his teeth. His jaw clenches as he looks away once again, the shadow of his pale eyes sliding into the empty darkness over Stiles’ shoulder.
“I’m not,” he says tightly.
Stiles scoffs another laugh. That’s a lie if Stiles has ever heard one.
“You totally are,” he argues, eyebrows knitting together as he searches an avoidant gaze and comes up completely empty. “Seriously. Why would you even, like… care?”
His heartbeat stutters against his ribcage when Derek’s eyes snap back to his. Sharp, and piercing, and almost glinting in the moonlight that streams down from the inky sky above.
It is quiet between them. A light breeze whistles through the green of the trees around them, and distant engines rumble from the highway out of sight to them, and the music of the party still beats steadily on behind them, far away to mean nothing, nothing at all, to either one of them right now.
“I don’t care,” Derek says. “I don’t know.”
Lie. Lies, lies, all goddamn lies. It is clear as day in the break of Derek’s voice, in the nervous flash of his eyes and the hard set of his jaw and the fists he has curling into the grass they sit on. There is no doubt in Stiles’ mind that Derek is lying to him, but he just does not understand… why.
The pieces begin to fall clearer into place when Derek jolts forwards to kiss him.
Stiles feels frozen. His hands hover just above his lap, his eyes open, big and wide and stunned as they stare across at Derek’s closed ones, the dark shadow of his eyelashes against the sharp height of his cheekbones. There is a blade of grass stuck to the heel of Derek’s palm, damp where it presses to Stiles’ cheek, cool against the flush of Stiles’ skin, that shaking, gentle touch holding Stiles carefully in place for the dry match of their unmoving mouths.
A second passes before Stiles can truly catch up to what is happening to him. He breathes through his recovery, closes his eyes, and kisses back.
Their heads tilt, the faint nudge of the tips of their noses as they angle for better, angle for more. The sound of their lips catching at one another is so loud to Stiles, a deafening, repetitive smacking to be heard even above the steady roar of blood inside of his ears. Derek keeps his hand on Stiles’ face. Stiles cannot move his hands from midair.
This is his first kiss. Ever, actually – literally his very first. He really was not kidding about feeling like the only queer kid around for about a hundred miles or more. Any kind of opportunity like this has never presented itself to him before. He barely knows what to do with it.
Derek’s mouth is warm, and his hand is kind of warm now, too, but his tongue – his tongue is hot, so fucking hot. It sweeps along the seam of Stiles’ bottom lip, wet and pressing and burning at the twisting pit of Stiles’ stomach. Derek takes the chance to lick instantly inside when Stiles’ lips part with a humiliating hitch of breath.
Time passes. It’s a cliché, but Stiles truly has no idea how much, loses track entirely of even the concept of its passage as he sinks into the feeling of Derek touching him, kissing him, holy shit, Derek Hale is kissing him. Stiles’ trembling fingers clutch into the fabric of his own jeans, too terrified to even consider reaching out for Derek, too aware of how easy it would be to break whatever fucking spell is happening between them right now.
In the end, his restraint is futile. The crash of a patio door swinging into the wall from the house behind them has Derek ripping away from him so quickly it could tear a hole in the very fabric of the universe.
They stare at each other with wild eyes. Derek is breathing just as heavily as Stiles is. Stiles’ mouth feels weird, puffy in a way he has no experience with, and there is nothing he can do to stop the hand that flies up to his face, fingerprints denting into the bow of his lip.
Derek’s eyes dip down to follow the movement. They are not allowed to linger there long.
“But,” Stiles says, little more than a whisper, raw and quiet, “you’re straight.”
A beat. Derek merely stares silently back. His mouth is red as it parts around a ragged breath, and no words follow after.
“You have a girlfriend,” Stiles presses on.
Derek leaps instantly to his feet.
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No pressure tags! 🩷 @crownofstardustandbone @dear-massacre @eevylynn @heavensenthale @like-lazarus
@lucky-bishop @nerdherderette @raisesomehale @renmackree @violetfairydust
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kakusu-shipping · 11 months ago
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I think me and you might have two different pictures regarding the pig reader. I was picturing the most ever “Fuck it. we ball” bitch on the planet. That reader that I'm imagining couldn't win and then immediately went for The Silly To survive. 
Probably not realistic at all. It is a bit more of an OC character with a second personal narrative. Maybe a bit of a Mary Sue? I don't know, I just think it's interesting.
As Someone having a battle of wills against the Luca Blight over how much Miserable Non-sexual pet play that they would do without him even saying a damn word is the kind of dark comedy I can get behind. Are you determined enough? How much of a good actor are you to act like an obedient little piggy? How long can you last holding yourself together? How much can you take and still know that you are a human deep inside? How much do you have to bury to survive? How long can this act last before you get consumed? Or can you be clever enough to get yourself out without revealing yourself to be smarter than you should? All you know is that you should never stand up and absorb as much as you can and try to keep yourself as sane as possible. you will get through this. This Little Piggy has a life worth fighting for. (((What's got to be done to make this work? How are you going to appeal to him?)))) You're not going to come out of this unscathed but you're going to come out of this No Matter What. 
(((This thought probably came from How I Probably cuz I really can't comprehend somebody doing for any amount of time In this particular scenario involving Luca blight Without Either being absolute batshit insane or completely cracked out in deceit and determination.  (To be fair being pathetic is totally an option but man does anyone want to be that pathetic?)))
Am I honestly asking for an unconventional badass reader in this situation? Yes actually. Can we split this in two versions cuz I think both are very valid. Mind breaking with agony due to a great fear of death versus strong-willed piggy with no shame, willing to do anything. (((Not to say that the reader in the mind breaks the Submissive Pig thing can't be strong nor is incredibly valid, of course. any reader got to be to last this long but man is that such a nearly inconceivable dark spot to even think about let alone wright geez. I like to explore all angles still )))
I actually think we're very much on the same page with this reader's strength, anon. Where you are on the outside and seeing the inherent hilarity of the situation, I'm simply writing it from the perspective of Luca Blight projecting onto the reader.
To him you are lowly. To bow your head and eat whatever scraps he's willing to give you. To oink and squeal and stare with empty eyes. To do anything, even give up your pride, to survive. He sees what he wants to see with you, a pathetic thing desperate to live, like himself all those years ago captured by a city state. It is the way of being human, a way he's long sense abandoned. He finds humor in seeing it on full display.
But you're right, the reader is strong. They made a choice and they stick by it and they are strong for it. How long are they willing to bow their head, to be treated as an animal, to be looked down upon and shamed. They don't feel that shame but it is there, in the pitying eyes of Jowy Atreides, in the mocking laugh of Rowd, in the way the Windamiers refuse to acknowledge them. It's there, it is not felt but it is there and it is known.
The one thing I've yet to wrap my head around is the reader's feelings for Luca. You'd expect resentment, hatred, for the man who burned your village and murdered your friends and family and now owns you like a personal pet. Who laughs at you and yells at you and threatens you with a sword daily before once again collapsing into hysterics upon looking at your face.
Perhaps it's pity, to be so near Luca Blight, like no one has ever been before, is to see the little things, to hear the fear crack in his voice before he raises it louder while speaking to himself in his chamber. To see him loose sleep, to skip meals, to randomly burst into rage unfit for a king and destroy his chambers before collapsing into a fit of hysterical laughter amongst the destruction. You know something awful happened to him, that he may have lived like you are now once upon a time.
I think I've landed on indifference. Like how Luca cares naught for you, you care naught for Luca. You are his pig, a creature he keeps around for entertainment, and you stay for food and the warmth of his bed and safety so long as you stay as you are. This is the exchange. It is one of chance, of happen stance, anyone could have been here in his room resting on a pillow by his feet. But it's you. Oh so stubborn you.
This little piggy has a life worth fighting for.
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meownotgood · 1 year ago
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aki belt kink is mutual mags i want to watch him take his black blazer off, accompanied with the sound of fiddling with the belt’s buckle the anticipation that comes with it is so mouth watering wnmtmgmemr i’m so flustered and when he finally gets it off he beckons you with a finger and a breathy “come here” to summon you to your knees GRAHHHHHHH
the way im tingling just from reading this
AAUUUUGGHHHHHH just think about watching aki as he unbuttons his jacket and tugs it from his shoulders, he fixes the cuffs on his shirt before reaching for his tie and tugging it until it's loose around his collar, the buckle on his belt jingles as he undoes it, his pants go slacker around his hips once he pops the button and pulls down the zipper I'm............ aki just strip tease me. I don't need anything more
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just-some-guy-joust · 2 years ago
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@ the anon who asked about if a specific fish has been submitted, yes! it has! i will not name it publicly tho since i don't want people to Not submit specific fish just because one or two other people already have! assuming you are not the person who has submitted the creature you asked about, if you really want to be sure they'll get in then ! go nominate them!
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eggs-can-draw · 2 years ago
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Dang it I meant Zoomies I just cannot spell still.
I I’m anon I’m 10,000 and I never learned to read
ZOOMIE TIME ZOOMIE TIME ZOOMIE TIME
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cinnamorollcrybaby · 4 months ago
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I really loved your career day fic and I was wondering if you could do a Shut up mom fic with the same lineup with nanami tho if you write for him🥺 👉👈
Shut up, Mom!
Tags: teeth rotting fluff, mostly crack, cursing, jjk men as dads / fem!reader
An: I would be delighted to write this anon :) my requests are open, loves. If you want me to write a specific idea, definitely ask and I’ll try to deliver on it! also, if anyone wants to be on a taglist please let me know. So, I gave Sukuna a kid in this one because I didn’t really see Yuji calling you mom or him dad. Yuji calls you two unc and auntie :)
SATORU • SUGURU • TOJI • SUKUNA • NANAMI
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SATORU
“Aoi, did you take out the trash?” You ask your nine-year-old son while trying not to giggle. Aoi has recently discovered pranks, and he suggested playing one on Satoru. You couldn’t help but think that was an amazing idea.
Your husband was leisurely sitting on the couch, playing a game on the console he and your son shared. He was able to see you from his peripheral vision while you and Aoi were in the dining room. He didn’t seem to be too intrigued by the conversation, but Satoru is a chronic eavesdropper. He can’t help it with his technique and all.
“No, mom. Why can’t you do it?” Aoi plays his role perfectly, even throwing in an annoyed groan at you. Gojo cut his eyes towards you two, but he stayed silent for a moment. He knew this was your battle to face, and he wasn’t usually the disciplinary parent anyways.
“Because I told you to do it, Aoi. It’s your chore.” You say, putting on a serious voice as you would if he had really been sassing off to you.
“Ugh. Shut up, mom!” Aoi yells with a dramatic eye roll.
Immediately, you hear the game console cut off. It seems like you two had garnered Satoru’s attention. Footsteps carry into the dining room, and your all too tall husband leans against the doorframe.
Aoi sees his father, and his eyes widen. Your little actor. He then tries to walk off, but Satoru easily put his hand out against Aoi’s chest, preventing him from going anywhere.
“Woah, woah, woah, there little man. Who do you think you’re talking to there?” He interjects as his hands slowly unwrap his bindings from around his eyes, letting you know that he’s about to get serious.
“She’s getting on my nerves, dad!” Aoi continues to play the role, even though you can tell that he’s scared shitless.
“Hey, look at me.” Satoru says as he bends his knees to be eye level with Aoi. Your son complies with his dad’s order. “I don’t give a shit, okay? Never, and I mean, never tell your mother to shut up unless you intend on fighting me afterwards. She says to take out the trash, you say yes and take out the trash. Do you understand me?” Satoru says as he holds his son’s shoulders, squeezing them a bit so Aoi knows he’s not fooling around.
“Because I don’t think you want to fight me, do you?” Satoru questions. His blue eyes beam in the light, making your son nervously sweat.
“Baby, it’s just a prank.” You quickly interject with a laugh as you gently nudge your husband away from your son.
“Yeah dad, I was just acting!!” Aoi’s nervous gaze flutters into an adorable smile.
Satoru rolls his eyes and playfully laughs along. “You two are too silly, makin’ me turn off my game for this.” He shakes his head as he wraps his eyes back up.
“You were like gonna hollow purple me!” Aoi shouts with an excited laugh, and he reenacts Satoru’s cursed technique.
“Yeah, I love your mom a little too much.” Satoru responds with a grin up towards your direction.
SUGURU
Mimiko and Nanako are coming into their teen years, and recently, they’ve been obsessed with the idea of TikTok. After seeing the “shut up mom” prank all over, they knew that they had to play it on Suguru.
You, of course, agreed to help them pull off their little shenanigan.
“You two are not going out. It’s a school night.” You chide at the twin girls, giving them a small wink as Suguru was enjoying a cup of tea while sitting at the breakfast bar. He was scrolling mindlessly on his phone, reading the news or something like that.
“Mom, please. Everyone’s going.” Nanako pled and even threw in a small pout.
“Yeah, who cares if it’s a school night?” Mimiko chimed in.
“Girls.” Suguru warned as he normally did when you were having to deal with the twins. He didn’t like the idea of the girls ganging up on you.
“I said no. I bet you two didn’t even do your homework yet either.” You carry on, eyeing the two girls as if they were really in trouble.
“Ugh! Mom, shut up!” The girls somehow managed to say in sync. The two had obviously practiced their lines.
The tea glass hit the counter, and Suguru a stood up from his seat on the stool. “Hey. I don’t ever want to hear that kind of language in this house, especially not to your mother. Got that?” He said as he eyed your daughters.
Your husband was a bit of a strict father to the girls. He really just wanted them to turn out good, so he was the main disciplinary figure in the house.
“Dad! She’s-“
“Aht.” He cuts Mimiko off, and starts to walk up to the girls. “I didn’t ask. Apologize to your mother this instant. Then, go upstairs and do your homework. You two are grounded from going out for at least a month.”
“Sugu, it’s a prank.” You say as you can’t hold back a laugh from how angry he got that quickly. “It’s a prank, sweetie.”
Your two girls were nodding quickly, holding their hands out in surrender. “We saw it on TikTok!”
Suguru rolls his eyes at the three of you. “That app is no good for you.” He quietly chides. “Did you two do your homework?”
Mimiko and Nanako exchange nervous glances, and they both run up to their rooms to get it done.
Your husband laughs quietly and shakes his head before sitting back down on his stool. You walk over towards him and card your fingers through his long hair. He lets out a long exhale of contentment while leaning his head into your touch. “What are we gonna do with those two, hm?”
“Love them and try our best to teach them.” You softly respond before pressing a kiss to his cheek.
TOJI
Toji is a pretty laid back dad. He lets you take the lead on a lot of the parenting aspects, since it comes to you more naturally than it does with him. However.. he has his moments.
“Megumi, come help me do the dishes.” You say to your 13-year-old son. He’s in that weird stage of puberty where you’re his best friend one day and his worst enemy the next, which means he sometimes agreed to play pranks with you.
“Busy, mom.” He mumbles at the table as he’s trying to learn the hand signs for one of his shikigami. He was left learning this stuff on his own since Toji wasn’t a sorcerer, and you weren’t apart of the Zenin clan. You had no idea how to do the hand gestures.
“You can do that after you’re done helping me, Gumi.” You say as you turn on the kitchen sink. Your son doesn’t even acknowledge that you said anything.
Toji eyes him from his seat at the dining table, waiting for his son to comply.
“Gumi. Get in here.” You finally say after a minute of him not responding to you.
“Shut up, Mom!” He raises his voice at you, and immediately, Toji is on him quicker than you could respond.
“What did you just say to your mother, brat?” Toji grits as he stares down at his teenage son. Megumi looked back up at him mortified. “I brought you in this world, and I will take your ass out of it if I hear you speak to your mom like that again.”
“Baby, baby, baby, it’s a prank!” You say as you rush over to Toji. Megumi cracks a nervous smile, and you gently nudge Toji back.
“It’s a prank!” Megumi shouts as he leans back away from Toji slightly.
Your husband lets out an annoyed grunt. “You two play too much. Gonna make me kill my own son.” He says as he releases Megumi’s shoulder. He walks back over to his seat at the dining table and smacks your ass on the way back.
SUKUNA
“Ryu, come take out the trash!” You yell to your son. He recently brought up the idea of pranking Sukuna by yelling at you to shut up in front of him. You had urged your son that this was a bad idea, but he was persistent.
Sukuna was sat at the dining table, eating whatever Uraume had prepared for him. Usually, Uraume handled the trash as well, but you distinctly told them to leave it.
There’s no response.
“Ryu! Trash now!” You call out again in a more frustrated tone.
Sukuna is biting his tongue at this point. There is nothing that he hates more than insolence, especially towards you. You’re his queen, and he demands for all to respect you, including his son.
No response.
“Ryu!”
“Okay mom! Shut the fuck up!”
All four of Sukuna’s eyes widened, and he put down his fork. “Domain expansion. Malevolent-“
“It’s a prank!” You shout as you spin to look at Sukuna quickly. Your son is standing behind you, quite literally trembling in fear.
“Yeah- it’s a p-prank, dad.” Ryu stutters out.
Sukuna narrows his gaze, and he looks between the two of you. “Foolish.” He grunts. “Boy, come have a seat.” He commands, and your son reluctantly complies.
