#Tyre Fabric

[tenth-sentence]

Nylon 6 is fabricated into fibres, bristles, rope, high-impact mouldings and tyre cords.

"Chemistry" 2e - Blackman, A., Bottle, S., Schmid, S., Mocerino, M., Wille, U.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Will Rafe and readers children get arranged marriage too? If it’s traditional in reader’s family does that mean that there’s matches found for the children already? Would reader let that happen to her kids? I expect reader’s parents would push for arrangements to be made as soon as a child is born

Always repeating itself || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: lol I was think of this video for the beginning since I saw soo many tiktok comments joking abt it how it would be him walking to the car and saying kids get in the car 😭😭

Warnings: angst!!!!

Word count: 2,193

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

“Kids! Let’s go!” Rafe’s voice carries from the foyer, sharp and commanding, though not without a hint of warmth. You take a moment to smooth down Madeline’s dress, her little hands fidgeting as her eyes gleam with excitement. “Alright, sweetheart, off you go,” you whisper, giving her a gentle nudge as she bolts toward the door, her laughter ringing through the hallway.

Leo lingers behind, slower to move, his tiny fingers wrapped tightly around your hand. “Careful on the stairs,” you call after Madeline, already bounding ahead, her shoes thudding loudly against the floor. You grab your bag, glancing back one more time at Leo as he moves in front of you. His small hands gripping the railing as he steps carefully down each stair.

“Take your time, Leo,” you murmur, a soft smile spreading across your face as your hand instinctively rests on your rounded belly, the growing weight of the life inside you grounding your steps. Rafe watches from below, his eyes narrowing slightly but softening as he sees Leo’s slower pace. Madeline is already at his side, her hands swinging in his, filled with boundless energy.

“C’mon, buddy,” Rafe says, his tone firm yet encouraging as he extends his hand toward Leo. Leo finally reaches his father, slipping his small hand into Rafe’s, while you take the final steps down, your movements slower, more deliberate. Rafe’s eyes linger on you for a moment, something unreadable flickering across his face before he turns back to the children. “Got everything?” he asks, his voice low as he reaches for the car keys.

You nod softly, pressing a hand against your stomach again, feeling the light kick beneath your skin. “Yeah,” you reply with a hum, your eyes locking with his for a brief second before shifting to the children, now racing toward the front door. There’s a weight to the moment, one that neither of you acknowledges out loud, but it lingers like the unspoken words always do between you two.

Rafe steps aside, closing the door behind you as he unlocks the g-wagon with a beep. You open the back door for the kids, watching as Leo and Madeline clamber into their seats, their excitement barely contained. Rafe moves around the car, quietly buckling the kids in. His movements are precise, almost mechanical, but there’s an undeniable care in the way he makes sure their belts are snug.

You lean back in your seat, one hand tracing slow circles on your belly, feeling the gentle stirring beneath the fabric of your dress. The feeling always brings you a strange comfort, a reminder of the life growing inside you, of the future you didn’t quite plan but now couldn’t imagine without. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Rafe shifts the car into gear, glancing over his shoulder as he reverses out of the driveway. The sound of the tyres crunching against the gravel fills the silence for a few moments.

“Do you know what this is about?” Rafe breaks the silence, his eyes flicking toward you with a mixture of curiosity and mild concern. There’s something else there too—wariness, perhaps. He’s never been one to be at ease around your parents, and this unexpected meeting only stirs that discomfort. You shrug lightly, your gaze focused out the window for a moment before returning to the rhythmic movement of your hands across your stomach.

“No idea,” you murmur, your voice soft, almost distant. You can feel the tension building in your chest, an old, familiar feeling whenever your parents are involved. The tightness grows as you try not to overthink why they summoned you today, especially with the children. What could be so urgent? Rafe’s grip tightens on the wheel, and you don’t miss the slight clench of his jaw.

He’s never been good at hiding his frustration, though he tries for your sake—sometimes. There’s a part of you that wonders if he’s bracing himself for whatever demands or expectations your parents are about to lay at your feet. You glance at the rearview mirror, catching sight of Madeline and Leo in the back, completely oblivious to the tension building in the front seat.

~

“You’re joking,” Rafe scoffs, his voice dripping with disbelief as he swirls the amber liquid in his glass, the ice clinking softly. He brings the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip of bourbon, his eyes narrowing at your parents across the grand dining room. You sit beside him, frozen in place, trying to process the words that had just shattered whatever illusion of calm you thought you’d have during this meeting.

It was bound to happen, but hearing it out loud felt like a punch to the gut. “They’re still children!” Rafe’s voice slices through the tension hanging in the room, his frustration flaring as he slams the glass onto the table, the sound reverberating through the ornate dining room. “And are we forgetting the fact that she’s still not born?” His hand gestures sharply toward your swollen belly, his anger spilling over as your hands instinctively cradle your stomach.

Rafe’s gaze is intense, his blue eyes flashing with a mixture of disbelief and fury. His jaw is clenched, the muscles tightening as he glares at your parents, the weight of their expectations pressing down on him, on both of you. The suffocating traditions of your family—arranged marriages, predetermined futures, heirs before individuals—were wearing on him, threatening to tear down the fragile balance you had both tried to maintain.

Your father leans back in his chair, unfazed by Rafe’s outburst, his expression as steely as ever. Your mother, ever poised, crosses her legs delicately, her cool composure only fueling the fire in Rafe’s gaze. They’ve seen this reaction before—yours, when you were told of your own arranged marriage. To them, this is just another step in the preservation of the family’s legacy, a legacy that had been woven into every decision, every expectation.