“If you ever pull some shit like that seriously, I’m not afraid to start over and make a new kid. I got nothing but time on my hands.” Your husband says while eyeing your son.
“Ryu’s a good kid, Kuna.” You assure him as you walk over to your husband and rub on his shoulders a bit.
“Mmm, for now.” He mumbles, and he nods his head to the trashcan. “Take the trash out.”
NANAMI
Your husband was sitting in the living room, enjoying his “lazy Sunday” as he called it. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other. He couldn’t help but feel incredibly grateful for the life he was living right now.
He had everything he ever dreamed of: a stable job, an amazing wife, a small family in a loving home.
You were sitting next to him, casually rubbing on his thigh through his pajama pants. You and your daughter had been texting about playing a prank on your dear husband, and it was finally going to happen.
“Hana, did you fold the clothes like I told you to?” You call out to your daughter as she’s in her bedroom. Nanami turns a page in his book, still not paying too much attention.
“Mom, I’m doing something!” Your daughter yells back.
“Hana, get in here and fold those clothes!” You shout back, getting a bit more serious. Nanami lets out a small sigh as he places his mug on the coffee table. He’s normally quick to nip Hana’s attitude in the bud.
“I’m busy!”
“Hana!”
“Okay mom! Just shut up already!” She finally yells as she storms into the living room. Nanami shuts his book and immediately stares down your daughter.
“What did you just say?” He asks as he sits up from his cozy position. His jaw tightens a bit as he glares at Hana.
“I just told her to shut up. She’s being overdramatic.” Your daughter continues, playing her part perfectly.
“Who’s her? Your mother? You’re telling my wife to shut up?” Nanami says as he starts to stand up.
“It’s just a prank, Ken!”
“Dad, it’s a prank-!”
You and your daughter both shout nervously, and Nanami looks at both of you confused for a moment. It then clicks in his head. “God, don’t stress me out like that.” He chides as he relaxes back on the couch. He wraps his arm back around you and picks up his book again.
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rafeysbunny · 2 months ago
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heyyyyyyyy! I have a thought. Do you think that reader could get rafe to beg? Like maybe he did smth that pissed reader off so she’s been ignoring him but rage just can’t take it anymore? I love your writing so honestly just go crazy
-👻 anon
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a/n. first ask, i'm so excited! in answer to your question: yes! absolutely, yes! this man is soo pussy whipped, he'd do anything for reader. ty for the request, babe!
two hours of you giving rafe the cold shoulder it's all it takes for him to break. he knows he fucked up greatly, but you're just being so mean that he cannot help the way his lips curl into a pout as he kneels in front of you, pleading for your forgiveness.
only you could get rafe motherfucking cameron to beg like this.
"baby, 'm so, so sorry," he apologizes, big hands gripping onto your plush thighs tightly so you can't get away from him this time, not again. "forgive me, yeah? i know i screwed up, and i'm sorry."
his lips start peppering kisses over the sliver of bare skin under the hem of your top as he keeps muttering words of repentance, the actions making your heart melt. "it won't happen again, i promise to you, angel."
"i'm really pissed at you right now, rafe," you address him for the first time in hours, voice tone sharp.
he doesn't care how cold you sound, though, the fact that you're finally talking to him instead of ignoring his presence nearly makes him cry happy tears. how embarrassing is that? he can't believe you got him this hooked. he should be the one in charge, not you, but, let's be honest, he's too in love with you to even care anymore.
"i know, baby, i'm sorry," he repeats for the hundredth time, puppy, blue eyes staring up at you entreatingly. "what can i do for you to forgive me? i'll do anything, just please, stop being mad."
"anything?"
a mischievous smirk spreads across your pretty face, your mind already conjuring up all the filthy ways he could make it up to you.
"anything, angel."
that's how he ends up tied up to the bed, hands desperately tugging at the fluffy, pink handcuffs in a failed attempt to break free of them while you ride his pretty face. he's fucking drowning in your pussy, dick achingly hard inside his pants.
what a shame you won't make him cum this time, as a little punishment.
your hips rock against his face unabashedly, feeling the way his eager tongue parts your chubby folds to drink up your sweet essence, occasionally slipping inside your pussy to fuck you with it. his nose is rubbing your puffy clit every time you grind down, which has you mewling and shuddering atop him.
"i love you so much, baby," he'd mumble against your cunt, totally mesmerised by the hypnotic sway of your hips and your taste.
your flesh muffle his words and grunts, but you understand what he says and look down at him with adoring eyes, just to find him staring up at you in the same way, pink lips glistening with a combination of your arousal and his spit.
the sight is enough to send you spiralling into a mind blowing orgasm that makes you let out the most lewd moan you've ever made, body shaking as your legs close around his head, almost suffocating him.
"fuck, i love you too," you breath out, the aftershocks of your climax making your brain dizzy. "i forgive you, rafey."
honestly, he doesn't quite understand how this could be a punishment for him, but he's not one to complain.
more.
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jamminvroomvroom · 6 months ago
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🎀 anon
congrats on 5k
hey bb ! i’ve been brainrotting on insatiable lando and his gf for weeks now omg
for a cute lil fic i was thinking of reader being max f’s sister and lando and her being secretly together. they’re all on vacation together and lando and reader are super insanely insatiable and the story on how they act on vacay 😈😈
anywhere she wants.
ln x fem fewtrell!reader
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in which no one approves of your relationship, so lando shows them just how good he is to you…
oh my sweet 🎀 anon, i’m sorry this took so long! slowly getting back into the groove of writing, starting with this little piece! i went a bit off script but the vibes are hopefully similar to the request! huge thanks to angel bby @fairene for helping me out!enjoy! lemme know what you think!! big hugs and lots of love 💖
songs to set the mood: my love mine all mine by mitski, i know places by taylor swift, she will be loved by maroon 5, summertime sadness by lana del rey
warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, fluff, angst, a bit of exhibitionism kinda, oral (fem receiving), fingering, p in v, established relationship, max being a dick, angry/feral!lando, girlboss!reader, hints of ownership kink? for like. a second, lando being wise (not canon lmao), swearing
4.2k words
fairy lights drench the pool with light, a glow dancing over the still surface in ripples. you smile, hum with content as the warm evening air washes over your skin, leaning over the balcony to take in the sight of where you’ll be staying.
footsteps sound from behind you, the master bedroom, and you quickly feel two warm arms wrap around your waist, tan and thick. you lean into his touch, chest warming from the kisses peppered over your jugular.
“you like it?” lando breathes, nosing over your earlobe.
“it’s beautiful.” you whisper, turning your head to nuzzle against him. he seizes the opportunity to seal his lips over yours, kissing you soft and deep. you spin in his arms, clutching at his shirt to hold him close, the kiss intensifying, changing pace. just as he licks into your mouth, a sigh, so loud that it breaks the sound barrier, tears you both apart.
“so is that all you two do now, suck each others faces?” max rolls his eyes, his disapproval of your relationship one of the worlds worst kept secrets.
“yes, max. that’s all we do.” you mock, biting back at your older brother.
because of course you’re dating your brothers best friend. of course you are. life is funny like that.
lando stays silent, but you feel his hand on your waist tightening. max swallows hard.
“we ordered pizza, if you guys wanna come down.” max bulldozes through the awkwardness, offering an olive branch, and leaves.
“he is such a knob.” you mutter, shaking your head. lando strokes tentatively over your cheek, soothing you.
“he’s your big brother, baby. he’ll get over this.” lando coos reassuringly, and you choose the easy path of believing him.
you and max occupy opposite ends of the excessively large dining table when you join the rest of your friends.
the tension has been palpable between you and max since he caught you sneaking out of lando’s london flat one morning, the reason for your visit quite clear. you’d stood with your ear to the door when he’d stormed past you and entered the apartment, making you more than aware that your presence was unwanted when he quickly slammed the door behind him.
you’d endured the one-sided screaming match that followed, the accusations that lando must be playing with your feelings, that it would never work out, that it wasn’t fair at how exposed you’d be to the cruelty of his fan base, that he couldn’t believe how low lando would stoop to date his little fucking sister.
you wanted to understand, and really, you tried!but max hadn’t made it easy, constantly pushing your buttons and making needless digs at the both of you. lando convinced you that this holiday during the summer break would be healing; max would get to see how much lando cared for you, and everyone got much needed time to relax. so, with your friend group in tow, the three of you jetted off to the tiny spanish island.
surely, everything would be fine.
-
everything was not, in fact, fine.
you can smell it in the air, the tension building thick and heavy. everyone thought they were slick, waiting for lando to leave so they could corner you, and corner you, they did.
lando had kissed you sweetly by the sliding doors to the garden, popping his airpods in and shouting a quick: going on a run! to the rest of your holiday party. you’d sauntered carelessly to a lounger, bikini clad, sprawling out across the chair to tan and watch the who can do the best canon ball into the pool competition that has become a long running championship. but you can feel stares, feel the walls closing in, and you push your sunglasses up to rest over your hairline.
max and pietra are locked in on you, as are the rest of your friends.
“what?” you feel hot, embarrassed all of the sudden for no reason at all.
“so, it’s going well, then… with lando?” one of your girlfriends starts, but it sounds extra high pitched, awkward. your stomach sinks as you realise the pathetically choreographed dance about to take place.
“for fuck sake.” you mutter.
“she’s just asking!” max shoots back, as if he’s offended, as if you can’t see right through him.
“it’s going great.” you state, blunt as ever whenever your relationship is questioned.
“we just wanna make sure that this is right for you.” pietra says sympathetically, her eyes soft. you’ve known her long enough to know that even though her dickhead boyfriend is being callous, she genuinely cares.
“lando is right for me, you are all so full of shit! i don’t get what it is that you’re seeing.” you try and keep your voice level, even as your blood pressure begins to rise menacingly.
“it’s not so much what we see between you, it’s more about what he was like before.” tom jumps in.
ah, yes. the infamous hoe phase.
“because no one here ever fucked around.” you glare pointedly at your brother. he lowers his gaze.
“are we sure this isn’t just a… a fling?” pietra tries again, staying soft. her words still sting.
“yeah, i know him better than you do, and i-“ max’s voice cuts you like a thousand shards of glass and you body ignites with rage.
he knows him better? what does he know?
does he know that lando can’t sleep without telling you that he loves you? does he know that lando cried into you arms after his miami win? does he know that lando feels itchy if he doesn’t tell you that you’re beautiful at least eleven times an hour? does he know that you’re so crazy about his gorgeous, loving, infuriating best friend that you’re prepared to tell your brother where to go and to never come back?
“shut the fuck up, max. you know nothing! nothing about our relationship because you never gave us a chance. you don’t see how much i love him because every time you see us together, you’re hellbent on destroying our happiness.” you point angrily, standing from your chair. before you turn to the house, you leave them all with a parting message.
“and all of you will do very well to remember who paid to bring your bitter arses here. remember whose fucking house you’re in.” you lecture, watching as they all turn sheepish as they realise how ungrateful they sound.
“i don’t think i have anything to add.” you hear from behind you.
you jump, turning to see lando leaning against the door.
“shit, baby.” you breathe, rushing towards him, your skin crawling as you wonder how much he’s heard.
“forgot my phone.” he shrugs, smiling warmly at you. only at you. “now unless anyone has anything to add, i’m gonna take my very, very serious girlfriend upstairs.” he grins smugly.
the silence is so deafening that you couldn’t of even heard a pin drop if you’d tried.
you hold up your middle finger as he leads you away.
your bedroom door slams so hard that they must hear it outside. he’s tense, enraged at the disrespect that you’d endured, but he’s soft with you, pulling you into his rigid body. he relaxes into you, walking you further into the room.
“how much did you hear?” you whisper, clinging to him.
“oh, you know, just all of it.” he laughs bitterly, fingers sinking into your hips.
“they’re assholes.” you growl, threading your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck, just the way he likes it.
“there is one good thing about it though.” lando hums, still guiding you deeper into the room. your back thuds softly against the sliding glass door, the one that leads to your balcony.
“what?” you breathe, suddenly extremely aware of his lower body.
“you’re so fucking sexy when you’re mad.” he smirks.
turns out, he didn’t steal you away to mope.
his lips crash against yours fiercely, teeth and tongue getting in on the action as he moves his mouth feverishly against your own. your neck tilts back, allowing him to swallow you whole, like his life depends on the feeling of you pressed against him. he trails kisses over your cheek, across your jaw, down your neck, two fingers grazing your ribcage. he snaps the tie of your bikini against your skin, stone cold aware of the lack of clothing adorning your body and he hums low from the back of his throat.
“they need to learn that you’re mine, that you’re always gonna be mine.” lando grunts, pulling away to slide the door open. he pushes you out onto the balcony, the one that overlooks the very pool that your friends and your brother are licking their wounds around.
“lando…” you gasp, weary of his overly adventurous attitude.
“maybe this will make them realise just how crazy you make me.” lando looks possessed, moving towards you like a wild animal engulfing its prey.
he cages you in against the wall, pulling one leg over his hip to spread you open, his fingers travelling to the flimsy tie of your bikini bottoms. you’re already soaked, embarrassingly so, really, but there’s just something about those gorgeous, haunted eyes. lando let’s the bottoms fall to the floor, kicking them away impatiently as he quickly finds home between your legs.
“think anyone else can get you this wet?” lando asks, eyes rolling back as he finds your slick folds. your jaw drops, already boneless at the feel of him. “answer me, baby. nice ‘n loud for me.” he demands.
“no, lan.” you whine, bucking your hips into his hand. he’s teasing, stroking lightly over your folds and your sensitive bud.
“and can anyone else make you feel this good? i mean, baby, i’ve barely touched you and you’re shaking.” lando’s teeth catch his bottom lip, his eyes glazing over as he watches you.
“lando, please.” you mutter, grinding down on his hand. you need more of him. he grins, flashing his teeth with pride as he renders you desperate.
“my pretty girl fucking my hand, god, you’re so perfect.” lando praises, earning a moan from your kiss-swollen lips. “bet they can hear how soaked you are, baby.”
you flush red, shame and embarrassment blurring the pleasure and you press a tense hand to your mouth, trying to silence the waterfall of whines.
“don’t you fucking dare.” he warns, sliding his fingers deep into your pussy. he gives you no time to adjust, curling them upwards and rocking his whole hand against you. his palm bumps against your clit and you writhe against the wall.
there’s no point covering your mouth, there is no hiding what’s happening. you let him have you how he wants you, a consolation for him having to hear his friends badmouth him, and he takes every liberty, mouthing at your covered tits, lapping over your peaked nipples. you cry out, weak as he manipulates your body closer to an orgasm, your wetness trickling down his wrist.
“so good to me, baby, only you, lando.” you choke, your voice echoing between the stone walls.
“that’s it, honey, make a mess for me. let ‘em hear you pretty girl.” he encourages, talking you straight into your first orgasm.
you tremble, gushing all over his hand as you cum, droplets splattering all over the paved floor. lando’s eyes turn black, mouth hanging open as he watches you fall apart, riding you through it.
lando let’s you cool down, propping you carefully against the wall, and leaning over the balcony. funnily enough, max is long gone, but the rest of them sit in stunned silence. he can’t help himself, driven mad by your quivering body and their cruel jabs, choosing whatever the opposite of the high road is. he reaches into his pocket, finding his credit card.
“get out of the villa that i paid for so i can fuck my girlfriend anywhere she wants.” he shouts, watching the way their necks snap up to look at him, revelling in their reddened faces that are not just flushed from the sun. “take this. have dinner. just fuck off.” he frisbees his card at tom, - rather carelessly really, considering just how much there was to lose on that little black square - and he revels in the way it lands square against his forehead.
they all stand up and scurry away, as few faint sorry’s! carrying through the air towards the couple on the balcony, but lando has more important business to attend to.
he scoops you up into his arms, grinning at your coy smile and your drooping eyes. he carries you to bed, planting you in the middle of the mattress.
“not done with you yet, baby, open those eyes for me.” lando coos, crawling over you, his shirt and workout shorts flung to the other side of the room. he feels delicious against you, caging you in beneath him.
“want you, lan.” you plead, a desperate smile on your face as you keen, stretching against the mattress like a cat.
“you’ll have me, baby. always gonna have me.” he smiles, eyes finding yours. “i love you.”
“love you so much.” you whisper, pulling him flush against you. “no matter what.” you affirm. he needed to hear that, it seems, his eyes sparkling with something else, other than the sheen of lust.
he kisses you, firm and wanting, his fingertips sliding up over your arms, leaving prickles of lightning and goosebumps in their wake. one of his hands interlocks with yours, twining together above your head, his body stretching languidly over yours. you can feel him, hard and throbbing between your legs, teetering on the knife edge of self control.
“take me, lando. have me how you want me. ‘m yours.” you croon, disguising a helpless whine as you arch your body into his. you’re squirming for it, to feel him sink deep and claim you his.
that seems to usher him along, and he drags his cock through your folds with a slow roll of his hips, the head catching your sodden entrance. you hiss, the intrusion not even nearly enough, but the sensation overwhelming you nonetheless. he slides into you carefully, stilling when his hips hit flush against yours. you do not want careful.