“Rafe, we understand your concerns,” your mother begins, her voice calm, like she’s explaining a simple business arrangement. “But this is not about today. This is about securing their future. She may not be born yet, but she, like her siblings, will have her place in this family, and part of that is ensuring they all have the right alliances.”

Rafe scoffs, running a hand through his hair, his frustration only building as he listens to their cold, calculated reasoning. He turns to you, his eyes searching your face, looking for something—anything—that shows you’re as disturbed by this conversation as he is. You meet his gaze, your hands still resting protectively over your stomach, feeling the soft flutter of movement inside you.

Part of you wants to agree with him, to speak up and tell your parents that this is madness. That your children deserve a choice, a chance at a life that isn’t dictated by contracts and old traditions. But the other part of you—the part that had been raised in this world, where duty and legacy are everything—knows this was always inevitable. It’s the same fate that was chosen for you.

Rafe’s voice lowers, but the anger remains. “You’re planning their futures before they can even speak for themselves. Do you realise how insane that sounds?” He turns back to your father, who has remained quiet throughout the exchange, observing Rafe’s reaction with a measured gaze. “Rafe,” your father finally says, his tone cool and authoritative, the kind that commands respect.

“This isn’t about insanity. It’s about responsibility. You, of all people, should understand the importance of that. Our families were built on these alliances, and your children will carry on that legacy.” Rafe leans back in his chair, exhaling harshly, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table as he tries to contain the frustration boiling inside him. He’s always hated this aspect of your family—the suffocating rules, the unspoken expectations that had shaped your life from the moment you were born.

Your mother’s expression was unreadable, though you know her well enough to catch the subtle lift of her chin—an indication that she expected this reaction from Rafe. “Y/n,” Rafe mutters, turning his head toward you, searching your face for any sign of how you were taking this, his blue eyes flickering with something close to desperation.

He’s waiting for you to speak up, to be the buffer between him and your parents, as you often are. You swallow hard, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. Of course, you knew this day would come. In your world, in the world of dynasties and old money, these things were decided long before feelings or personal desires were even considered. Your children were not just your own; they were the future of two powerful families, and with that came the responsibility to uphold the tradition of arranged marriages.

It’s what had happened to you, after all. “Rafe, I understand that in your family, this may seem insane…” you begin, your voice steady, though your heart is pounding with the weight of the situation. Inside, a storm of conflicting emotions rages—your loyalty to your family’s legacy, the deep-rooted traditions you were raised with, and the growing sense that this isn’t the life you want for your children.

You glance at Rafe, watching as his anger simmers just beneath the surface, his fingers drumming impatiently against the side of his glass. “Oh this is more than insane and you know it, Y/n.” His eyes meet yours briefly, a flash of frustration and disbelief swirling in the blue depths. His family may be wealthy, even powerful in their own right, but they’ve never adhered to these kinds of traditions.

The antiquated practices your parents held onto with such ferocity were foreign to him, and every time they were brought up, it was like another layer of expectation was placed on his shoulders. You shift in your seat, trying to navigate the tightrope between the world you come from and the man beside you. “But in this family—your family now—this is what’s expected,” you continue, trying to keep your voice calm, even as your own doubts creep in.

“Our children’s futures are tied to these alliances. It’s not just about them, it’s about securing the family’s legacy.” Rafe’s jaw clenches visibly, his knuckles whitening around the glass as he sets it down with a little more force than necessary. “So what, they just get to be pawns in some game?” he snaps, his voice low but filled with restrained anger. “Is that all we are to them?”

You wince at his words, knowing that’s exactly how he sees it. It’s how you once saw it too. But you’d been trained your whole life to believe it was more than that—that it was a duty, a responsibility to the family. Yet, sitting here now, with your hands protectively over your stomach, the reality of arranging your own children’s marriages before they’ve even had the chance to live feels like a cruel twist of fate. One you never wanted to inflict on them.

Your father clears his throat, leaning forward slightly, his eyes sharp, watching the exchange closely. “Rafe,” he says, his voice measured, authoritative. “This isn’t a game. It’s about ensuring the stability of the family. The world we live in requires certain… arrangements. We all made sacrifices for this, and so will our children.”

Rafe shakes his head, leaning back in his chair, exhaling harshly as he runs a hand through his hair. “Sacrifices?” he mutters under his breath, his voice tinged with bitterness. He looks at you again, the plea in his eyes unmistakable. He’s desperate for you to push back, to stand with him against your parents and their rigid traditions.

But you hesitate, your gaze dropping to your stomach once more. How can you deny the truth of what your father is saying? You’ve lived it—your entire life has been shaped by these expectations. “I know it’s hard to understand,” you finally say, your voice softening as you turn back to Rafe.

“But it’s how things are done in this family. We have to think about the bigger picture.” Rafe’s eyes narrow, his frustration palpable. “And what about them?” he asks. “What about their lives, their choices? Are we just going to take that away from them before they even have a chance?” His words hit you hard, stirring something deep within you.

The idea of your children—your daughter, not yet born—being forced into the same mould you had been, fills you with a sense of dread. But the pull of your family’s expectations is strong, and breaking away from it feels impossible. You can already sense your mother’s disapproval, the way her gaze sharpens at Rafe’s defiance, as if he’s an outsider who doesn’t understand the way things work in your world.

Rafe’s eyes flash with frustration, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I don’t care if that’s how it’s always been done,” he snaps, his voice rising slightly before he catches himself. “They’re not us, Y/n. They deserve more than this.” Your heart tightens at his words because a part of you knows he’s right. You glance at your parents, their expressions unchanged, as if they had heard these objections a thousand times before.

Your father’s gaze settles on Rafe with the kind of authority that comes from years of making decisions others are expected to follow. “We are not here to debate this, Rafe” your father says, his tone calm but firm. “This is about securing the future. Our future. Our children’s future.” Rafe lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he looks away, staring out the large windows behind your parents.