“fuck me.” you groan wetly, hot breath fanning his face as your mouth instinctively fills with saliva. you’re close to drooling for him.
“beg.” he snaps, jaw tight as he battles his natural instinct to utterly ravage you. “beg me to show you that i own you.”
your legs quiver, pussy clenching around him and he cannot help but buck his hips and suppress a whine. he styles it out, tantalisingly slow as he rolls his hips, grinding against your pleasure point, your slick walls. blood rushes in your ears, your body feral with need. you can’t even tease, disobey him for the fun of it, not when he’s wound you up so delectably. your body keens for him, hums with the sparks, a live wire.
“don’t wanna be able to walk when you’re done,” you slur, beginning to ramble. “want to feel you so deep that i’m ruined. ‘m yours, lando. have me.” you plead.
pleasure shoots through him, then, rapid and unwavering. he’s unforgiving as he rails into you, immediately stoking the fire in your belly. all of his body weight is on you, sweaty skin sticking and slapping as his hipbones bruise into yours.
“is that how you want it, huh, baby?” he manages to growl, scooping up your wrists in one big paw, his other hand working down the planes and curves of your body. he finds the triangles of your bikini top, hastily tearing them down just enough so that your tits spill out. all for him. all his. “look at this perfect fucking body,” his breathe hitches, awestruck. “is it all mine?”
you cry out, nodding shamelessly as he ghosts his fingers around the swell of your nipple, switching to the other when he’s satisfied with the peak. he alternates between them, twisting and tugging, barely there and all too hard. you can only plead his name and tighten around his cock.
once he’s overstimulated your chest, he works his fingers further down your body, stopping now and then to dig into your flesh, appreciating the soft feeling of your skin under his calloused hands.
“and this hot, little cunt… is this mine, too?” lando breathes, right against the shell of your ear. his thumb presses hard against your thrumming clit, smearing your slick over the bud. “to play with? is it baby?”
“god, yes.” you manage to bellow, the strained words tearing over your vocal chords.
“yes, what?” lando snaps, slapping lightly over the bundle of nerves.
“it’s yours!” you sob, choking on your own voice.
“to…?” lando coaxes, a smirk tugging at his swollen lips as he looks at you expectantly.
“to play with.” you stutter, cheeks tinged hot with embarrassment that seeps down your neck and between your sweat-dampened bodies.
“that’s my good girl. my pretty, pretty girl.” he mutters, more to himself than to you.
“‘m so close.” you breathe, writhing up the mattress, his body atop your inescapable. he toys with your clit, pinching the electrified nerves, watching how you buck your hips and leak onto the mattress. he’s covered in you, his belly glistening in the sunlight that washes over you, sealing you forever in this golden, sparkling moment.
“want me to cum all over your tummy, baby? mark you mine?” lando gasps, driving into you with one goal in mind. he has to get you there, wants to be painted in the remnants of your pleasure and hung up in every art museum in the world. if only he wasn’t so selfish, yearning to keep this stunning sight to himself for the rest of his life.
“n-no,” you pause, your jaw going slack for a moment as he circles your clit just right, grinds his hips so deep. “inside me.” you beg.
“fill me up.”
his vision blurs.
lando just about folds you in half, carnal desire surging through his veins. the hand keeping yours suspended over your head falls away, finding your navel where he applied a brutal, sweet pressure that leaves you blind and wailing. his other fingers busy themselves sinking into the meat of your thigh, dragging you backwards and forwards on his throbbing length.
your body goes limp, tears of pleasure trailing wetly down your face as your orgasm hits you, and lando can’t help but bury himself as deep as he can go. the rutting of his hips and the messy rub of his whole hand against your clit leaves you awestruck, sobbing into the air of the room. you’re covering him in waves, shivering as you grow overstimulated but you can’t help but chase the high. your violent quivers and dripping cunt make him whine, high pitched and divine, and he drops onto you, filling you up. he can’t seem to stop, painting you white from the inside out, watching the way it drips out of you, coating the base of his cock.
this can’t be over yet, he decides. he needs to hear you scream.
“lemme help you with that.” he mumbles, slinking down your body, eyes fixed solely on where you were joined together.
you don’t even get a chance to mourn the loss of him buried inside of you, no. you’re too busy pushing at his curls, pleading that he lets up, but he can’t. it’s not that he won’t, it’s that he quite simply can’t.
his tongue runs up the seam of your pussy, lapping over the mixture you’ve made and you can’t do anything but cry and thrash, white hot with pleasure and pain. its so good that it hurts, and you give in, knowing that he isn’t going to stop unless you say the magic words. lord knows, you won’t. lando knows you won’t.
it’s torturous, really, the way he sucks your clit into his mouth, drags his tongue over his mess and slips it right into your entrance. he swirls and sucks and nips and tugs. it’s like he’s turned a faucet on, watching hazily as you drip and drip, more of you and him seeping onto his tongue. he’s insatiable as he licks you clean, unable to resist luring you into a third orgasm.
and when it hits, god, does it hit.
the scream he pulls from your body is deafening, makes him shake with the intensity of it, the vibrations rippling through your body and ricocheting off of his. you relax limply into the mattress, urgently needing a break. you watch through hooded eyes as he slurps anything left of you from his reddened lips, your thighs clenching unconsciously. he just chuckles, flopping down beside you.
“tired, baby?” lando teases, stroking over your rapidly rising and falling ribs.
“just a tad.” you deadpan, unable to hold back the giggles as serotonin soothes you.
“oh, sweetheart. i’m not even nearly done with you yet.” lando grins toothily, deviously.
something he said about fucking you ‘anywhere’ you wanted dawns on you and your eyes widen.
-
anywhere really did mean anywhere.
he’d had to carry you to the shower when you were finally done, holding you close under the spray. you were lost to the memory of him pushing you into the sideboard in the hallway, laying you flat across the kitchen counter, eating you like dessert on the very same sun lounger that you’d been perched on when this whole marathon commenced.
you’re utterly spent, eyelids sagging when he finally sets you down on the sofa, playing on his phone while you fall asleep watching the office.
you’re curled up in lando’s lap, legs hanging over the end of the sofa when max finds you. hair still wet from the much needed shower and fast asleep in his best friends arms. he actively chooses to quell the disgusted curl of his lips. you look so peaceful, safe. his plans to throttle lando for his earlier stint subside.
“call me a wankstain on society later, if you want, but please don’t wake her up.” lando speaks with a hushed tone, not even gracing max with eye contact, his eyes remaining on the candies he’d been crushing before the other fewtrell turned up.
“i- no, i wasn’t gonna call you that. i did, however, consider driving that very nice, very vintage lambo you hired off a cliff.” max mutters. lando scoffs a laugh.
“you would have paid for it.” he still doesn’t look up from the phone. max eyes the way lando strokes your side, in time with the crests and falls of your breath. it’s tender, intimate.
max considers that there’s a strong possibility he was wrong.
“mate, listen-“
“nope. she’s your baby sister, i get it. i get it. you can hate me for it, but you crossed a line going after her like that.” lando finally looks up at max, glowering sternly.
“i’m gonna talk to her.” max bows his head, as if he’s ashamed of himself and lando softens slightly.
“you should, mate. she wants your support, your approval means everything.” lando says. “look, i love her. i really do. and while you were accusing me of trying to ruin her life, you were crushing her.” lando sighs, his voice wavering with a hint of pain. max meets his gaze.
“for the record, i don’t think anyone will ever be good enough for my little sister, but you come pretty fucking close.” max relents, pushing his pride aside, finally. lando smiles, small and knowing.
“i just wanna make her happy.” he shrugs, a look of hopeless romance, utter devotion and pure happiness radiating off of him in waves as he gazes down at your frame. something in max’s belly snaps, the apprehension dissolving to mush. he had gotten this all wrong.
“you do.” he hums, watching how you curl further into lando as you stir in your sleep, the drivers fingers delicately combing your hair away from your face. “but,” max quips.
lando grimaces, bracing himself.
“if you ever, ever, pull something like that again,” max shivers with disgust at the insinuation. “i will remove your bollocks and make you watch me crash the miura.” max swears, pointing a finger of warning.
“seems like everyone’s come to their senses, no more�� pranks from me.” lando holds his free hand up in mock surrender.
“have you two kissed and made up yet?” you murmur, stretching out in lando’s arms. you rub sleep from your eyes, sitting up and leaning into your boyfriends solid frame, resting against him as your eyes flit to your brother.
“we’re good. ‘m, uh, sorry.” max nods, attempting to be heartfelt. lando chokes on a laugh as it falls flat.
“you’re “uh, sorry”?” you deadpan, crossing your arms over your chest.
“i’m really sorry.” max tries again, and you grin cheekily at your brother, watching as his shoulders release the tension they’ve been carrying all afternoon. he turns to leave, halfway to the door when you call out to him.
“hey, max?”
“yeah, lovely?” your chest warms at the sweet nickname. you’d forgotten the last time he’d called you that.
“wash your sheets.” your eyes blaze with amusement and you hear lando’s sharp inhale of breath, shocked that you’d gone there.
“you didn’t- my god, you did not-“ max splutters, his face almost green with nausea.
“you’ll never know for sure.” you grin. you think he’s going to faint.
serves the bastard right.
-
hehe
lemme know what u think!! <33
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misswynters · 1 month ago
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His most prized possession
featuring. viktor x fem!reader
warnings. smut (18+), standing up sex on a vanity, p in v, size kink?, soft sex, viktor being sweet :)
requested. by anon
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Moonlight spilled through the grand windows, painting your bedroom in a soft silver hue, illuminating the sexual dance unfolding within. The gentle breeze swayed the sheer curtains, but all else was still. The quietness of the world beyond, very different to the heated filling the room.
Every thrust of Viktor's hips created a rhythm, the wet, lewd sounds of your connection blending seamlessly with the faint creak of the vanity beneath you. Your moans were delicate but unrestrained. Compared to the soft, breathless groans that spilled from Viktor's lips, his voice shaking with the effort to maintain control.
His long, chestnut hair, slightly damp from sweat, framed his sharp features as it fell forward over his face. A faint sheen of perspiration glistened on his forehead, catching the moonlight. Viktor looked almost ethereal, his honeyed eyes locked on your reflection in the mirror before you. His lips, slightly parted, trembled as soft whimpers escaped with each thrust. The sight of him: disheveled, breathless, and utterly lost in you, only made the heat pooling in your stomach burn brighter.
He leaned over you slightly, his chest brushing your back as he let his soft fingers slide down to press gently against the small of your spine. The weight of his palm grounded you, and his other hand gripped your hip firmly, keeping you steady against the vanity. “You’re doing so well for me, my love” he murmured, his voice low and warm, yet laced with restraint. “Just like that. Don’t look away, watch us in the mirror.”
Your eyes flicked up to meet his gaze in the mirror. The sight of him behind you, his toned, wiry frame moving steadily. His hips slapping against yours forward with such precision, sent shivers cascading down your spine. You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. The way he focused on you—as though you were his entire world—was intoxicating. Well you were his entire world. His most prized possession.
The wet squelching noises grew louder as his cock pushed between your folds again, his thrusts unrelenting. Each thrust was accompanied by a soft slap of skin as his hips met yours, and the vanity groaned in protest beneath the weight of your desire. Viktor’s breathing quickened, and a shaky whimper escaped his lips as he felt you tighten around him.
“Good goddess…” he whispered, his accent thick, the words catching on a moan. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingertips pressing into your skin that would definitely leave faint bruises afterwards. “You feel so… tight and sweet. I—” He cut himself off with a sharp inhale, his brow furrowing as though the pleasure coursing through him was too much to bear.
You could barely form words in response, your own voice caught in a series of soft cries and broken gasps. “Fuck. Viktor… please—” you managed, though you weren’t sure what you were begging for. More? Faster? To never stop? He seemed to understand, though, his rhythm shifting slightly, each thrust hitting deeper.
“I know,” he said, his tone gentle yet commanding. “I know what you need.” He leaned down further, his long hair brushing against your bare shoulder as he pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck. The contrast of his soft lips against your heated skin sent a wave of pleasure through you, making your legs tremble beneath you.
As his pace continued, you could feel him hit the deepest part of your womb. His hand slid from your hip to your stomach, his fingers splaying wide as he pressed lightly against your abdomen. “Feel that?” he murmured, his voice like silk. “That’s me, so deep inside you. All of me.” His words sent a shiver straight to your core as you couldn’t stop yourself from arching back against him. Your body seeking more of his warmth, his touch, his everything. All the words he said and the actions he did excited you more.
You truly couldn't believe how good it felt when he pressed his hand on your stomach as he poked through you slightly. Shakingly he took your hand, lacing your fingers together to place them on your stomach. With that you could feel him poking through, as he pressed harder, the better it felt.
The mirror in front of you reflected the way your bodies moved together in perfect sync. The slight shine of sweat on your skin, the way his hand on your back and stomach kept you steady, the blush that spread across his pale cheeks—it was all so vivid. His hair clung to his forehead in damp strands, and his lips were slightly swollen from where he’d been biting down. Trying to suppress his own sounds. But all he could do was left out whiny moans, which you absolutely loved. He knew how much you loved it.
"Keep your eyes on me," he urged softly, his hand trailing up to tilt your chin, ensuring you didn't look away from the mirror. "I want you to see how perfect you are." The words, spoken in that low, reverent tone, made your heart ache with a tenderness that contrasted the heat of the moment. You nodded, unable to tear your gaze away from his, even as your vision blurred with tears of overwhelming sensation.
The sounds of skin slapping only grew louder as he continued, the wetness between you making each thrust more pronounced. The vanity beneath you creaked with every thrust, and you could feel the vibrations of it in your palms where they rested against the surface. Viktor's movements became slightly erratic, his control slipping as he chased his release, though he still held onto the tenderness that defined every touch.
"You feel so good," he breathed, his voice trembling as he let out another soft whimper. "I can't... I don't want to stop." His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you back against him with each thrust, his pace quickening just enough to make your breath hitch.
Viktor's movements slowed, his pace deliberate as though he wanted to memorize every second, every sensation. His grip on your waist tightened as his long fingers pressing into your soft flesh as he adjusted his angle. Trying to draw out every ounce of pleasure for both of you. His breaths were shallow yet measured, his body trembling slightly as he kept his control.
One of his legs shifted, his knee now perched on the vanity chair behind you. The new angle allowed him to push deeper, each thrust measured and purposeful. The motion made you press further against the vanity, your hips tilting slightly, granting him an even better angle. The cool surface of the wood beneath your palms was a different than the heat that radiated between the two of you. You braced yourself, letting out a soft gasp as he slid into you fully again.
"Does this feel good, my love?" Viktor asked, his voice a breathless whisper, breaking slightly on the question. His eyes flicked between your reflection in the mirror and the way your bodies moved together, his gaze heavy with adoration and desire. He pressed his cheek against yours, as he went down to your level. Eyes locking to another as he waited for your response.
"Yes," you murmured, your voice trembling as you nodded. "So good, Viktor. Don't stop..."
A low groan escaped his lips at your words, his grip on your waist shifting as he let one hand slide upward to the curve of your back, guiding your body into the perfect position. He paused for a moment, his hips pressed flush against yours, savoring the way you clenched around him before pulling back again, just enough to feel the emptiness before pushing in with a slow, steady thrust. The wet, soft sounds of your connection filled the room. Each time he pulled out and pushed back in, the noise became more louder, the sensation drawing soft moans from your lips. Viktor let out a quiet whimper of his own as he watched you, the sound raw and unrestrained, slipping through his control.
"You're so perfect," he whispered, his accent thick as he leaned forward slightly, his breath warm against the back of your neck. "Every part of you. I want to remember this, you just like this. Forever."
His words sent a wave of warmth through you, your body responding instinctively as your hips pressed back against him. Viktor groaned at the motion, his hand moving back down to your waist, his grip tightening as he thrusts into you again, slow and deep. By now his cock has a white ring at the base due to how much the two of you have been going at it. The vanity beneath you creaked faintly each time he thrusted into you, the sound mingling with the soft whimpers and moans that escaped the both of you.
"Shit," he murmured, his voice filled with tenderness. "Do you feel that? The way we fit... the way you take me in so perfectly?" His lips brushed against the curve of your ear as he spoke, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "It's as though you were made for me."
The pace he set left you trembling, each thrust igniting a fire that built slowly but surely. Viktor pressed his forehead to your shoulder, his hair damp and sticking to his skin, his breaths ragged. He let out another soft whimper as he felt your walls tighten around him again, his control slipping just slightly.
The coil in your stomach tightened, the heat building to a point where you felt like you might break apart entirely. "Oh my..." you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. "I-"
"I know," he interrupted, his voice strained but full of love. "Let go, my love." His hand slid lower, his fingers brushing against your sensitive clit, and that was all it took.
Your orgasm washed over you in waves. Your body trembling as you cried out, your hands gripping the edges of the vanity for support. Viktor groaned deeply as he felt you clench around him, his own body shuddering as he followed you over the edge. He remained inside you, his breaths ragged as he pressed his forehead against your shoulder, his long hair tickling your skin. The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, the echoes of your passion lingering in the air. Viktor's arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you upright and against his chest. "I love you, my love," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. His voice was soft, as though he couldn't quite believe you were really his.