The sun is setting, casting a soft glow over the estate’s immaculate gardens, but the beauty of it is lost in the suffocating atmosphere inside. You know this conversation is far from over, and as Rafe’s hand curls into a fist on the table, you can’t help but wonder how much longer you can keep navigating this delicate balance between your family’s expectations and the life you want for your children.

“This is ridiculous,” Rafe mutters again, quieter now, his voice barely cutting through the heavy silence that lingers in the room. His fingers tap restlessly against the armrest, and just as you’re about to respond, the sound of doors swinging open pulls your attention. You turn to see Leo and Madeline barreling toward you, their shoes tapping against the polished floor, their laughter momentarily breaking the tension.

Behind them, the maid rushes in, her face flushed with worry as she tries to catch up. “I’m so sorry—” she starts, breathless, but before she can finish, Rafe stands abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping harshly against the floor. “It’s fine. We’re done here,” Rafe says, his voice firm as he looks at you, then shifts his gaze to your parents, making it clear that this conversation is over.

The weight of his decision hangs in the air, thick with unspoken words. As Madeline runs up to him, her small arms reaching for him to pick her up, Rafe’s features soften, if only for a moment, as he bends down to scoop her into his arms. You sigh quietly, exchanging a look with your mother, her expression unreadable but the disapproval still lingering in her eyes.

There’s a silent understanding between you—this conversation isn’t over, not really. You rise from your seat, your movements slow as you reach for Leo’s hand, his small fingers curling around yours. With one last glance at your parents, you follow Rafe out, the heavy door closing behind you with a finality that echoes in the pit of your stomach.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Butter

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: None

Summary: What if Joel doesn't forget to buy himself a cake for his birthday? But by the time he remembers, all the bakeries in his neighbourhood are closed - except yours.

Warnings: No outbreak AU, pure fluff, mentions of baking and food, meet cute, some sexual tension but very mild stuff compared to my other fics, single dad!Joel being a sexy menace, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has an accent similar to Joel, very lightly edited, not my best work, but I'm in my writing for fun era 💁🏻‍♀️

Word count: 3.6k

Notes: It's here! This was an exercise in speed writing, and just putting words to paper without overthinking anything. I really enjoyed writing this sweet little piece, this is dedicated to @psychedelic-ink who has been the biggest cheerleader for this idea since day one. Happy birthday to our favourite single dad who never lived through a cordyceps outbreak ❤️

September 26, 2003 was supposed to be a good day.

It’s Friday, after all. Not that the weekend is relevant to you anymore, with Saturdays and Sundays being the busiest days for business. But you have a date for once tonight, and you’re determined to enjoy it.

If you can get the goddamn security shutter to close, that is.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pull futilely at the bottom of the metal shutter with both hands, but it refuses to budge. You lament the sweat seeping through the fabric of the nice dress you changed into, the hem reaching almost indecent heights on the back of your thighs where it’s climbed up. And you don’t have to look at your reflection to know that stress has already smudged the edges of the eyeliner you hurriedly painted on as soon as you got the last customer out the door.

You can be forgiven for not noticing the wash of yellow headlights over the windows of the shop front and the sound of rolling tyres as a truck pulls up on the curb outside the bakery, until a gravelly voice pipes up behind you alongside hurried footsteps.

‘Ma’am, please tell me you’re still open.’

You tap on the ‘Closed’ sign through the window without turning around, determined to wrangle the shutter into submission. ‘Bad luck buddy, come back tomorrow. We open at nine sharp.’

‘No I can’t, I’m so sorry, but I need a cake now.’

Curiosity turns your head, and over your shoulder, you find a broad-shouldered man in a dark tshirt and casual jeans standing a respectful four paces away. Under eyebrows sloping downwards in a pleading angle that matches the slant of his moustache, his warm and imploring eyes are on you.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I really need to go,’ you say. ‘Can you give me a hand?’

‘Look, I’ll do you one better. I’ll fix the shutter for you for free - if you sell me a cake.’

You purse your lips, the prospect of saving on what looks like an inevitable repair bill tempting. ‘You can fix it?’

‘I’m a contractor,’ he replies, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a battered looking wallet. ‘Here’s my card, if you think I’m bluffin’.’

Miller & Associates is printed in bold across the top, and underneath, is presumably his name and cell number. Glancing up at him, you say, ‘Look, Mr. Miller, I really want to help, but I’m late for a date, and I’m all sold out of cakes today -’

‘I’ll take anything you got. Cupcakes, cookies, whatever you have left,’ he cuts in, then apologises in quick succession, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’m sorry to be so pushy - I’m not, usually - but I promised my daughter I’d bring something home, and by the time I remembered, this is the only place I could think of. Please.’

You feel the exact moment your resolve crack, and then fold like a goddamn lawn chair. What can you say, this contractor really knows how to work those puppy eyes, and you can never say no to a man who refuses to let their kid down. 

Especially when the man looks like this.

Shooting off a text to your date to push back your dinner plans, you nod towards the door. ‘Alright. C’mon in, Mr. Miller.’

‘Nice place you got here,’ he remarks politely, hovering by the entrance as the fluorescent lights flicker on, his manners impeccably southern. 

‘You don’t have to flatter me, I’ve already let you in,’ you joke, lips quirking at the way he flusters. ‘But I appreciate it. You been here before?’

When he smiles, you notice the corners of his eyes crinkle charmingly. ‘No, but I know I’ll be comin’ back.’

‘I wasn’t lying when I said I was out of ready-made cakes,’ you tell him, holding the door open to the kitchen so he can come in after you. ‘But I have some cake layers in the fridge so I can put together something fairly quickly.’

He ducks his head in a manner that tells you he’s not used to demanding things, and protests, ‘I don’t want to put you out. I meant it, if you just have some cupcakes or somethin’ -’

‘Listen, you promised your daughter a cake, didn’t you?’ you interrupt.

He shrugs. ‘Well, yeah I did -’

‘I’m guessin’ it’s for a birthday?’

He nods sheepishly. ‘It is.’

‘Well, as a baker, ‘mfraid I can’t let a cakeless birthday happen on my watch, Mr. Miller,’ you insist, opening the fridge door with a flourish. ‘Let’s see what we have here. Cake for three, I assume?’

‘Two, actually.’

Hopefully you’re as discreet as you think you are when your eyes drop to his left hand - his fourth finger is conspicuously ringless.

Interesting.

You hum, considering the mismatched options in your inventory. ‘It’s gonna be a bit of a Frankenstein’s monster of a cake, if you don’t mind. How does chocolate and vanilla layers with cookies and cream frosting sound?’

‘Sounds perfect,’ he answers without skipping a beat. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

You shake your head, hands full of cake rounds wrapped in cling film as you nudge the fridge close. ‘Please, call me Bri, Mr. Miller.’

‘And you can call me Joel,’ he says in return. ‘Is Bri short for somethin’?’

Laying the cakes on the work surface, you reply, ‘Yeah, Bri for brioche, like the bread. It's a silly nickname.’

The single dad surprises you with a low whistle. ‘Can’t say I saw that comin’.’

You grin. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Joel.’

You don’t often have an audience while baking, and you find yourself talking Joel through the steps while you prep everything for assembly.

Swirling a spatula through the tub of buttercream you made earlier that day, you explain, ‘I just need to whip up some of this frosting so that it’s nice and soft for putting the cake together. You wanna help me break up some Oreos so we can make it cookies and cream?’

‘I’m all yours, chef,’ he says, one corner of his mouth curling into a teasing smile that has no business warming the apples of your cheek as it does. ‘Just tell me what to do.’

While your Kitchenaid whirrs to life, whipping air into the buttercream, Joel wields a rolling pin, smashing a generous helping of Oreos into crumbs in a Ziplock bag. The almost exaggerated care with which he moves speaks to inexperience in the kitchen, and you muse that either his kid makes up for it in that department, or they live off takeout.

Eventually, he picks up the bag and looks at you in a question. ‘I think I’m done?’

You smile and tap the lip of the mixing bowl. ‘That’s perfect. Why don’t you tip in the crumbs straight in here?’

Before you can step back to allow him space, Joel’s taken two strides towards you, and his arm brushes your shoulder when he lifts the bag and tilts the contents into the frosting. He’s warm and solid, and damnit, he smells good - like sawdust and sweat.

The thought comes to you unbidden - what a man.

There’s a lull, and only when you feel the weight of eyes on you do you realise that you missed his question.

‘Did you say somethin'?’ you squeak, embarrassed.

‘I said, is this ok?’ he repeats, nodding at the mixing bowl.

You nearly stumble over your words. ‘Yes, yes it’s perfect.’

He watches you closely, a touch of concern in his brown eyes. ‘You ok there, honey?’

‘Yup,’ you chirp, far too cheerfully. ‘Just need to mix it all up now -’

If you had your wits about you, you would stir in the crumbs first and set the machine on low. But this man somehow stole said wits by sheer proximity to you, and you accidentally start the Kitchenaid on high, an indignant yelp escaping you when Oreo dust flies aggressively out of the bowl along with a splatter of white buttercream that lands squarely on the front of your dark knit dress.

‘Oh shit!’ you cry out, frantically turning off the mixer. ‘Shit shit shit!’

Over your panicked mantra, Joel is calmness itself. ‘Hang on, honey, I gotcha.’

He makes a beeline towards the sink, grabbing a tea towel and wets it under the tap with a bit of dishwashing liquid. It all screams competent single dad, and you find yourself staring at his unfairly large hand, mapped with thick veins, holding out the damp towel for you to take.

‘Thanks,’ you stutter self-consciously, the tips of your ears hot while swiping at the stain. ‘That was a rookie mistake. I promise I’m actually a good baker.’

He gives you a wink to put you at ease. ‘Don’t worry, I believe you.’

Starting over, the mixer hums as it gently incorporates the Oreos until the buttercream is a speckled grey and doubled in volume. ‘Looks like it’s ready. You wanna taste, Joel?’

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘D’ya have a spoon or somethin’ for me?’

‘You can use your fingers,’ you reply, and it's too late to take it back.

You feel the back of your neck heating up when he shoots you a meaningful look, just a touch of mischief in the tilt of his lips. 

‘Can I, now?’ he teases.

You try a nonchalant shrug that probably comes off as painfully awkward. ‘This batch is just for you, I won’t tell the health inspector if you don’t.’

Joel chuckles, his strong shoulders quaking. And so you watch, shamelessly, as he raises his right hand, index and middle fingers at the ready, before diving into the metal bowl, scooping up a generous dollop of buttercream. There’s a peek of his pink tongue when his plush lips part, and then he sucks his fingers into his mouth with a gratuitously loud moan, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

When he turns to you with a pained expression on his face, maintaining eye contact all the while licking an errant streak of frosting off the side of his middle finger, you gape at him for a whole five seconds before you manage to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

‘Good?’ you barely manage to squeak.

‘You betcha, honey,’ he declares, then adds, ‘Mind if I double dip?’

He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know it, but a hot flush runs through your body and you swallow thickly. ‘You can do whatever you want, cowboy.’