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taglist: @luneariaa @minagrayson @aliives @mammonsleftring @gxrextxgaidk @anna1-1 @bl-0-ndi-3
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trashytracktales · 1 month ago
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Ma'am, I just found your profile and I'm in love with your writing. I would really like to make a request that you made (After McLaren's victory today I was inspired haha)
Could you please write a short one for Lando where he and his girlfriend enjoy the WCC celebration party so much that they don't even have time for themselves (not that it's a big deal for them), but in the next morning the reader wakes up feeling Lando half hard on her back, while they're spooning, so she decides to wake him up with a handjob. So one thing leads to another and they end up having a slow, intense and delicious morning sex.
(if you don't feel comfortable writing, please just ignore. I will totally understand)
Orange glow | LN⁴
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💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Thank you so much for your support! Enjoy this one 🤍
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
𐙚 summary ──── After McLaren wins the 2024 Constructors' Championship and Lando dominates the Abu Dhabi GP, the night is full of partying. But the real celebration happens in the morning, hidden between the sheets, and far away from the outside world.
𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader
𐙚 rating ──── explicit
𐙚 category ──── F/M
𐙚 warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, fluff & smut, descriptive language, unprotected sex, swearing, established relationship, mentions of alcohol and drinking, post-race tension, spooning, slow morning sex, shower sex, hyping each other up, reader tries to be funny towards the end, quick Lily Zneimer cameo.
𐙚 word count ──── 3.5k
𐙚 date ──── Dec. 9, 2024
𐙚 a/n ──── I literally have a list of requests piling up, but I had to jump on this one immediately after last night, oop. I'm a Ferrari girlie through and through, and I'm not going to get into the details of how many times I cried this season, however, I'm so proud of the McLaren boys, and everything they've accomplished. A season to remember for sure. Now let the horrors (winter break) begin 🥲👍🏻
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
THE WEEKEND STARTED with a lot of pressure, even though the odds were in their favor. And it continued that way on Sunday, after Oscar's Turn 1 incident. Luckily, Lando's teammate had managed to claw his way back into the points by the end of the race. Lando, on the other hand, had been untouchable ever since the lights went out, his car gliding through each lap with precision and speed as if he was running on hopes and old dreams.
His girlfriend watched it all unfold from the garage, her heart constantly in her throat as every sector time flashed on the screens. When the checkered flag finally dropped, she could finally breathe, knowing how much Lando has been stressing about it, especially after the weekend in Qatar.
By the time the podium ceremony begins, the entire paddock is buzzing; she's absolutely sure that no place on Earth is ever as loud as the paddock when someone wins.
Tonight, it's her boy.
In the sea of radiant faces, Lando manages to spot her without any issues and, for a brief moment, their eyes meet. He raises the bottle in her direction, grinning mischievously, before pop it on the podium step and shaking it up, drenching his team principal and the two Ferraris from head to toe.
She laughs, her chest warm with so much pride and love.
After that, it takes Lando a couple of hours before he finally makes it back to her. Post-race duties pull him in a hundred different directions — sometimes simultaneously — media interviews, debriefs, and lots of photo sessions. But when he sees her waiting outside the McLaren hospitality suite, he breaks away from the crowd without hesitation.
“What's a pretty girl like you doing here, hm? You should've waited inside,” says Lando, his voice low, but full of warmth as he wraps his arms around his girlfriend.
He smells faintly of champagne and sweat that mixed with his perfume and natural scent, a heady blend that reminds her of everything he’s just achieved for both himself and his team. The adrenaline it's still floating in the air, and she can feel the buzz of it in the way he's touching her.
“I did,” she replies, looking up at him. “But it took forever, and I got bored.”
It doesn't take long for camera flashes to capture the moment, and Lando takes off his cap to cover their faces, as he leans in to steal a gentle kiss from her before heading back inside.
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THE MUSIC IS pretty much deafening, and the lights are a kaleidoscope of neon orange. The celebrations continue into the night, while Lando is — oh, so shockingly — the life of the party, moving from one group to the next with a constant drink in hand, his laughter ringing melodious above the bass.
She stays close but lets him have the spotlight. This is his night, after all, and she wants him to enjoy every single moment. Still, Lando always finds ways to include her by dragging her onto the dance floor for a song, or pulling her into photos with the team, and brushing kisses against her temple as they weave through the crowd.
It gets tiring at times, so she chooses to disappear for a couple of minutes back at their table; a good opportunity to regain control over her breathing, and maybe down another shot. This time, she finds herself watching Lando moving anything but gracefully on the dance floor. He looks like he's yelling, while aggressively gesturing in Oscar's direction, the two of them laughing over something she can’t hear. The sight makes her chest tighten with affection, though. They both seem so carefree right now, so unburdened, and she realizes how rare that is. The season has been the longest ever, and it was filled with so much pressure and expectations. But tonight, all of that has melted away.
“Having fun?” she hears a soft voice from behind her, then her senses are invaded by a faint floral scent.
She turns in her seat to see Lily, her cheeks flushed from the heat, with her smile as contagious as ever.
“More than I expected,” she finally replies, returning the smile and raising her glass to take another sip. “It’s hard not to when I see them like that,” she adds, pointing at their boyfriends.
Lily laughs, nodding slowly. “On the way here, I overheard that they want to get a tattoo in Zak's honor.”
“Oh, fuck no.”
The two girls exchange a look, their eyes locking in a silent agreement. It's their cue to step in, take control, and save their boyfriends from their drunken selves.
It’s past three in the morning when the party starts to wind down. Lando finds her near the bar, his hair a tousled, curly mess and his shirt unbuttoned. He looks exhausted but genuinely happy and satisfied, his eyes bright with the lingering adrenaline of the night.
“Ready to head back, mon amour?” he asks in a broken French accent, slipping an arm around her waist.
She nods, leaning into him. “Thought they'd never wear you out.”
“Pff. FYI, I've got plenty of energy left,” he says determined, smirking down at his girlfriend and watching as her thin fingers button up his shirt.
She giggles, knowing it's not even close to the truth, “Of course you do.”
The ride back to their hotel is quiet, proving her that she was right to not believe him earlier. Lando rests his head against her shoulder, his hand holding hers, fingers intertwined on top of her lap. She can feel the tiredness creeping in, but her heart is still skipping a beat every time Lando brushes his thumb over her knuckles.
When they finally step into their room, he lets out a long sigh, kicking off his shoes and collapsing onto the bed.
“Fuuucking hell. I can't feel my toes, is that fucking normal?” he mumbles into the pillow.
She chuckles, sitting down beside him to take her heels off. “You just turned a two-syllable word into four, so you tell me. I could barely keep up with you, baby. I'm not surprised you're absolutely wrecked,” she admits, lowering herself over his back to give him a small kiss on the cheek.
He sighs, flipping his body the other way, looking up at her with a tired but content smile. “Totally worth it, though.”
She places another kiss, to his jaw this time, her fingers gently caressing his cheek. “I'm so proud of you, pretty boy. I hope you know that.”
Lando's eyes soften, and he reaches up to take her hand in his, letting it rest over his chest. “Couldn't have done a lot of things without you... You kept me sane this season.”
She shakes her head, but he squeezes her hand, his expression earnest. “I didn’t—”
“Baby, I mean it,” he interrupts her vehemently, “Thank you.”
They don’t talk much after that, the exhaustion of the night catching up to them both. Finally, when they change and slip properly under the blanket, they fall asleep together, the hum of the city below fading into the background.
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THE EARLY SUN spills into the room, casting long shadows over the tangle of sheets. She stirs first, her senses awakening to the quiet hum of Lando's soft snoring. Usually, she would push him on the other side so she won't hear him anymore, but she knows how tired he was just a few hours ago.
His arm is slung loosely around her waist, holding her close to him as if she might disappear. She shifts slightly, and that’s when she feels him — it — a familiar pressure nestled against her ass, half-hard and stirring with his own slow wakefulness.
A small smile tugs at her lips as she stays still for a moment.
The rest of Lando's body is relaxed against hers, but even in his sleep, he responds to her presence, which makes her heart race. Carefully, she reaches back, her hand slipping under the waistband of his boxers. The moment her fingers curl around his cock, Lando lets out a soft, muffled groan, instinctively pressing closer. At that, he wakes slowly, the low sound rumbling in his chest as he tightens his grip around her waist.
“Mm... ‘morning, baby,” he greets her with a thick, rough voice, filled with sleep. However, there’s a teasing edge to it as he pushes his hips more intently into her hand.
“Good morning, champ,” she murmurs in a playful tone, her hand continuing its lazy strokes, rubbing the sensitive head of his cock in circles with her thumb.
He hisses, pressing his lips against the nape of her neck, his warm breath sending a shiver down her spine. “You waking me up like this just because I won?” mumbles Lando, his lips curling into a soft smirk against her skin.
She lets out a quiet chuckle, but doesn’t reply, focusing instead on the way he hardens fully in her small fist, the weight of him in her hand so familiar and thrilling.
“Fuck, I lose it when you touch me like that,” says Lando, fully woken up by now. “Feels so good, baby.”
Hearing that, she perfects her strokes, feeling the pre-cum coating the palm of her hand, smiling mischievously when she manages to pull another moan out of his mouth.
“Do you have to be somewhere today?” she finally asks.
Lando sighs in pleasure, his hips eager to move in the same rhythm as her hand, “Not until after lunch. Why?”
He knows where she's hinting with her innocent question, but he enjoys hearing her talk.
She laughs lightly, feeling his cock begin to throb slightly in her grip. “I just wanted to celebrate some more.”
Lando's hand slides down her body, instinctively, warm and purposeful, as he grips her thigh and drapes her leg over his hip.
“Alright then,” he whispers, his voice low and filled with a lazy, husky need.
Before she can speak again, he shifts behind her, freeing his throbbing cock and lining himself up, pressing into her in one slow, languid motion, thankful he has such easy access to her so early in the morning. Her breath catches in her throat, her hand clutching at the sheets as he fills her completely, the heat of him spreading through her like fire.
“Lando,” she breathes in sharply, her voice tinged with need, her ass pushing back against him.
Lando's arm tightens around her waist, pulling her even closer as he starts to move. His pace is slow, deliberate, each thrust a deep, measured push that sends shivers down her spine. The angle is perfect, his hips pressing against her as he drives into her from behind, her leg draped over his to open her up to him completely.
“Oh, god,” she moans, bringing her free hand to the back of Lando's head, lightly tugging at his hair.
“You always feel so good in the morning, baby—fuck,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against her shoulder as he moves. His free hand slides up her body, cupping her breast under the fabric of his shirt she's wearing, and teasing her nipple between his fingers. “So warm and ready for me, I could slip inside even in my sleep, hm?”
As a response, her head falls back against his chest, her hand continuing to thread through his hair as Lando buries his face in her neck. Each thrust is so agonizingly slow, almost testing her patience, but every single one is filled with a quiet intensity that steals the breath from her lungs. His hands are suddenly everywhere — cupping her breasts, brushing over her stomach, gripping her hips as he pulls her back against him with undeniable strength.
“Shit,” he murmurs against her skin, his voice low and reverent, “You make me so fucking hard,” Lando adds breathlessly. “So perfect around my cock every. Single. Time,” he accentuates the words with each thrust.
His sleepy voice sends a fresh wave of heat through her, her body trembling as she grips the sheets tighter, trying to hold on to the feeling of him fucking her like that. Too soon, their movements grow less coordinated as they both near the edge, their breaths coming faster, blending together in the quiet room.
“Lan…” she gasps, her voice breaking as his hand slides lower, his fingers finding her clit.
“Come on my cock, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice rough with need as his fingers work in time with his slow, deep thrusts. “Let go for me.”
“Oh, fuck,” she cries out, her thighs wanting to press together in pleasure, but Lando's other hand holds her open for him, the slick sound of him pushing in and out of her pussy, an exquisite melody for his ears.
Soon enough, her body tenses, her moans turning into soft whimpers as she comes, her release washing over her in waves that leave her legs shaking. Lando follows moments later, his thrusts growing erratic before he stills inside her, his body shuddering as he presses himself as deep as he can.
They take a long moment to breathe, their bodies joined together. His hand brushes soothing circles over her stomach, his lips pressing lazy kisses to her shoulder and neck, before pulling the shirt over her head so he can feel her in his arms without any obstacles.
“You’re dangerous as hell when you wake me up like this,” he finally speaks, his voice raw.
She laughs, her body still humming with the aftershocks. “Are you complaining?”
“Not even a little,” he admits, pulling her closer and nuzzling into her neck, inhaling her scent.
They stay just like that for a while, making her wonder if Lando fell back asleep, but then he presses one more kiss to her shoulder, his lips lingering there as he shifts, pulling gently out of her. The instant emptiness draws a soft gasp from her, and they both feel the warmth of their shared release slipping between them, dampening the sheets beneath.
He lets out a quiet chuckle, his hand trailing down her thigh before slipping back between her legs. Slowly, his fingers press into her fucked out pussy, gathering as much cum as he can so he can push it back inside.
“God, you're so dirty, baby,” he murmurs against her ear, his voice a mix of affection and playful reprimand. “You should probably take a shower, I'm just saying.”
Her heart starts racing again at the sweet sensation of his fingers, but she doesn’t let him have the last word. She finally turns around in his arms, wanting to see his pretty face bathed in the orange glow of the morning. Her lips find his in a superficial kiss, as one of her hands wraps around his body, pressing firmly against the small of his back and pulling him closer. As their bodies press together, his cock rests between their stomachs, still half-hard and slick with the remnants of their orgasms.
She breaks the kiss just long enough to smirk up at him, her voice teasing as she murmurs, “Yeah? Look who’s talking.”
Lando groans, his head falling back against the pillow as he laughs softly. “Touché,” he whispers, his hands gripping her waist.
Before she can say anything else, he flips them over, pulling her on top of him with an effortless motion. She straddles his hips, her thighs pressing into his, her pussy pressing down on his length. They both exhale at the wet feeling between their bodies, but none of them dares to make another sudden move.
“I wanted to take you in the middle of the dance floor last night,” admits Lando, his hands sliding up to cup her hips, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin there.
“Why didn't you?” she counters, her voice playful as she leans down to kiss him again.
“You would've let me, wouldn't you? Fuck you where everyone can see how pretty you look with my cock inside you?”
She presses one more kiss to his lips, mostly to shut him up, “I'd let you fuck me anywhere you want, my love.”
Lando's fingers tighten around her waist, making her whimper against his jaw, “So fucking easy for me, baby. You're gonna end me one of these days.”
“Not today, though,” she exhales abruptly, fucking her hips onto Lando's length, with no intention other than teasing him.
“Behave,” he says softly, cupping the back of her head in his palm so he can pull her back into a sinful kiss.
They linger there for a while, the morning hues catching in the strands of his messy hair and the faint sheen of sweat on their skin. It’s warm, so intimate, and entirely theirs — a connection that no one can take away nor break.
Eventually, Lando lets out a mock-serious sigh, his hands sliding up her back, stopping roughly at her thighs to squeeze her. “Alright, gorgeous. Shower time. Before we ruin these sheets completely.”
She laughs, climbing off him and wincing slightly at the sticky mess between her thighs. He catches the movement and smirks, playfully slapping her ass as he sits up.
“Come on,” says Lando, taking her hand and pulling her towards the bathroom.
The shower is already steaming up when they step inside, the hot water cascading over their bodies. Lando's fingers are lazily tracing patterns on her back, hers tangling in his wet hair as they share languid kisses under the spray.
“Do you even know what you mean to me?” he whispers, his voice low and filled with adoration. His hands trail up her back, fingers tracing her curves, memorizing every inch of her, all over again. “What you do for me? God, I don't need anything else.”
Her cheeks warm, though whether from his words or the water, she isn’t sure. She tilts her head up, her smile soft and full of affection for him. “Lando, I’m just here for you. You’re the one out there doing the impossible every single day. My champion.”
He lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he presses his forehead against hers. “You're so sweet, love. But you know I'm not a champion yet, my team is.”
Her hands slide up his chest, fingers resting over his heart as she gazes at him, her voice steady and determined. “You are McLaren, Lan. You and Oscar, hold everything together. It's a great responsibility, and I've seen what it did to you this year. The good, the bad, and everything in between.”
For a moment, Lando goes silent, his eyes softening as he takes her in. The quiet between them is filled with the sound of the water, and everything he wants to say to her but can't. It'd be too soon, and he has a habit of letting his mouth loose when his emotions get the best of him.
She notices that, and she knows he's working on it, that's why she won't let the moment grow too serious, “Though, to be fair, Oscar has done you and McLaren a lot of favors this season, no?”
Lando’s startled laugh echoes off the tiled walls, and he pulls back to look at her, his grin wide and mischievous. “Oh, yeah? Is that what we’re doing now?”
Before she can respond, he presses her back against the cool tiles, his hands gripping her thighs as he lifts her slightly, her back arching under the contrast of the chilled surface and the hot water.
“Lando!” she gasps in surprise.
“You take that back,” he growls playfully, his lips capturing hers in a possessive kiss that knocks all the air out of her lungs.