You don’t think you’re imagining the wicked glint in his answering stare - you’re getting yourself into trouble, and don’t you know it. 

Clearing your throat, you attempt to thwart your mind's dangerous descent into the gutter by changing the subject. ‘So, I can do somethin’ really snazzy that I think your daughter would like - do you know what a piñata cake is?’

He shakes his head. ‘Sounds dangerous.’

‘Hardly,’ you chuckle. ‘It’s a cake filled with sprinkles, so when you cut into it, it’s a sprinkles surprise!’

He lets out a playful sigh of relief. ‘As long as there’s no whackin’ involved, it’s good by me.’

You gesture at him to follow you across the room. ‘And here’s the fun part - you get to choose the sprinkles.’

Joel whistles at the reveal of your compulsively organised sprinkles cabinet, each shelf sorted by colour, shape and size. He quips, ‘Is this what the inside of your brain looks like, honey?’

You grin. ‘Pretty much. What’s your daughter’s name?’

‘Sarah.’

‘What colour does Sarah like?’

‘Any and all shades of pink.’

‘I can work with that.’

Now that everything is ready and waiting on the work surface, you pull out a lazy Susan and plonk a cake board on top of it, dusting your hands dramatically. ‘Alright, Joel. Ready for the magic to happen?’

Making himself comfortable next to you, he leans on his elbows, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the way his tshirt stretches and strains over his back. ‘Go ahead, I’m ready to be impressed, honey.’

Filling a piping bag full of the cookies and cream buttercream, you ask, ‘You wanna get your hands dirty?’

He raises his palms in surrender. ‘I’ll leave it to you, I don’t want to make you any more late for your date.’

You’re used to working with much bigger cakes, so this one doesn’t take you long. With a cookie cutter, you carve out a small circle from each cake round, then you stack and fill the layers with buttercream. After loading the shaft in the middle with all manner of pink sprinkles, you stopper the top with the cake cut-outs.

‘How old is Sarah turning today?’ you ask conversationally while you spin the cake around, smoothing on the crumb coat.

Joel looks up, surprised. ‘Oh, it’s my birthday today, not hers. ‘

‘Wait, what?’ you cry, throwing your hands up. ‘I made this cake with Sarah in mind - it will literally be vomiting pink sprinkles!’

‘I’m a girl dad. I like pink,’ shrugs Joel easily.

You huff, using an icing smoother to make sure the buttercream is even all over the cake. ‘I would pop the cake into the freezer to firm up before adding a final layer of frosting if I had the time, but this will have to do.’

‘It looks great,’ Joel assures you as you put the finishing touches to the cake, with buttercream swirls all around the top and a final baptism of sprinkles.

‘There, all done. Lemme box it up for you and this bad boy is ready to go.’

‘Amazin’, thank you so much,’ he grins. ‘Please, lemme do the washin’ up while you’re at it.’

‘Oh, Joel, you can’t,’ you protest, but he’s already grabbed the mixing bowl and all the bits and bobs stained with buttercream. ‘You’re the birthday boy!’

‘Least I can do,’ he shoots back over his shoulder, already halfway to the sink.

‘Well no, you promised to fix the security shutter for me, remember?’ you call after him.

‘Damn, I was hopin’ you’d forgotten about that.’

Joel cleans up with a practised air, humming under his breath as he waits for the water to heat up and the soap to lather. You watch him from the corner of your eye while you secure the cake inside the box, throwing in a birthday candle for good measure. You’ve just tied a nice ribbon around the cardboard box when he puts away everything in the drying rack and wipes his hands dry.

‘Didn’t expect you to be good at that,’ you tease, moving towards the door.

‘Sexist much?’ he jokes, no real bite in his retort. Then by way of explanation, he tells you, ‘I work late, so Sarah usually cooks and I wash up afterwards.’

‘Sounds like you guys make a good team.’

Joel helps with the lights and locks the door, and you stand to one side when he grabs the security shutter and forces it into submission by brute force. You can’t help but stare when the bottom of his tshirt rides up, revealing a soft sliver of belly underneath, his biceps bulging and back rippling as the shutter is finally forced shut in a metallic ripple.

You give him a smile. ‘Well, happy birthday, Joel.’

‘Thanks again for the cake.’ He looks around, as if looking for your car, but the sidewalk is empty except for his truck. ‘How are you gettin’ to your date?’

‘I was just gonna call a taxi.’

‘No, you ain’t,’ he nods towards his ride. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

‘Oh, no, it’s late, and you should be getting back to Sarah -’

‘I spoiled your date, so please, let me,’ he insists, holding the door open on the passenger side. Hop in.’

Joel takes the cake off your hands and puts it in the backseat carefully, putting the seat belt over it while you climb in. Glancing over your shoulder, you see toolboxes and newspapers on the floor, and it smells like paint and wood dust.

‘Sorry it’s a bit messy, occupational hazard,’ he apologises as he straps himself in. ‘So, where are we goin’?’

‘Do you know the steakhouse on Third Street?’

‘Vaguely,’ he replies, pulling smoothly away from the curb. ‘It sounds fancy.’

‘You been?’

‘Nope, I barely have time to go anywhere nowadays. It seems like I’m only ever in bed, or at work, or in my truck.’

You turn to smile at him, admiring the way his his thick fingers around the top of the steering wheel, making it look so small. ‘I feel you. Small business owner, am I right?’

‘I hear ya,’ he shoots you a smile. ‘So - what’s the deal with tonight? First date?’

‘Fourth, actually.’

He wriggles his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Fourth date? You know what happens on a fourth date, honey.’

‘I don’t, actually. Tell me, what happens on a fourth date?’

He blows out his cheeks, and admits, ‘Honestly, I can’t tell ya. I haven’t been on a fourth date since 1991.’

You burst into laughter at his unexpected answer. ‘You’re such a dork, Joel Miller.’

When the truck rumbles to a stop outside the steakhouse ten minutes later, he looks at his watch and announces, ‘Here we are, only fifteen minutes late.’ Squinting through the windshield, he points at a man smoking outside, an impatient frown on his face. ‘That him?’

‘Yeah, that’s him,’ you nod, but you stay put in your seat, in no hurry to make a move.

Joel nods, tapping his tidily trimmed nails on the steering wheel. ‘So I’ll swing ‘round tomorrow after work with my toolbelt? ‘Round six thirty?’

‘A toolbelt? What a sight to look forward to,’ you rib, slowly reaching for the seatbelt and unbuckling it.

‘Hell yeah, it’s got a special clip for my Nokia and all,’ he adds mischievously.

'You must fend off the ladies by the dozen,' you tease.

'Daily,' he answers without skipping a beat.

You probably shouldn’t have, especially not with the guy who you’re supposed to be on a date with glaring daggers at you through the windshield. But there’s something cackling in the air between you and this man you just met not an hour ago, and the way the streetlight filters through the window, backlighting his messy curls and scraggly beard, that has you throwing caution to the proverbial wind.

Impulsively, you lean across the gear shift, your left hand finding purchase on his knee before pressing your lips to the side of his whiskered jaw, your kiss fitting right into that little heart-shaped patch on his beard. 

You’re not sure who’s more taken aback, but you don’t have time to find out. 

‘Happy birthday, Joel Miller.’

He smiles after you as you hop out of his truck.

You’ve just sold your last cupcake of the day when the bell over the bakery door rings. And sure enough, it’s Joel Miller crossing the threshold, right on the dot at six thirty.

‘Hey, Bri,’ he waves, hovering half-in and half-out of the shop, a slight awkwardness having set in overnight.

But it's ok, you're happy to pick up where you left off. Putting your hands on your waist and a cheeky grin, you quip, ‘Wow, you weren’t kidding about that toolbelt, huh?’

Your chest swells as you watch him thaw with an easy smile, and he banters back, ‘I’m a man of my word, honey. You ok with me gettin’ to work now?’

‘Yes, thank you. I’ll be cleanin’ up back in the kitchen, I’ll join you when I’m done.’

Joel shoots you a thumbs up. ‘Great. I’ll grab the ladder and get right to it.’

When you emerge fifteen minutes later, he’s on the fourth rung of the ladder, tinkering the rolling mechanism with a screwdriver and a studious frown on his brow. He looks like he’s wearing the same thing as yesterday - you can believe that he’s a man who buys the same tshirt in bulk - and he smiles at you when you duck out of the shop.

‘Did Sarah like the cake?’ you ask in casual conversation.

‘She went nuts over the piñata surprise,’ he replies. ‘And the cake was delicious, there were hardly any crumbs left when we were done with it. She says we’re definitely ordering a cake from you for her birthday.’

‘I like the sound of that.’

‘How was your evening?’ he asks, glancing down at you from his perch. ‘Did you find out what happens on a fourth date?’

You let out a dry laugh. ‘Yeah, I did, actually. He dumped me.’

Joel freezes, a scowl darkening his countenance. ‘Oh shit, what? Why?’

You shrug, leaning your weight on the ladder as you look at the ground. ‘I mean, I did show up an hour late in some other guy’s truck. And I guess probably shouldn’t have kissed you on the cheek right in front of him.’

You startle when Joel’s fingers slip under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. ‘It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.’

‘Honestly, you don’t look that sorry, Joel Miller,’ you joke.

He cocks his head to one side. ‘Well, I can't lie, I think you deserve better than him.’

‘Do you now?’ you prompt. ‘Who do you have in mind?’

Joel peers at you from under long lashes with a half-smile that's almost shy. He dodges your question, and says instead, ‘I didn't mean to ruin your night, let me make it up to you, honey.’

‘How?’

Deftly, he climbs down the ladder, landing squarely on two booted feet, his presence comforting as he looms over you, his eyes warm. ‘Can I buy you dinner?’

‘Like - a date kind of dinner?’

‘Yeah, like a date,’ he nods.

You can’t help the dig. ‘And you were just sayin' you haven’t been on a date since...?’

He flashes you a smirk, and you shiver when his hand brushes your waist. ‘Since 1991. Tough sell, I know - but I thought I’d give it a shot.’

Running a finger along his sharp jawline, softened by the endearingly untidy beard, you have to bite your bottom lip to keep yourself from giving away too wide a grin. ‘Why, I think I have a good feelin’ about you, Joel Miller.’

Catching your wrist in his fingers, he presses a sweet kiss to your knuckles, the rough graze of his stubble chasing goosebumps across your skin as his eyes smile at you. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, honey.’

More notes: I hope you enjoyed this sweet little oneshot 🥰 I really leaned into the fluff and I have no regrets. Comments/reblogs/asks are much appreciated as always! I don't have plans for a second part right now, but a smutty follow-up is always a possibility...