Her laughter dissolves into a moan as he pushes into her again, slow and deep, filling her completely. Her legs wrap around his waist, anchoring herself against him as he pulls out all the way, only to slam back inside, setting a rhythm that’s somehow both lazy and desperate.
The shower fills with the sound of water splashing and the soft, breathless moans that escape her lips, her head falling back against the tiles as he buries his face in her neck. His hands grip her thighs harder, holding her steady as he thrusts deeper, each motion pulling gasps and cries from both of them.
“You saying Oscar’s better than me?” he teases, his voice strained but filled with humor.
“Maybe,” she jokes, breathing out sharply, her nails raking down his back as she arches into him. “But you’re doing a stellar job convincing me otherwise.”
Lando's laugh is low and breathless, turning into a groan as he quickens his pace.
For a lot of people, winning means lifting a trophy above their heads, but for him, it's the rhythm of their bodies moving together — a louder kind of triumph that manifests into delicious moans and whimpers.
It's the kind of podium he will never get tired of stepping on.
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Thank you for reading!
None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎
© trashy track tales, 2024
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cashmoneyyysstuff · 3 months ago
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another childhood friends to lovers believer???? YES YES YES!!!! can i please request bakugou and reader moving in together, and reader shows him a memory box she's kept since they were kids...like photos, random trinkets he got her, pressed flowers, birthday cards...and he's like one second away from bursting into tears, because this is 2 decades worth of love (and many more to come) 😭🥹💗 thank you, mwah x 💖
memory box !
you take a trip down memory lane..
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a/n : OH. MY GOD. I literally Had to write this this is genuinely adorable anon you are SMACKING. i lub this
cw: literally all fluff, CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TORAGAHAHEHG, katsuki gets emotional quickly and i live by this, lmk if i missed sum !
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“oi !” katsuki calls out from behind you “do i throw this out or not ?”
you look back, only to see a little red box in his hands. your little red box.
you shoot up, dropping the clothes you were stacking in your shared dresser. “no, don’t!” you reach out and hold your arms up, katsuki looks even more confused, eyebrows furrowing harder.
he shakes your box around, bringing his ear to it to hear the rattling and clinking of the objects inside. “what the hell is in this thing ?”
“don’t shake it around like that !” you shriek, ripping the box out of your boyfriend hands and leaving him shocked. you smile to yourself, slowly sitting down on the wooden floors of your new apartment. your new apartment with katsuki.
“i never actually showed you this, huh.. ?” you watch as he follows you after a moment of looking at you like you’ve grown a second head, crouching down next to you with eyes fixed on your little shoe box. you remove the lid and immediately a sense of nostalgia shoots through you, you hadn’t looked at this for a while now.
“this is my memory box, i’ve had it for years.. i think since i was..what, seven ?” you wonder out loud, you’d definitely had it for a long, long time. katsuki sits next to you silently while you excitedly look through it.
“oh yeah, definitely seven—look this is the friendship bracelet i made for us !” you exclaim excitedly. it’s definitely more than a bit worn, that was the main reason you put it in this box, it was the first item you’d put in there.
you’d made one for you and one for katsuki, using your precious loom band box set you’d gotten for christmas. you’d used up all of your orange and black for it and worn yours until it started fraying. you almost cried when one of the bands snapped and you’d gotten too big for it, or it had just gotten too little for you. you refused to throw it away and found a random empty shoe box to put it in, and the rest was history.
“oh, and these are left over tickets from when we went to the fair, my keychain you got me from the aquarium—i remember you begged your mom for it.” you laugh, begged was an understatement. you remember how mitsuki pulled him away because he was causing a scene, you didn’t understand why he was so insistent on getting a souvenir, you had a good day as you all walked around looking at fish and katsuki dragging you around by the hand like he built the place himself. you remember how excited he got when you got to the shark exhibit.
you didn’t get it, until he stopped you when you were ready to leave with your own parents, grabbing you by the back of your shirt and avoiding your gaze as he stretched his little arms out and wordlessly offered you a little penguin keychain, mumbling something about how you looked happy when you saw them, ears pink while his mom smirked behind him, his father smiled down at you both kindly.
that was the first present he’d ever bought for you. with his mom’s money of course, you giggle at your own thoughts. but he’d still gotten it for you because he thought it’d make you happy. it was your treasure and you wore it on your bag for years until it started getting dirty, and you’d hid it in your shoebox to keep it safe.
you suddenly realize your boyfriend’s been awfully unlike himself for the past few minutes, silently blinking at the contents of your box and now at your little keychain.
you suddenly feel a bit self conscious, maybe he thought it was weird..
you blink in surprise when he reaches for your penguin chain and you offer it to him. it’s a bit brownish now, having lost its shine over the years. he runs his thumb over the fuzzy faux fur.
“thought you forgot about this..” he mumbles to himself.
your eyes shoot wide. “wha—no way ?!”
“ya stopped wearing it on your bag so i thought you got rid of it.” he doesn’t look angry, simply observing the chain, letting it dangle in the air.
“i just didn’t want it to get any dirtier than it clearly already is” you joked. you’re in deep now, shuffling around for more items in your box. katsuki joins you this time, pulling out an old picture.
“holy shit.” he breathes. you catch a peek at what he’s looking at only to see the both of you.
“woah, we were so small !” you giggle. it was a picture of your grade school entrance ceremony. you remember katsuki stubbornly refusing to take it and it took his mom about ten minutes to get him to stay put and take the shot. you’re all smiles, waving at the camera like you’d been instructed to and gripping katsuki’s hand. said little boy had an angry, angry frown on his face, sticking his tongue out at the camera.
“you’re cheeks were huge.” you laugh, katsuki sits down properly to nudge your shoulder with a huff. “shaddup,” he says, though there was no real bite to his words. “you weren’t any better than me.” you laugh some more and continue to pull things out. “where’d you even get this ?” he asks.
“your mom gave me a copy.”
“fuckin—of course she did.”
there’s a blurry picture you’d managed to take of katsuki when you’d gotten your first polaroid camera, and some pictures from when you’d convinced him to get in a photo-booth from your first date at the fair. dozens of birthday cards he’d written for you, you’re tempted to read them all right now but you worry katsuki might get embarrassed and actually throw the box out, so you’ll do that later.
the flowers he’d plucked out of the ground one random afternoon at his house, a rock he'd given you because it looked cool, a couple of seashells you found at the beach together, a dried up four leaf clover he claimed would bring you good luck, the container of the lip balm you were wearing when he kissed you for the first time. years worth of memories all in your little shoebox.
“fuck, you really kept all this stuff..” you hear katsuki mutter. you turn to see him still with that elementary school picture in hand, staring at it thoughtfully.
“course i did.” you hum, leaning against his side. “i spent all of my childhood with you suki, that’s unforgettable to me. i wanted to make sure i wouldn’t ever forget how much you mean to me.” katsuki’s eyes fix yours as you continue talking. and you realize how they slowly turn glossier. he realizes when you do and quickly ducks his head, scoffing to himself but a sniffle slips out.
“hey..” he shakes his head, you don’t continue, only reaching to hold him in your palms. he shoves his cheek against one, chuckling to himself.
“shush.” he mutters, voice cracking, his eyes remain shut to not let anything slip. he presses a kiss to your skin, grabbing at your wrist. "you're gonna be the fuckin' end of me, y'know ?" you laugh, rubbing your thumb against his skin, you feel him sigh against your palm.
"love you."
you smile "i love you too" you whisper back. "so, you still wanna throw it out ?" you joke, katsuki's eyebrows furrow.
"fuck, no." he asserts "it's staying here, an' i'll give you more shit to fill it up with."
and you truly couldn't be more excited, starting a new chapter of your life with the boy that had shared it all with you. you want your shoe box to be filled to the brim with more and more memories of you both, all of them just as close to your heart as the last.
"hmm," you hum "can't wait."
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taglist :
@napbatata @andysdrafts @queenpiranhadon @jastoo46 @cecelia77
@katszumi @m-inluv @monchurie @the-hangry-otter @starlostlaiba
@moonshuul @erenstitanweave @katsus-mistress @dondeh-zedonutqueen @liluvtojineteyam
@aspiringwriter1111 @sugurusmoon @redvelvetstan1
@niktwazny303 @nemisimp @kit-katsukii @alphasage @milktea-academia
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headkiss · 1 year ago
Text
something more
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pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader
summary: you and aaron are friends with feelings more obvious than you think. or: 5 times the team suspects you and hotch are dating +1 time they know it.
word count: 6.6k
warnings: friends to lovers, the team being a little nosy, pining idiots!!!, probably inaccurate descriptions of bau jobs (for the plot!), a very small injury, a birthday, a first kiss, and fluff!
a/n: hiii this one has been a long time coming so thank you guys for being so patient with me!!! and special thanks to the anon who requested this one! i hope u guys enjoy it and please please let me know what you think <3 ily
Aaron Hotchner was never someone you thought you could be this close to.
Coming to the BAU, you’d been intimidated more than anything. As Unit Chief, he’s got a reputation that’s hard to ignore. Professional, brave, cold when he has to be. His success and talent were undeniable, and all you wanted to do was prove that you belonged there, too.
Then, you really met him, and he surprised you in a way you hadn’t expected. Hotch was kind right off the bat, welcoming you to the team with a smile that felt like some sort of prize.
He was an excellent boss. Understanding and protective, quick to defend anyone on the team like they were his own family. Except, he was so much more than just your boss.
Now, you’d call him your closest friend, someone who’s number you’d call if you were in trouble. He’s your closest friend and yet you feel so much more for him.
It started slow, a friendship blooming the way a plant does with just enough sunlight. It was a shared smile here, a nudge of the shoulder there. It grew to be a seat next to him reserved for you on every plane ride.
Today, it’s eating lunch with him in his office.
Aaron usually works through lunch, more eager to get things done than he is to worry about skipping a meal. Somehow, with two tupperware containers in your hand and a sweet smile, you’d managed to get him to take a break.
“Whatcha doing?” You’d asked.
Hotch looked up from his paperwork then, dropping his pen because you were in his doorway. “You know, Unit Chief business. Reports.”
“Sounds like you have time for lunch, then.” You set the containers down on his desk, making sure to avoid the papers he’d just been working on.
“I should really get this done-”
“Hotch,” you stopped him, “you and I both know that you’re always ahead on this stuff because you stay here so late. Lunch won’t set you back.”
With a shake of his head and the biting back of a smile, a simple twitch at the corners of his mouth, Aaron agreed and stacked his paperwork off to the side.
That’s how you’ve ended up in the chair that’s usually on the opposite side of his desk, only now it’s tugged to be next to his. Your knees touch every so often when one of you shifts, and the warmth stays with you even when the contact is gone.
“Sorry it’s nothing fancy,” you say as he opens the container you brought for him.
“Don’t apologize. It’s great.” Hotch has a way of saying things that make them sound true, no matter how few words he uses, so you accept it.
“Okay, good!” There’s a small silence, a lull as you both take your first bites. “Can I help with anything?”
Aaron looks from the paperwork to your face, your eyes already on his. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” you reassure him. “I think sometimes you forget that you aren’t the only one who can do this stuff.”
He knocks his knee against yours. Purposeful this time. A silent ‘thank you.’
“Like you said, I’m ahead anyways. I’ve got it.”
“Come on, Hotch. I’m already done with my report from our last case. I’ve got time. Let me help.”
He’s always been reluctant to accept help, to ask for it, but when you’re asking so sweetly, when it’ll give him an excuse to spend more time with you, it’s hard for Aaron to say no.
“Alright. You help for an hour, that’s it.”
You grin at him, like his acceptance of your offer was some kind of gift he’d given you. Your nose crinkles a little with it, and his hand flexes in his lap, like he’s fighting not to reach out to you.
“Okay, put me to work, boss.”
“We just started lunch,” he says, a little chuckle puffing out.
“Have you ever heard of multitasking, Agent Hotchner?”
Aaron laughs, shaking his head as he reaches for one of the files in the stack he’d made and hands it to you. He’d call everyone at the BAU a friend, but there’s something different, something more about how he’d describe you.
He’s grown closer to you than he usually lets himself get to people, like you’re the only one with the right tools to break through walls he’s put up. You see each other outside of work (on the rare days you aren’t working), and still, he feels like it’s never long enough.
Hotch briefly wonders if he could just move your desk into his office. He shakes off the thought and what it might mean.
Head bent, you’re now focused on the work he gave you, and Aaron takes the chance to admire you. His eyes flick over your profile, the light hitting your cheeks, the flutter of your eyelashes every time you blink.
As if you could feel his gaze on you, you turn towards him and smile—a small, closed-mouth smile, but a smile all the same—before turning your attention back to the page.
When you take a pause and take another bite of your lunch, a small drop of sauce lands on your thigh. “Oh, shit.”
Aaron grabs a tissue from the box on his desk, wrapping it over his fingertip before wiping the small spot from your leg, his finger a spark against you even through your pants.
“Good thing you wore black,” he says, tossing the tissue in the garbage. His hand, however, stays on your leg, and though the touch is light the weight of it feels the opposite. Heavy, huge.
“Good thing you’re here to clean up after me, more like.”
Your eyes meet, and you share a smile with Hotch the way you often do. Mid-conversation, across a room, it’s a smile you sort of reserve for each other.
In the main office below, Derek, Spencer, and JJ stand together, watching the interaction through the window into Hotch’s office. You and Aaron seem to be in your own bubble, completely unaware of your small audience.
“They’ve gotta be together,” Derek is the first to speak, waving a hand towards the office where you and Hotch are talking. “I mean, come on.”
“I don’t know,” JJ shrugs, “they both seem kinda clueless.”
“We probably shouldn’t speculate about them,” Spencer, always the sweetheart, says. “But, statistically, Hotch never eats lunch. Just saying.”
JJ pats Reid on the shoulder, huffing out a laugh before she heads back to her desk.
You stay in Aaron’s office much longer than an hour that day.
-
Punctuality is important in the BAU. Really, if you’re not early, you’re late. You’ve always got to be ready, wheels up in ten, or five.
You suppose that doesn’t really apply to outside-of-the-office parties at Garcia’s.
It’s rare that you’re all available at the same time, from late nights at the bureau to families, it’s tough to make your schedules line up when you aren’t working, which is why whenever she can, Penelope likes to host drinks for the team.
You’re on your way there now, or, you should be. Instead, you’re getting ready in your bedroom while Aaron waits in your living room.
Hotch has offered to drive you to these things every time, and with every offer, comes your easy answer of ‘yes.’ He’d been outside in his car for five minutes before he decided to call, because you’re usually in his passenger seat within seconds of him pulling over by your building.
The ringing of your phone had your eyes blinking open, squinted against the sudden brightness of your TV. You’d accidentally fallen asleep, and, still disoriented, picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, everything okay?” It’s Aaron’s voice on the other line, and you pull your phone away for a second to check the time before sitting up quickly.
“Shit, Hotch, I must’ve fallen asleep. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s alright, I can wait for you.” He’d wait as long as you need, he thinks. The thought passes through like a leaf blown in the wind, freely, randomly.
“Have you been waiting long?” You ask, fingers tugging at a loose thread in your pants.
“No, don’t worry. Barely five minutes.”
And he still wanted to check on you.
“Why don’t you come in? My couch is probably more comfortable than your car, right?”
“You sure?” He checks, like he hasn’t been to your place before, like you’d ever not want him there.
“Get in here, Hotchner.”
You hung up before he could reply, and he laughed to himself in his car before shutting it off and doing exactly what you’d told him.
So, now, you’re rushing to find an outfit while Aaron sits on your couch by himself.
Even though he’s in the next room, you can feel his presence around you, the steady security he gives you, the warmth that seeps out of him even when he tries to hide it.
You settle on a knitted sweater, a skirt, and some tights, which you realize as you tug them on aren't the speediest of options, but it’s too late to change your mind now. With your hair figured out and the mascara that had smudged during your nap fixed, you step back out into the living room.
Aaron made himself at home while you were gone (he often feels that way with you, at home), sitting on your couch with his arms spread across the back. He looks better than he should there, suit stretched across his shoulders, and you have to clear your throat to snap yourself out of it.
“Okay, sorry again for the delay. I’m ready to go.”
He looks up as soon as you walk in, eyes skimming over your legs and the tights wrapped around them, your waist, up your neck. His gaze lands on your eyes the way it often does, like magnets.
He shakes his head, “don’t be sorry. We’ll be what they call ‘fashionably late.’”
You laugh, because who would’ve thought that the words ‘fashionably late’ would ever come out of Aaron Hotchner’s mouth.
“Who taught you that one, huh?”
“I like to keep my sources anonymous.”
“Well okay, then. Let’s go be fashionably late, Hotch.”
He lets you lead the way to the car, only jogging up ahead to open your door before you can reach it yourself.
During the drive to Penelope’s, you take control of the music with little objection from Aaron, and when it gets to a song you know he likes, you sing along, encouraging him to do the same.
“Let’s hear it, Agent Hotchner.” You hold your fist out like there’s a microphone in it, looking at him with a grin on your face.
“I can't sing.” Aaron’s fighting off a smile, because you’re sitting beside him, not too shy to sing along, being all cute and, briefly, he thinks about reaching out and grabbing your hand and holding on.
“Sure you can! Everyone can sing, come on.” You unfurl your faux microphone-holding fist and tug on the knot of his tie, “loosen up a little.”
And, because you have some way of convincing him of things—first lunch, now this—he humors you by joining in for one chorus of the song. When your eyes light up a little, and your grin only widens, he can’t bring himself to be too concerned of how bad he probably sounds.
By the time you’re at Garcia’s door you’re a solid hour late, yet you and Aaron walk up to the door with matching smiles all the same.
“I’m getting you to do that every time I hear that song now, I hope you know.”
“That was a one time special,” he says. He reaches over your shoulder to knock on the door. His hand brushes against you, featherlight and quick, a crackle over your skin.
On the other side, Morgan says, “must be the lovebirds” when he hears the sound.
You and Aaron don’t hear him, only broken out of your little shared bubble when Penelope opens the door. “There you guys are! I made your drinks but the ice might be melted by now. You know, ‘cause you’re late.”
You know this is directed towards you more than it is Hotch, because Garcia’s a little intimidated by him still. You also know she’s only joking, and greet her with a hug before stepping in.
Aaron isn’t far behind you, though at these things, he never is.
You’re met with warm greetings from the team when you walk in, and you chat for a bit, but it isn’t long before things split off into smaller conversations. They all know that Aaron drives you to these things, and, as profilers, they’re also all able to see the way you look at each other, the way the knot of his tie sits lower than usual.
In the corner, Emily leans over to Derek, saying, “usually it takes at least two drinks for Hotch’s tie to look like that.”
“I told you, they’re together,” Derek shrugs.
“I don’t think they know that,” Emily replies.
This time, Aaron hears them, and he can’t help but look towards you in the room the rest of the night, thinking and thinking and thinking.
He ends up deciding that they might have a point. That maybe, that shift in his heartbeat when you’re around isn’t nothing, isn’t just friends.
-
The flight home from a case always feels the longest.
On the way there, you’re packing every hour with information about what’s going on, talking to Garcia, reading police reports. You’re all on edge, eager to get out there and help and do your jobs,
Then, on the way home, with another case solved, all you’re thinking about is going home, sleeping in your own bed, and time seems to go slower.
If your name happens to be Aaron Hotchner, you’d spend the plane ride home doing paperwork that actually can wait.
You and Aaron sit next to each other on pretty much every flight, though the seats have never been assigned. It’s an unspoken thing, like your names are written on the fabric of the same two seats on the jet and that’s just the way it is.
The first time was early on in your time on the team. It was a tough case for you, and Hotch seemed to know it without you having to say anything, so, when you got on the jet to come home, he smiled that small, twitch of his lips smile at you and nodded at the seat next to him. You’ve been sitting there ever since.
Today, your flight is on the shorter side, but feels long the way it always does. Trying to keep yourself occupied, you pull out your earbuds and shuffle your playlist, hoping that the songs will speed things up.
“Sick of me already?” Hotch speaks up when he notices your headphones.
You tilt your head to look at him. He looks tired, the way you’re sure you do, too, but never any less handsome. His eyes are soft where they meet yours, paired with a hint of a smile that you’re always able to catch.
“Sick of you, Hotch? Never.” You nod at the file he has open on the small table, “just didn’t want to distract you.”
“I thought you enjoyed distracting me. Always telling me I work too much.”
“‘Cause it’s true,” you say. “That doesn’t mean you listen.”
“I listen to you more than I listen to most people.” Aaron’s voice is gentle when he says it, the words sinking in and melting you just a little, sugary sweet. It could mean absolutely nothing, but with the way he keeps his eyes steady on yours, you don’t think it does.
“Listen to this, then,” you hand him one of your earbuds, and his fingers brush yours when he takes it from you. “But you can’t make fun of me if a musical soundtrack comes on, okay?”
“Okay,” he huffs a small laugh, and you feel a little brighter. “I promise.”
You’re aware of the team having their own conversations in the rows in front of you and Hotch, but you can’t bring yourself to join in, because you and Aaron are sharing your earbuds and his head is bent just a little closer to yours. It’s delicate, and you’ll do your best not to break it.
You talk a little longer, until it naturally fizzles out and Hotch is back to working on his files and you’re bobbing your head along to your songs. Only now, Aaron sits closer to you, his arm against yours.
He’s not sure what to do with his newfound realization that his feelings for you run far deeper than friendship. All Aaron knows is that he likes the feeling of you beside him, and that he’s planning on keeping you there as long as you’ll let him.
It’s quiet between the two of you aside from your occasional ‘this is a good one,’ and his hum of acknowledgement.
Eventually, you’re relaxed enough that your eyes grow heavy, the sleep you’ve been lacking suddenly catching up to you, and when you hit a patch of slower songs you’re fighting to stay awake.
When your head lulls onto Hotch’s shoulder, you jerk your head up, “sorry, Aaron.”
His chest does something funny. A jump. It’s not often you call him Aaron, and he’d listen to the sound of his name on your lips on a loop if he could. Because he can’t help himself, he scooches himself even closer to you.
He decides to call you something different, too, saying, “it’s alright, honey.”
You’re too sleepy to really read into that one, all you feel is the flutter in your stomach and Aaron’s hand on your head, gently guiding it to his shoulder.
When he’s sure you’re asleep, Hotch looks away from his files and over to you. Your cheek is squished against his shoulder, your lashes fanned shut. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.
Aaron doesn’t even feel the smile that spreads over his face as he reaches up and pushes your hair away from your face. He’s completely unaware of the eyes that catch him, far too focused on you.
Emily turned around when she realized she hadn’t heard your voice in a bit, and she did it just in time to catch Hotch’s movement. Instead of saying something, she turns back around and shakes her head to herself.
Hopeless, she thinks.
Sleep doesn’t come so easily with this job, with the things you see, so Aaron can’t help but try and stay steady for you, and if that leads to him letting his eyes close and resting his head on yours, then so be it.
It’s not until the end of the flight that the team checks on the two of you. As everyone stands and grabs their go bags, they notice the two of you, asleep next to each other, earbud wires hanging between you.
“Should we wake them up?” JJ asks.
“Hotch doesn’t get enough sleep as it is,” Spencer chimes in. “Neither does she, actually.”
Of course, Derek finishes with, “let’s leave the lovebirds to it,” before the team gets off the plane.
It’s only about twenty minutes later that Aaron does wake up, but he feels more well-rested than he has in a while, even with the kink in his neck.
Blinking his eyes open, he’s met with an empty jet and the comforting weight of your head on his shoulder. “Shit,” he sighs.
He debates waking you, ultimately deciding that you’d probably rather sleep in your bed rather than the seat of the BAU’s jet. Reaching up, he pulls your earbuds away, setting them on the table. With a brush of his fingertips to your cheek, he coaxed you awake.
“Hey, honey,” Aaron’s nearly whispering, like he’s afraid to scare you. Or, maybe, he’s convinced that if he moves too quickly, too loudly, this whole thing will fade away as if he’d been dreaming. “Wake up, we’re home.”
“Hm?” You grumble, scrunching your nose when he brushes your cheek again.
“We fell asleep, but we landed.”
“Oh, god.” You sit up properly, lifting your head. “I’m sorry, Aaron. Hotch.”
“Aaron is good,” he eases you. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”
Sleep-hazed, or maybe just happy that he can be Aaron to you, you agree easily and take his hand when he offers it, letting him lead you to his car.
-
You’ve been spending more time at Aaron’s ever since that flight. In the car, he’d convinced you to stay over at his place in the guest room, since it was closer. With your go bag already in his car and heavy, sleepy eyes, it was hard for you to do anything but agree.
It’s another slice of his life that he’s let you see, and you can’t help but feel like it means something, like you’re stepping further and further away from being coworkers who are friends and towards something different. Something more.
That flight feels like the catalyst, the thing that caused things to shift into what they are now.
Aaron’s couch is much more comfortable than yours, and though you’ve yet to spend the night again, you’re sitting there with him at almost every chance. The time off you get is rare, and Aaron wanting to spend it with you sends flutters to your stomach whenever you think about it.
You feel like you know him better, getting to see his space, how he chose to decorate, what colors he likes, which ones he doesn’t. You also know what temperature he likes to set his thermostat.
“Do you enjoy living in a refrigerator?” You ask, hands tucked into your sleeves. “Just wondering.”
Aaron laughs, a small huff, “I think you just run cold, honey.”
He’s been calling you that a lot, too. Honey.
“No way, Hotchner. Your house is what runs cold. Or maybe you’re cold-blooded.”
Not with you, he thinks. Years and years of doing what he does, Hotch might even call himself cold when he’s thinking a little too hard. But never cold with you. He thinks that might be impossible for him.
“Shhh, don’t tell anyone my secret,” he says, his arm brushing against yours from where he sits next to you on his couch. “Where are you cold?”
“Can’t feel my toes, Aaron. I might be out of commission for the next case.”
“Well we can’t lose our best girl, can we?” Best girl, he says. Like he means it, like it’s simple. “I’ve got some thick socks you can grab. Bottom drawer.”
Just like that, he’s cracked another wall of his down even further, giving you permission to go into his bedroom as if you’ve been in there a thousand times.
“Really?”
“Unless you’d rather not feel your toes-“
“Okay, okay,” you stop him, unable to fight your smile. “Thanks, Aaron.”
When you stand and head towards his room, Aaron can’t stop himself from thinking that you belong there, in his home, his room, his life. You fit in so seamlessly he wishes you’d never leave.
He stands up too, because the couch suddenly feels sort of empty without you beside him, without your warmth. He walks over to his thermostat on the wall and turns it up for you.
You’ve always thought that you can tell a lot about a person from where they live, and seeing Aaron’s bedroom now solidifies it. His place does too, but there’s something about his bedroom that feels much more personal.
Here, there’s more of him, little bits of his life scattered around. A picture of him as a kid with his parents on the dresser, the newspaper’s crossword sitting completely finished on his nightstand, his bed neatly made.
You smile at the framed photo before slipping the top drawer open and finding the pair of socks he’d been talking about. As much as you’d love to snoop, you don’t want to invade his privacy in any way. Besides, from Aaron, even a glimpse of his space feels special.
You slip on the socks before you leave his room, letting them bunch at your ankles.
As soon as you walk back into the living room, Aaron’s phone rings. Glancing at you softly, almost apologetically though he’s got nothing to be sorry about—you work with him, you know how important a call can be—he picks it up.
“Hotchner,” he says, holding it to his ear. His voice is different this way, more professional, controlled. Never any less pleasing to hear.
He’d wanted to say something about how good you look in his clothes when his phone rang, Garcia’s name flashing on the screen. Aaron wishes it was someone else, only to spend more time with you this way.
“Sorry to call late, sir,” Penelope says. “We’ve got a case. Missing kid; it’s urgent.”
“Don’t be sorry, Garcia. We’re on our way.”
“Wait, we?” She asks, curious as always.
“What’s going on?” You ask Aaron.
“Got a case. I’ll drive, honey.” He lets the pet name slip, like it’s a habit.
On the other line, Garcia’s grinning to herself in her office. She’d had a suspicion of who on the team Hotch would be with outside of work, and hearing your voice, and his use of the word ‘honey’ all sticky sweet, she knows she’s onto something.
“Oh, that’s ‘we,’” Penelope’s voice teases. “Tell her I’ll see you guys soon!”
Aaron shakes his head, fighting his smile. “Bye, Garcia.”
He hangs up and looks from his phone to you, your eyes already on him, corners of your mouth tugged up just a little like you’d heard what Garcia said, heard the lilt in her voice. Like you liked the idea of you and Aaron being a unit. We.
He likes that idea, too.
Back at the BAU, Garcia calls Derek next, who picks up with his classic, “hey, babygirl.”
First, she tells him that he needs to come into the office, that they’ve got a case, then, “you’re never going to believe this.”
Penelope loves to talk, and Derek’s happy to listen, so she tells him about how you’d been with Aaron when she called, and that you were on your way together.
“I give them another week, max, before they’re holding hands when they come in.” Derek laughs, because he can see yours and Hotch’s feelings so easily, plain as day, and he loves to be right about things.
“How mad will Hotch be when he finds out that we talk about his relationship?” Penelope’s mostly joking, only a fraction concerned.
“If the boss didn’t want us talking about it, he shouldn’t be so obvious, sweetheart.”
Once you arrive at the office, you don’t catch Penelope and Derek’s shared looks behind yours and Aaron’s—who happens to be carrying both his and your go bag—backs.
And if anyone notices the loose socks around your ankles, they don’t say anything about it.
-
You’re not supposed to go off on your own unless it’s absolutely necessary. You know that, the team knows that. Aaron, who is always trying to keep you as safe as possible, enforces it.
You guess that this time might be up for debate.
When it comes to what you do, you have to trust your instincts most of the time. And today, your gut told you to make a decision that might not have been safe, but to you, it felt like what you had to do.
Aaron had been on the phone with you, trying to figure out a way to make the car drive any faster to get to you. He’d heard it in your voice, in the tone of it, that he couldn’t convince you to wait for someone else to show up.
“I have to do this, Aaron,” you’d said. While the team would normally probably tease him about you calling him Aaron, as if it isn’t his name, they’d known not to interrupt this time. “You know I do.”
“You don’t have to.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he spoke. “We’ll be there soon, alright? Just-”
“I’m sorry.” And then, you hung up.
In the end, going in when you did had been the right move. A life had been saved, and you’d slowed the guy down enough that the police were able to arrest him when they arrived. All it cost you was a cut and a bruise on your cheek.
So, your instincts weren’t so bad.
Aaron, however, disagrees. Logically, he knows that he would’ve done the exact same thing you did, knows the rest of the team would’ve, too. But when it comes to you, he has a hard time thinking logically.
After you hung up on him, all he could do was breathe and breathe and breathe over the heavy thumping of his heartbeat and the worry spinning in his head. He drove the quickest he could manage, the car silent inside. A static.
It’s not that he doubts your abilities—he’s always thought you were incredible, even before the friendship, even before now—only that the idea of you being alone with such a bad man makes him feel sick.
He’d take your place in a heartbeat, if he could, just to make sure you’d be safe.
By the time he and the rest of the team get to the scene, you’re walking out of the building with a hand pressed to your cheek and a paramedic leading you to a nearby ambulance.
Aaron spots you right away, his eyes scanning the small crowd through red and blue lights and conversations surrounding him. When he spots you, everything goes quiet.
His first thought is, thank god she’s alive, then, it’s fuck, she’s hurt.
Without a word to anyone, he heads over in your direction right away. He meets you at the ambulance, where you sit on the small bench inside while the paramedic presses your cheek with gauze.
“Honey.” It comes out in a breath. Relief and pain all at once.
You look over to him, his hair a little messy, his eyes wide and roaming all over you like he’s checking for any other injuries. He cares about you, and it’s written all over him.
“Aaron. I’m okay.” You hold a hand out, and he grabs it, sitting beside you on the bench in the ambulance. “Promise.”
For now, he nods, letting the paramedic do their job bandaging up your cheek. When they’re finished, they hand you a spare bandage saying, “it’s gonna bruise, and it might feel sore for a bit, but you’re all patched up.”
The paramedic leaves after that, probably going to check on other people. The lights inside the ambulance seem to cocoon you, a bright difference to the darkness outside.
The first thing Aaron says is, “let me see.”
His hands reach for your face, rough fingertips gently holding your jaw, tilting you so that he can look at your cheek. It’s a little swollen, discolored where you must’ve been hit. There’s a furrow in his brow, something that looks like a pout on none other than Aaron Hotchner.
“Hey,” you grab his wrists, but his hands stay on your face. “I’m fine.”
Aaron’s always worried, he’s always cared about you and about everyone on the team, but this is different. He was usually able to hide things much better than this. Much better than with you.
Now, all he sees is the tiny bloodstain on your shirt and the bandage on your cheek. All he feels is your hands squeezing his wrists and your eyes locked on his.
“You should have waited,” he says. “I could have been there.”
“Hotchner,” your deadpan tone is intact, which he’ll take as a win, even if it’s directed towards him. “You and I both know you would have done the same. I had to.”
One of his hands shifts to cup your non-injured cheek. Normally, he’d be much more composed while working, but he can’t bring himself to care about how he must look right now.
“I know you did,” he tells you, because he does. “I just wish that you didn’t. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”
Your stomach is tumbling, rolling, your heart doing silly things in your chest. You can hardly feel the pain of your cheek anymore when his hand is on the other, his palm warm against your skin, his gaze even warmer.
“I’m hardly hurt, Aaron. Just a scratch.”
“Right. One that required medical attention. That’s more than just a scratch, honey.”
“If you say so, Hotchner.”
He shifts his hands so that they fall into your lap, palms up and fingers instantly finding yours, tangling together perfectly. Like puzzle pieces.
“Good job, by the way.” Hotch rubs his thumb over your skin once, back and forth. “You did the right thing.”
“Learned from the best,” you say.
You’re both oblivious to the fact that the team is watching from a distance, and that the two of you look so lovesick it’s ridiculous that you haven’t spilled your feelings yet. You’re both absolutely fucked.