The adorable dividers are by @firefly-graphics 👩🏻‍🍳

[mxstellatayte]

landoscar 4+1 kiss things.

alternate title: four times it's casual and the first time it isn't

this one is inspired by @prokrastinartiya's landoscar kissing meme! i saw it, fell in love, BOOM absolutely locked in for an idea :)) (before y'all start telling me it's normally 5+1 I KNOW shhhhhhh i prioritize quality over quantity)

contains: the 4 is mostly fluff but a lil bit of spice, the +1 is straight up smut tho, smut warnings: making out, sub lando, miami gp win, congratulatory sex, L bombs, lowkey a shitty ending bc i don't know how to write endings LOL, just two boys being really in love :)

find the original art post that inspired this here!

taglist: @vivi-81 @irishmanwhore @lucycowr @benstormy @anat33-blog1

@Xoscar03 @tremendousstarlighttragedy @nenamalenaa @champagneproblems17 @marknolee

@toby33b @theendofthematerialgworl @soloqualcosa @sassyinchident808

join my taglist here!

i: the establishing kiss.

contrary to popular belief, oscar's love language is physical touch. he doesn't let it show all that much, but when he feels safe with someone, he doesn't stop showing it.

take lando, for example.

the first time he kisses lando, they're in japan in 2023. the brit is initially confused and a little bit shocked, taken aback by the sudden change in oscar's demeanor, but quickly learns to reciprocate.

lando had been endlessly yapping about something or other, oscar hadn't really been paying attention, but when his engineer poked his head in to summon oscar for a quick check in about potential tyre strategies, oscar stood, pressed a kiss to lando's cheek, and was about to walk out of the room before he heard his teammate short circuit.

"shit, sorry. it was an automatic reflex. is it... was that okay?" oscar had backpedaled, completely ignorant to the flush that immediately flooded lando's summer-tanned skin.

"y- yeah, it's fine, i just... wasn't expecting it."

oscar takes that as permission to continue the goodbye kisses.

ii: on the forehead.

the second time, lando is clinging to oscar's arm in his sleep, the left side of his body plastered to oscar's right and his head resting on oscar's shoulder. they're heading back to the MTC on the team jet after qatar, and frankly, oscar understands lando's exhaustion. the heat that weekend was entirely unbearable to the point where multiple teams, including mclaren, were genuinely concerned for their drivers' and pit crews' safety, and most, if not all, of the drivers had reported feeling unwell in their cars. the fact that he and lando had somehow managed to scrape a double podium together despite the brutal conditions was astounding.

lando shifts a bit in his sleep, the crown of his head resting in the nook between oscar's jaw and his shoulder, and a protective impulse hits oscar like a freight train. he tilts his head just so, pressing his lips to lando's forehead gently enough so that he doesn't wake, instead sighing delicately in oscar's arms and shifting impossibly closer.

oscar lays his head on top of lando's and passes out within minutes, the comforting weight of lando's body on his lulling him into the deepest sleep he's gotten in weeks.

iii: on the cheek.

the next kiss occurs inside the MTC, and this time, it's lando's lips on oscar's skin.

immediately after being released from the team debrief meeting that stretches on, in lando's entirely correct opinion, for an unnecessarily long amount of time, he all but throws himself into oscar's arms, and oscar gladly accepts, wrapping his own arms around lando's waist and burying his face into the soft fabric of lando's hoodie. thankfully, lando had quickly caught on to the fact that reciprocating oscar's physical touch is not only acceptable but also welcomed and encouraged, so he'd begun initiating hugs and slotting himself underneath oscar's arm more frequently in the past weeks.

"hello to you, too," oscar murmurs into lando's hoodie, taking comfort in the feeling of lando's arms around his body.

"'m so happy you're okay," lando mumbles, his face tucked into the crook of oscar's neck between his jaw and his shoulder. "you... you are okay, right?" he pulls back briefly, looking up at oscar with concerned eyes that search oscar's own, scanning for any signs of discomfort or pain but finding none.

"i'm okay. are you?" lando's eyes slip shut with a nod, the most delicate of smiles tugging at his lips.

"yeah, i'm good."

"good." lando pulls back, much to oscar's disappointment, the stale, conditioned air of the conference room replacing the comforting warmth of lando's body almost immediately. sensing that the hug is now over, oscar lets his hands drop, settling awkwardly at his sides.

fuck it, oscar thinks. "you wanna get dinner?"

lando sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. "i don't know, mate, i'm pretty beat. breakfast tomorrow?"

had lando not been focused on noticing how scuffed his trainers are, he would've seen the way oscar's lips fell into his signature pout. instead, he hears a quiet "oh, okay," before looking back up and smiling faintly. "i'll text you?"

oscar sounds like a kicked puppy.

"oh, come here, you muppet." lando's left arm wraps around oscar's shoulders and his right hand holds oscar's chin, his lips on oscar's cheek, and... yeah. that's exactly what oscar needed. "where do you wanna get dinner?"

iv: on the neck.

it's early february, and they're finally back in woking to film some teaser content before pre-season tests in bahrain.

"mm, i missed you," lando says, tilting his head back as oscar mouths at his neck, and oscar hums in response. of course, oscar takes that opportunity to graze his teeth across the delicate skin of lando's neck, which, in turn, makes lando whine.

when oscar pulls back to catch his breath, his mouth goes dry, a stark contrast to the spit-shiny side of lando's neck. the fact that the buttons of his team kit polo are all completely undone and the collar is shoved to the side only adds to it, but his disheveled curls and flushed face really tie it all together with a pretty bow made of the finest ribbon oscar could ever imagine. "fuck, you look beautiful."

"osc," lando whines, and the look in his eyes can only be described as downright pathetic. his eyes are glassy, his lips parted and red from how furiously oscar had kissed them just minutes before, and his chest heaves with the panting breaths he's taking. it's only then that oscar notices- lando's hard.

+i: on the lips.

oscar hasn't really fully processed it yet. lando just got his maiden formula 1 win. he heard it on the radio, the replay of lando's overwhelmed cheers, screaming to his engineer that they did it, they finally did it.

it's only when his lips find lando's long after the podium ceremony, the lingering taste of champagne, sweat, and tears filtering itself onto his tongue, that he realizes just how real it is, and he can't even find it in himself to be mad that he wasn't in the points. "'m so proud of you," oscar says between kisses. "so fucking proud of you." the soft duvet of the hotel room bed wrinkle as lando squirms in an attempt to release some of the pent-up energy from all the adrenaline coursing through his body.