Where she stands with the team, Emily shakes her head, “I haven’t seen Hotch like this since… ever.”
Beside her, JJ merely shrugs, like it’s obvious, “yeah, they’re in love.”
Spencer looks at you and Aaron in that ambulance with a smile. “The odds of you guys being right are very, very high.”
-
+1
Aaron Hotchner was never the biggest fan of birthdays. Was never big into the cakes and making wishes, the song and the presents and the fuss of it all.
When he started at the bureau, it stayed that way. Days off were rare enough as it was, so he’d always work on his birthday. And while he kept the signed cards from the team, he treated it as any other day. Nothing special.
This year, you’re on a mission to change that.
While it isn’t the first of Aaron’s birthdays you’ve spent with him, it’s the first one since the two of you have grown as close as you have, since you’ve felt the way you do. You’re just hoping to make it a good birthday for him.
You’ve roped the whole team into it. Decorating the conference room with streamers and balloons and a sign that hangs crooked on the wall, bringing in a cake that reads ‘Happy Birthday Hotch’ in frosting, and keeping it all a secret.
Of course, you’ve all already said happy birthday to him, and you’ve got a present stashed under your desk for later, but you’ve been doing your best to act natural even when the anticipation of your surprise for him eats at your stomach a little.
Surprises are a tricky thing, and there’s no way of knowing whether he’ll like it or not. You’ll just have to wait and see.
While in his office, the team had made it seem like they’d all left for the day, saying their goodbyes to Hotch. Instead of leaving, though, they’ve been hidden in the conference room waiting for you to bring him in.
“Aaron,” you say, knocking on his office door. “I think I lost an earring. Do you think you could help me look for it?”
Because you’re the one asking, Aaron says, “‘course, honey. Where do you think it is?”
You smile, because he’s fallen into your trap easily, because you know that he probably would search for an earring with you if you’d actually lost one.
“I remember having it on in the conference room, so maybe there.”
He stands from his desk, gesturing for you to lead the way with his hand held out. You grab onto it before he can drop it, tangling your fingers and leading him behind you.
Aaron lets you guide him, and when you open the door to the conference room and flick on the lights, he’s met with the team’s grinning faces and a chorus of, “surprise!”
For a moment, he’s speechless, frozen in his spot in the doorway with your hand in his.
No, Aaron’s never been the biggest fan of birthdays, but maybe that’s because nobody’s ever done something like this for him. You came into his life all sweet smiles and now you’re throwing him a surprise party? He’s never ever liked someone the way he likes you.
So much that like is spilling into a four letter word and he’s happy to let it.
You know him well enough to know that he doesn’t like being the center of attention too much, so the only people in the room are those of the BAU. His closest friends. And you, his favorite person.
Before he can say anything he’s being spoken to by the team, getting a ‘happy birthday, boss,’ from Derek, a spill about how hard it was to keep this a secret from Penelope, a grin from Spencer, a tip about how you’d organized all of this from Emily, a squeeze to the shoulder from JJ.
When he finally gets the chance, the others split into their own conversations, Aaron tugs you aside to the corner of the room.
“You did all of this for me?” He asks, head bent to catch your eye.
Although you’d caught the signature Hotchner smile—closed-mouthed and quick—when he saw the surprise, you’re nervous about what he might say. You worry that you’ve done too much, that he’d been pretending to like it for your sake.
“I’m sorry if it’s a bit much,” you start, anxiously tugging at your sleeves. “I wasn’t sure if you liked surprises, I know not everyone does, but I wanted to do something for you because I care about you. A lot. And birthdays are meant to be celebrated, you know?”
Aaron can’t help but let a smile spread over his face as you speak; a real smile. His heart is light, his feelings for you melting through him like the soft pink of cotton candy. He doesn’t think you could ever do anything that he wouldn’t like.
“I’ll clean it all up, too, I prom-”
Your rambling is cut off with his lips on yours. He’s kissing you.
It’s soft, the press of his mouth against yours, and it takes you a second to push back. It stays delicate, a dance between the two of you like you’d practiced a million times before.
His hands skate down your arms to hold your hands, weaving his fingers with yours, squeezing like he’s making sure you know this is real.
You feel it all over, your stomach tumbling, your heart beating in a rhythm that thumps his name. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron, over and over.
It’s a kiss worth a thousand words that you haven’t said yet, a kiss full of feelings and meaning and you know it, just by the way he does it, because you know him and he knows you. It’s you and Aaron, and it feels like the beginning of something huge. Of the rest of your life, maybe.
When he pulls back, Hotch rests his forehead against yours, giving your head a gentle nudge, locking his brown eyes on yours.
“It’s perfect,” he says.
The next thing you hear is Derek Morgan cheering, “I knew it!”
Similar words come from the rest of the team.
“Finally,” from Emily.
“About time,” from JJ.
“This isn’t surprising,” from Spencer, who smiles while saying it.
A sweet, “yay,” from Penelope.
Distracted by Aaron kissing you, you’d sort of forgotten they were there. Bashful, you tuck your head beneath Aaron’s chin, forehead against his collar. He simply tightens his hands around yours.
And when it’s time for cake, this year, Aaron Hotchner makes a wish on his birthday candles. He wishes to spend every other birthday just like this. With you.
thank you so so much for reading!!! if you liked it, please please please consider reblogging/commenting and letting me know what you thought! love you <3
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saetoru · 1 year ago
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underground fighter wriothesley who absolutely melts whenever you patch him up n place the softest kisses over his bruises n stuff :((
- 🦋 anon
✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ WE, NOT I — WRIOTHESLEY.
contents. underground fighter! wriothesley, gn! reader (he gifts you flowers, perfume and a necklace though, so if that is fem! coded to you, there’s your warning), mentions of foster care and being orphaned (wriothesley), mentions of blood, bruises, and injuries (wriothesley), slight angst but overall fluff ending
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money’s tight—has been for a while, actually. wriothesley doesn’t like to talk about it, doesn’t like to open up even though he knows you won’t think any less of him. but you notice the small things, always do.
it’s the way you buy groceries for two, the way he’s always over for dinner one way or another, the way he seems to spend more and more time at your place than his. money’s tight, even if he doesn’t like to admit it—and you could never force it out of him, but you think letting him stay with you while he can could help ease the burden of living even if a little.
he’s grateful—a little roundabout in the ways he shows it, but grateful all the same.
and then the presents start to come.
it’s small at first: those expensive macarons you like from that bakery, the bouquet of roses that couldn’t be cheap, a nice dinner he insists he can pay for every once in a while. and then it starts to get bigger: fancy tea from the side of town neither of you even think about shopping at, perfume from a brand you can’t even pronounce, a necklace that’s more than what you can afford yourself.
it starts out slow, and then all at once, wriothesley has what you imagine to be more money than he knows what to do with. because why else spoil you like this? why else blow money on things for you when he could be putting it towards himself?
not everyone gets to have a head start at life—wriothesley is proof of that. it’s hard, more than most people realize, to be orphaned so young and move through foster home after foster home. he’d gone to jail once too—he doesn’t talk about that either, and you never ask. it’s hard, more than anyone gives him credit for, to be knocked down by life so many times and make a living for yourself.
you can’t understand where the sudden change comes from, can’t pinpoint where along the line he started getting so comfortable. it’s not unwelcome, you would never want to watch him just barely scrap by, but it concerns you how he seems to have so much all at once.
and then you get your answer.
“what—what happened to you?” you ask in disbelief, eyeing the blood caked by his nose and around his knuckles. that’s the best of it, unfortunately—the gashes on his chest and the bruises somehow look even worse.
you’d consider him lucky that his ribs don’t seem cracked.
“just a fight,” he shrugs, not meeting your eyes. wriothesley is a lot of things: resourceful, conniving at times, and braver than most. good at lying is not one of them, however—at least not with you. “just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“where were you, then?” you challenge, staring at him hard enough that he doesn’t have to meet your eyes to shuffle uncomfortably in his spot. he doesn’t answer. you’re almost fed up. “wriothesley,” you say in a warning tone.
there’s a sense of finality he doesn’t like.
“what happened to wrio, sweetheart? you’re killin’ me here, i come home to you all bruised up and you’re here beating me down harder—”
“wriothesley, i’m worried about you,” you whisper tiredly. it’s defeated—it’s almost helpless. he frowns, finally looking up at you from his place between your legs as you sit on the bathroom counter.
“you don’t have to be,” he mumbles, “i can take care on my own. i always have.”
“there’s no being on your own when we’re together,” you shake your head. your hands fall to either side of your body, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. “don’t you understand? neither of us is supposed to be on our own anymore—not when the other is here.”
“yeah,” he crosses his arms—you try to ignore the wince he lets out as he moves, “and now you’re not handling things on your own anymore. i’m carrying my weight. just need to fight a guy or two.”
“you’re carrying your weight by fighting?” you blink at the realization. he doesn’t look you in your eyes, keeping them trained on the floor again. “oh my god—is that what these are from? because….because you’re fighting some punks in the middle of the night? that’s illegal—and you could get in trouble again—”
he doesn’t seem to like being reminded of his past. that’s clear when he clicks his teeth and glares at you. “and what am i supposed to do, stay cooped up in your place and eat your food?” he asks bitterly, making your brows furrow.
“not necessarily, but you can—”
“what, so i just live paycheck to paycheck and shower at your place and sleep in your bed so my water and electricity bills aren’t too high for the month?”
“wrio—”
“i’m earning, aren’t i? what’s the big deal?”
“the big deal is this,” you wave your hand exasperatedly, tears welling up by the lash line of your eyes as you stare at his bruises with trembling lips, “look at you. it’s not worth it if you come back to me like this.”
“but i come back,” he mumbles, taking your hand—he kisses the knuckles, rubs a rough thumb over the smooth skin before laying your palm against his cheek and sighing. “i always come back.”
you love wriothesley—have since the day you met him, you think. he’s easy to fall for like that, to feel your stomach go in twists and knots every time he makes a sarcastic joke and throws you a charming smile. life has been tough on the man you love, unfairly so. it’s hit him harder and harder and pushed him back to his knees before he ever got a chance to fully stand up.
he’s hitting back, now. maybe in a more literal sense than you’d hoped, but….but maybe you can help him if you can’t change him. maybe you can keep the pieces together until the plaster holds and they’re not so fragile anymore.
“i don’t like seeing you hurt,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss the broken skin on his cheekbone, “you don’t have to do all this. we were doing okay before that.”
we. he shudders at that. it’s always we and never i—even when you did all the heavy lifting. even when he was barely getting by and you were giving more than you should’ve had to, more than he should’ve needed. it’s always we. never i.
you and him.
“i know,” he melts, humming as your fingers thread into his tousled hair, scratching his scalp as he buries his face into your neck, “just let me save a bit more. and then i’ll do something real with myself. i promise.”
you pull away after a bit, taking in every bruise and every cut, every dry patch of blood and swollen patch of skin. it’s shaky at first, your voice when you finally speak.
“‘s all bruised,” you say quietly, running a finger over the marks littering his chest. he’s painfully still—doesn’t move a muscle as you lean in slowly and press a kiss to the purplish stain on his skin, gently trailing them to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. “you don’t deserve all this.”
“yeah?” he chuckles—its breathy, a little strained. your arms loop around his waist and bring him closer, “what a sweet thing,” he coos, “nobody ever treats me so gentle.”
you frown at that. the world is not gentle with wriothesley—you’ll have to be extra gentle to make up for it.
“you’ll be safe? you’ll pull out when it’s too much, right? and you’ll come back? without being too hurt, right? wrio, you can’t—”
“yeah, yeah, i got it,” he huffs, pressing his forehead to yours, letting your hands cup his cheeks. he leans closer to your touch, shudders as you slowly trace his cheek with your thumb, “just wait at home all pretty for me, yeah? i’ll bring you back something nice.”
“bring me back yourself in once piece,” you huff.
“done,” he smiles, “i’m strong, if you haven’t noticed.”
“yeah? explain this,” you challenge, pressing down on a bruise and making him wince.
“you should see the other guy,” he whines, burying his face back into your neck. you roll your eyes, there’s a scoff in your throat but a smile on your lips.
wriothesley is safe—for now, that’s all you can ask for.
“i love you,” you mumble, “so much. no matter what, okay?”
“no need to get so emotional on me, baby,” he chuckles—and then there’s a tightening of strong arms around your body, a kiss pressed delicately to your neck before a soft, “but i love you too” is murmured into your skin.
“i hope you’re ready to clean those cuts. they’ll sting for sure,” you grumble as you pull away. he grins—handsome, charming, yours.
“will you kiss them better?” he bats his lashes, making you snort.
“no.”
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i might make this a reoccurring drabble series too idk yet. anyway you know what else he can beat up ?? this pussy ;)
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monzabee · 5 months ago
Text
the smallest man who ever lived - cl16
masterlist || part 2 || part 3 ||
Summary: The one where you’re thrown into a conundrum when you learn the news of your husband, Charles’, infidelity.
Pairing: charles leclerc x wife!reader; carlos sainz x reader
Word Count: 4.5k
Warnings: angst, cheating, crying, manipulation(?), charles is an absolute asshole (but so is the reader) (but she’s kinda also badass?) (toxic relationship?), even more assholish carlos (gasp), blackmail, mention of pregnancy, mention of sex and sexual acts, physical confrontation (literally just pushing someone off but still)
Request: “Hey girl can I request something angsty with Charles? Maybe Charles cheating on Y/N (we’re already famous and have been married to Charles for years) and the fighting, the finding out, his guilt, angst, etc.”
Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! thank you to the anon who requested this because i had the time of my life working on it, and it might be the first fic i wrote in one go for the last six months or so!! also thank you to the getting cheated on playlists i found on spotify and amy dunne for giving me the inspiration to make the reader as toxic as i could. special thanks to @norrisleclercf1 and @percervall who had to listen to me talk about this fic NONSTOP. this is definitely something very different to what i usually write, but i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee
Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 
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There are moments in life where you feel like a complete and utter idiot. Although it could be for no apparent reason at all, there is a perfectly explainable reason why you feel like that right now, in the middle of your trailer on the set, with your manager and publicist both looking at you like you could explode at any given moment. It took you a good amount of time to wrap your head around the news, the news that wrecked you into a million of pieces which left you as the only person who can put them back together.  
“Let me get this straight,” you start, still trying to wrap your head around the news, “they were photographed leaving the club, and there’s a–?” 
“Sex tape, yes.” Your manager mumbles, earning himself a side-eye from your publicist. “It was so kindly attached to the email.”  
“And it is anonymous?” You ask, earning curt nods from both. “Well,” you manage to get out, pressing your lips together not to let out a sob, or a laugh, both? “That is very ambitious of him.” 
Your publicist shares a concerned look with your manager, then turns to you, “I guess so? How would you want us to handle this? I can buy us some time until these are released to public, but I think getting a statement ready just in case is essential given the fact that both of you are public figues. We can say that you’ll attend marriage councelling–” 
Your loud laugter cuts her off in the middle of her sentence. “And just why would we do that?” 
“I–” She gives you another concerned look as she softens her voice, which is quite uncharacteristic for her, you realise. “How would you want us to approach it then?” 
“I don’t want you to approach it at all.” You voice cuts through the tension, your gaze fixed on her. “I’ll handle it.”  
“But Charles–” She tries to reason, but you cut her off again.  
“Decided to get his dick wet where it certainly didn’t belong, he’s a big boy – he’ll survive.” Fixing her with a final look, you turn to your manager instead. “I don’t want this going to Charles or his team’s ears, that’s what the email said, and we should honour it, no?”  
His expression turns into a smirk, matching the one playing on your lips as he nods in thougt, “Would you like us to do anything else? We can talk with the production if you need a couple of days to… well, recuperate. Greta would understand.” 
“No.” Your answer is final as you shake your head. “She thinks this is an Oscar worthy project, I’m not throwing it away because my husband decided to think with his dick and not his brain. Just call my lawyers and tell them to be on stand by.” 
“Should I also book you tickets to Monaco still?” He asks in a monotone tone. 
“Well of course,” you reply in a sweet voice, widening your eyes for dramatic effect, “it’s a family event.” 
Your publicist eyes the both of you, “Okay,” as she drags the word out, “are you sure you don’t want to take a couple of days off?” 
“Positive. I have an EGOT to win.” Raising the script you have in your hands in the air, you announce, “I have lines I need to go over, is that all?”  
And as they leave your trailer to give you some space to ‘go over your lines’, you let a few tears escape your eyes, promising yourself that you would make Charles feel a thousand worse what he made you feel in the moment. 
It is not surprising or a sudden revelation that Monte Carlo has good weather all year around. But as it happens with the last few weeks following you learning about your husband’s infidelity, all you feel is cold – and no amount of warm weather is enough to make your heart feel warmer again. As you stand at the terrace of Café de Paris, overlooking the cityscape of Monte Carlo, all you can think about is how you just want to get this part of you plan over with as fast as possible.  
“Chérie!” The voice you hear makes a lump perpetually situate itself in the middle of your throat, but you brace yourself for the worst as you turn on your heels to face the person you’re most scared of facing in this whole situation. “Look at you, you look incroyable! You had me scared when you told me you were catching the redeye, and that we just had to talk!” 
“Pascale,” you breathe out as the woman pulls you into her arms with the warmness of any mother would do, and for that brief moment, you feel better than you have in weeks. “It’s so nice to see you again,” giving her the warmest smile you can muster up in the circumstances as you pull back, fixing your gaze at the figure behind her as you nod your head in acknowledgement, “Arthur.” 
“Maman is right,” Arthur says as he opens his arms, “you do look good.”  
“Well, thank you.” You reply as you give him a quick hug, and motion the table as you pull back. “Shall we?” Call it common curtesy, or cowardice, the fact that you don’t directly get to the point. Either way, you talk about what you’ve missed in the couple of months in which you’ve been away filming. You’re not necessarily paying attention, though the endtail of Pascale’s sentence catch your attention. “Excuse me, can you repeat that?” 
“Well, I was just telling how sad I was that Charles doesn’t come home as often this season. Though I understand he’s coming out to see you on set, distance can be so hard even for–” 
“He’s not coming out to see me, Pascale.” You voice is softer, and appears more broken than you would want it to be, but your words convey the message enough. It takes you a couple of moments to organise your thoughts, and Arthur calling out your name, to get you back into the moment. “There’s something I need to talk with the both of you, something I’ve already talked with Lorenzo, but I thought it would be better for you to hear it from me.”  
“Okay?” Arthur mumbles, then gives you a supportive smile, “You can tell us anything. Though don’t tell me I’m about to be an uncle because I don’t think my ego can take it at the–” 
You attempt to swallow the lump in your throat as you direct your words to the woman sitting across from you. “I’m divorcing your son, and I thought you should hear it from me and not him.”  
It takes a few minutes for both Pascale and Arthur to say something, and it concerns you that you somehow managed to give your mother in law a brain aneurism, but eventually, she manages to get out, “What? How? Why? Are you okay?”  
“I’m… fine.” You reply, albeit it comes off calculated. “I found a couple of weeks ago that he was cheating on me, I’ve came back to give him the papers myself.”  
“He what?” Arthur exclaims, then realises the level of his voice, and lowers it down as he asks, “Are you sure this is not a misunderstanding? The guy has been in love with you for over a decade, he wouldn’t do this.” With a resigning sigh, you find what you’re looking for in your phone and hand it over to Arthur. Who then, upon seeing what you have pulled up, immediately hands it back to you and turns to his mother, “Trust me you don’t want to see it.” 
“I’ve came to tell you the news, and well, to apologise.” You turn to face Pascale again.  
“Apologise?” She repeats, “Why on earth would you apologise to me when my son cheated on you?” 
“You’ve been nothing but kind to me ever since we’ve met, both of you.” You acknowledge Arthur with a look, and then focus your attention back on the woman, “Though I will make sure you don’t get caught in the crossfire in any way, I wanted to apologise for what I’m about to put your son through.”  
You honestly don’t know how you manage to act as if everything has been going fine in your life during race day. Given the fact that your husband doesn’t expect you to be at his race due to your rigorous filming schedule, and his family members being willing to hide your existence from him, you have no obstacles in your way to carry out the rest of your plan in motion. Which is exactly why you’re sat in the dark, waiting for your husband to walk through the doors of your apartment overlooking the city. With you seemingly being absent for the weekend, he has no reason to not believe that he is coming to an empty house.  
So, imagine his surprise when he enters his home; with his girlfriend in his arm, no less, and sees his wife sitting on the couch with her legs crossed and a drink in her hand. The look on his face is priceless, and despite all the pain and frustration you’re feeling, it manages to bring you some semblance of joy, knowing that it’s going to hurt him just as much as it hurt you.  
“Ma chérie,” Charles stammers, eye wide as he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights, “I – I didn’t know y–you were coming back this weekend.” 
“Well obviously,” you scoff, taking a generous sip from the drink in the glass tumbler in your hand, “otherwise you wouldn’t bring your little girlfriend into my house to fuck her.” You hear a gasp from the scaredy brunette wedging herself closer to your husband’s side, and for the first time you take a good look at her – young, much younger than you, tall, leggy; all the telltale signs that she is exactly your husband’s type. Tilting your head to the side, you rest the glass on the arm of the armchair you’re sitting in, “If you could leave now, I would greatly appreciate it.”  
You hear Charles whisper something in her ear, probably telling her to leave and that he’ll contact her tomorrow, and watch as she gives him a scowl, screeching, “You’re just going to let her throw me out?” 
“Well, considering the fact that this is my house, yes.” You give her a look of pity, watching her face light up with anger.  
“Listen to me, you bitch–” She starts, but your husband quickly cuts her off.  
“Mon cœur!” He exclaims, “S'il te plaît!” 
“Yes, listen to him, like a good little girl,” you egg her on, a smirk widening on your lips as you start swinging the leg resting on your lower one, choosing to focus on your nails instead of your husband trying to soothe his lover. 
You hear her scoff, take a few steps as her heels click on the marble floor of the entrance, “I wouldn’t be so calm if I were you, I’m not someone you want to be on bad terms with, considering the fact that he’s going to leave you for me!” 
“Oh, honey,” you coo, focusing your attention back on her and seeing the look of concern in your husband’s face through the corner of your eye, “and when did he tell you that, like a year ago? Two? Three?” A realisation dawns on her face as the smug expression starts to fade. “Don’t worry, though, you can have him when I’m done with him.” Pushing yourself off the armchair, you down the rest of the drink in the glass before slamming it down onto the glass coffee table. “And not only do I not care if you think I'm a bitch, but I hugely prefer it. Now get the fuck out of my house before I call security and get your ass thrown out.”  
You watch as she looks at Charles with indignation, lets out another screeching sound and slams the door behind her as she stomps out of your apartment. Only then you turn your gaze back to your husband, who has the guts to look at you with a worried look on his face. “How long have you known?” Is the first thing he asks you, taking a few steps closer.  
“A couple of weeks, a month, maybe?” You answer him, leaving your place to get to the small bar in the corner of your living room to get another refill of your drink. “There’s a video of the two, it somehow got into my hands, and it has very graphic details of the two of you having sex.” Popping a lemon into your cup, you make your way back to the armchair and sit down, “Are you stupid enough to cheat on me and make a fucking sex tape, Charles?” 
“I-I didn’t mean to–” He tries to plead, but you cut him off with a shake of your head.  
“You didn’t mean to what?” You ask him; your voice soothing, almost understanding, and it does the job of fooling him. “Cheat on me? Fuck another woman in my bed? Break the vows you’ve made?”  
“Ma chérie,” he whispers, “please.” 
“No.” Your voice is colder all of a sudden. “Tell me how long this has been going on for. Was I right? How many years?” 
“It started five years ago,” his voice is soft, somber and he tries to appear as genuine as he can in the situation, you suppose, “but I knew her, from before...” 
“Before what?” You’re seething now, the complete opposite of his calmness, “Did you fucking cheat me when we were dating, Charles?” 
“Ma chérie,” he gives you another pleading look, “please, I can change. I’ll go to therapy.”  
Now that, manages to get a bark of laughter from you. It’s ripped from the back of your throat, making you throw your head back as you lose yourself in the laughter to the point that there are tears in your eyes when you finally manage to calm yourself down. Putting the glass down on the coffee table once again, you wipe them off, mindful of your mascara, as you shift your attention back onto your husband. “Are fucking kidding me right now?” He gives you a concerned look, hands on his hips as he opens his mouth to answer you, but you quickly shut him down again. “You were bringing her into my house to fuck her, I caught you, I have your fucking sex tape – which is going to be streamlined for the world to see within twenty-four hours, do you honestly think I would go back to you?”  
“Wait, what?” He exclaims, looking at you with wide eyes and a shocked expression. “What do you mean they are going to streamline it, why didn’t you go to the lawyers? 
“I did go to the lawyers,” you shrug, innocently, “my lawyers,” you point out. “Why would I cover up your mistakes after everything you’ve done?” 
“Because I’m your fucking husband!” He barks, his arms widening to his sides as he finally loses his mask and his composure.  
His little tantrum only makes you let out another laugh, “Now, you’re my husband? Not when you’re cheating on me when I’m away shooting, but when you need me to clean up after your mistakes?” 
“How did you even get the video?” He asks, eyes narrowing down, “Who- who– who?” 
“Who? Who? Hoo? What are you, a fucking owl?” You exclaim, this time raising your voice. “You’re honestly more concerned about where I got it and not about the fact that the entire world is about to see you fucking someone other than your wife?” 
“What are we doing to do?” He asks, “Fuck, I have a race tomorrow.” 
“We’re not going to do anything.” You shrug, leaning forward to grab the glass and take another sip, “Or scratch that, we’re actually going to do something.” You stand up from the armchair, walk towards the table and hand him the file. “Congratulations, we’re getting a divorce.” 
“That is not happening.” He scoffs, not even bothering to look at the papers.  
“I don’t think you’re in the position to bargain with me, Charles.” You seethe, “You’re going to sign the damn papers, and you’re also going to sign away your rights to the baby.”  
“What the–?” He looks at you in disbelief, “You’re pregnant?” 
“Congratulations, it’s a boy.” You bite out, “Like you wanted.” 
“You’ve been drinking the entire night.” He points to the glass, “Do you expect me to believe you’re pregnant?” 
Offering him a sweet smile you hand him the glass, tipping it towards him, “It’s soda water, would you like a sip?” 
“Don’t make me do this,” he pleads, “give me another chance.” 
“I would’ve, if you were honest with me from the start.” You resign, a sincere look in your eyes. “I’ll give you a choice: us, or her.”  
He rears back with the offer, looking at you in disbelief. “What?” 
“You either choose me and the baby or you choose to be with her, and in that case, I will never let you near my baby, Charles.” You shake your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach protectively.  
For a second, his eyes linger around your stomach.   But you know his choice when he meets your eyes again.  
“What have we done to each other?” He whispers, and you can barely see the tears in his eyes.  
“We didn’t do anything, Charles. I gave up everything for you, but you just took me for granted.” Walking back to the dining table, you grab your coat and bag, and when you come face to face with him again, your voice is soft despite all the anger you still feel towards him. “You, Charles Leclerc, are truly the smallest man who ever lived.”  
The hotel lobby is calm and empty as you sit at the bar, and it’s surprising when you consider that fact that it is the weekend of the Monaco Grand Prix, meaning that there must be hundreds and thousands of motorsports fans visiting. Not that you’re complaining about the silence, of course. After the night you’ve had, silence and calmness are all you could ask for.  
“I’ll get a whiskey, please, whatever top shelf stuff you’ve got.” A voice cuts through the moment you are having, and you instantly recognise the distinct accent of the stranger sitting next to you. “Thought you were in the States, finishing off filming.” This time, the comment is directed to you, and you roll your eyes as you push the empty glass towards the bartender on duty.  
With a sigh, you turn to the man on your right, “What do you want, Carlos?” Your voice conveys your lack of energy, and Carlos is not dumb enough not to notice the dark circles under your eyes beneath your makeup.  
“I came to check on you.” Is his answer. Simple, curt and to the point. You’d certainly appreciate it more if you had the patience for his antics.  
“Well, you did, have a good night.” Slamming down a hundred-Euro bill onto the counter, you make a move to get up from your place, but a gentle hand on your wrist stops you. “Let me go.”  
Though there is no venom to your voice, Carlos knows that it is not the time, nor the place, to test your patience. “I’m sorry,” he starts and when you take a good look at him, you can tell that he’s being sincere, “I really did want to check up on you, and considering the fact that you have a perfectly good penthouse but instead in a hotel, I think I was right to do so.”  
Crossing your arms across your chest as you get back onto the barstool with a huff, you glare at him lightheartedly, “I didn’t want to stay in the same house as him,” raising your eyebrows, you continue with a lower voice, “thanks to [email protected], but I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.” The way his cheeks redden under the dim lights of the lobby bar would make you chuckle under normal circumstances, but you push the thought aside, “Honestly, what were you thinking? You’re lucky it was me who realised it was you, if it was my agent or publicist, we’d have another scandal to deal with.” 
“Yeah, yeah,” he brushes you off with a swat of his hand, “I’m sorry I put you into that position.” 
“Don’t be,” you mumble, tilting your head to the side, “I wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t sent me the video. Just tell me why you did it.” 
“What?” He turns you with a confused look on his face.  
“Why, Carlos?” You ask, voice encouraging yet soft, “Why did you send it? Why now?” 
He keeps quiet for a while, not answering your questions but not taking his gaze off you either. Eventually, he exhales a deep sigh as he gives you a sheepish shrug, “I didn’t like the way he treated you. And I didn’t want to make you worry about it without concrete proof, so I guess everything just... worked out.”  
“Huh,” you let out a small hum in agreement, “I guess you’re right.”  
Expecting more than the words you chose to answer him with, he raises an eyebrow as he takes a big gulp of whiskey from his glass. “That’s it?” 
“Well, what more is it there to say?” You ask, sheepishly shrugging. “We’re getting a divorce; he’s going to move out and I’m gonna make sure the entire world knows just why.” 
Carlos flags down the bartender as he mumbles, “I feel like you need a stronger drink if we’re going to talk about your impending divorce, cariño.” 
Taking a deep breath and exhaling an even deeper sigh, you shake your head. “I can’t.” Thank God Carlos is one of the people who is the proud owner of a braincell around you, because he catches your insinuation quickly.  
With widened eyes, he quickly turns towards you, eyes softening as you offer him a sad smile. “Dios mío,” he murmurs, eyes running over you worriedly, “are you okay?” 
“Well... no.” You let out an unexpected laugh at his expression, patting him on the shoulder lightheartedly. “I’ll be fine, Carlos, I’m a big girl. I can handle this.” 
“I know you will,” he assures you, “but does Charles know?” 
Now that manages to bring a grimace to your face. “He signed his parental rights away along with the divorce papers.” The look he gives you after hearing your words has you worried that his eyes are going to pop out of their sockets, but you try to calm him down as best as you can. “Carlos, it’s fine.” 
“It’s most certainly not!” He exclaims, his voice echoing in the almost empty hotel lobby. “Is he out of his mind?”  
You give him an awkward smile and another shrug of your shoulders. "I... feel like whatever I’m going to say is going to be wrong. So... yes?”
“Cariño,” he says, exasperated, “how are you so normal about this?” 
“Lots of women raise their kids as single mothers while working, Carlos.” Your expression quickly taking the form of a frown, “I can handle this, I don’t need Charles or anyone else to hold my hand and tell me I’m doing such a good job.” 
“I know you can do this alone, tonta,” he rolls his eyes as the endearment making you roll your eyes, “but you’re not going to be alone. Because I’m here.” There’s a certain finality to his words. And just as you’re about to object to his words, he quickly shuts you down. “I know you can do this on your own, but you don’t have to, okay? I’m going to be with you every step of the way.”  
“What if I need waffles in the middle of the night?” You ask, your eyebrow raised in a skeptical way.  
“I’ll adjust my pancake recipe.” His reply his immediate, and he shrugs lightly as he adds, “Pancakes are better, anyway.”  
Rolling your eyes you continue, “What if I need someone to hold my hand in the delivery room? It can get quite gruesome, you know?” 
He provides you with another nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “I’ve never really been affected by it.”  
“Okay, this is ridiculous, Carlos!” You exclaim, pushing yourself off your seat as you turn your body to face him. “I don’t need you to bail me out, I don’t need your help!” 
“I know you don’t,” he nods.  
“I am capable of doing this on my own!” You shriek, and the fact that your face is starting to get progressively redder worries Carlos.  
“I know you are, but–” he tries to reason.  
“No buts! I’m going to be a good mother, okay?” You point an accusatory finger towards him. “I’m going to choose him!” 
The way your voice breaks at the end of your sentence has Carlos instinctively pull you into his arms, which is not that hard given the fact that you are almost the same height as him as you stand in front of the bar stool he’s sitting on, and he doesn’t say a word as you sob into his chest – letting out all the emotion you’ve bottled up over the past few weeks, no less. He doesn’t you offer you empty promises or tries to soothe you with cliché phrases. Instead, he stands still, holding you between his arms as you sob continuously into his chest. Giving the bar tender an awkward smile over your shoulder, he hands him his card to close out your tabs.  
He only starts talking again once you’ve pulled away and trying to wipe the remnants of your tears from under your eyes. “Do you feel better now?” He asks, handing you a napkin.  
“Yeah,” you mumble, sniffing as you play with the corners of the napkin. Then, you flip your eyes toward his, and fix him with a glare. “You are not becoming my kid’s stepdad.” 
“Of course not, cariño,” he assures you, “I’ll be the dad that stepped up instead.” 
You let out a teary chuckle as you slap him lightly on his chest. “I’m serious, Carlos.” 
“So am I.” He replies softly, and you can see the genuine look on his face. “You’re not alone anymore, I’m choosing you.” Tentatively, he presses his hand softly against your stomach as he maintains your gaze. “Both of you.” 
And though the last thing you want is a promise, this one seems like a real one. So, you let yourself believe that he might just keep it up. 
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