"fuck, osc..." lando's brain short circuits when he feels oscar's hands reach underneath his shirt, calloused fingertips on sensitive skin. "thank you." lando keeps smiling stupidly into the kisses oscar's pressing to his lips, hands scrabbling to grasp at whatever they can. oscar feels like every single sense in his body is heightened, and he's noticing every single detail about every single kiss he feels. the scent of champagne and sweat and lando's skin, the taste of something so distinctly lando that oscar doesn't think he'll ever be able to describe in words, and, above all, the feeling of lando's skin on his. desperate hands grabbing everywhere on oscar's body they can reach, the toned muscle of his abdomen beneath oscar's palms, lando's legs tight around his waist, bringing oscar impossibly closer to the tender skin on the inside of his thighs-

fuck.

he's hard.

"oscar," lando whines, pulling away ever so slightly to catch his breath. "fuck me."

what?

what the fuck?

oscar swears he's hearing things. the roar of engines, wheel guns, and fans' screams have finally gotten to him and he's suffering from either hallucinations or straight up hearing loss.

"what?"

"fuck me, please. there's lube and condoms in the bottom of my suitcase." and... fuck. stronger men have been defeated by less, so there's no way in hell oscar will be able to resist that, especially with how desperate lando sounds.

"where you hoping this would happen?" oscar stands, immediately mourning the loss of lando's body heat, but hastily rummages through the suitcase placed at the foot of the bed, easily locating the bottle of lube and a condom from the bottom of lando's suitcase, exactly where he said they'd be. he doesn't miss the way lando's cheeks flush even more as he nods, hands desperately fumbling to get his shirt off, just to have something to do with them. oscar grins and clicks his tongue, dropping the lube and condom next to lando's hip. "let's get these jeans off, yeah?"

"please." lando's hands fly to his pants, popping the button open and shoving the fly down before shimmying his legs out of the denim. a shuddering sigh pushes past his lips at the release of pressure, and oscar shoves his own jeans down, kicking his and lando's pants off of the bed. there's a faint dark spot on the front of lando's boxers, his erection tenting the fabric, and oscar's sure he looks no different.

"are you sure about this?" there's a nagging in the back of oscar's mind, telling him it's all the adrenaline from lando's maiden win, that this isn't actually what lando wants, that he's going to regret it in the morning... the tone of oscar's voice brings lando out of his haze, clarity returning to the race winner's eyes alongside something else that oscar can't currently pinpoint at the moment.

"do you want to do this?" that's what it is. concern. lando's voice is clear, lacking any of the previous whiny twinge it'd held just moments prior, and his hands come up to gently hold the side of oscar's neck, his fingertips brushing the short bits of oscar's hair. "if you don't want to do this, we can go out and get drunk and forget this ever happened." his eyes search oscar's, his multicolored irises inspecting for any sign of discomfort, hesitation, or uneasiness.

leaving is the last thing oscar wants to do. he knows that much.

with a deep, steadying breath and a shift of his hips- oh, fuck, that was a mistake, because now his clothed dick is laying in the juncture of lando's hip and thigh, and, instead of the thought-out words he was going to say, the only thing that spills past his lips is a moan and a breathy "stay" on the tail end of it. the muscles in his arms give out and he collapses on top of lando, his face tucked into the crook of lando's neck, and when he inhales, lando's fingers already raking soothing rows along his scalp, he smells champagne, sweat, and lando's body wash.

"stay."

"okay, osc. i can do that."

oscar isn't sure how long they lay there, lando's left hand resting in the small of oscar's back and his right rubbing soothing lines into oscar's scalp, but by the time his heart rate slows and his brain stops running a mile a minute, the desperation and speed that he was ready to fuck lando with has sunk out of his body. there's only one problem- well, rather, two problems, but one stems from the other. one: oscar and lando are both still hard. two: neither of them have the energy required for prep, sex, and aftercare.

lando is able to solve both of those problems, though.

"osc?"

"hm?"

"do you want me to get you off?" oscar's face flushes, a whine falling from his lips in embarrassment, but he nods into lando's neck. "yeah?" oscar nods again. "okay, baby. i'm gonna need you to get these off for me, though." he thumbs at the elastic waistband of oscar's boxers, and oscar is barely able to muster enough strength to push himself up and off of lando's chest to pull his boxers off and toss them aside before falling back onto lando. "can you roll over for me, baby?" okay, scratch that. now he summons the last of his strength to roll off of lando, wincing slightly when the long-forgotten bottle of lube and condom dig into his ribs.

"hey." lando's voice has a tenderness to it that oscar's never heard before, used to the constant energy and bubbly laughs, and it makes something stir deep in oscar's chest. before he can prod into it and try to figure out what it might be, though, lando's rolling over and slotting his left leg between oscar's, leaning down, and kissing oscar with a certain softness that leaves every point of contact with lando's body fizzling with electricity. it's a unique and beautifully intimate moment, chests pressed together and bodies touching everywhere they possibly can as hands grasp for places to hold the other closer.

oscar moans into the kiss, high and pathetic, when lando takes both of their cocks into his hand, and even dry, he thinks he could cum just like that.

"oh, fuck, lando-" oscar's eyes are screwed shut, panting as lando continues licking into his mouth, running his tongue along oscar's lips before dipping down to oscar's neck, mimicking the same actions there. lando can't form a verbal response, so he simply hums relishing in the taste of oscar's skin. the aussie doesn't want to admit just how keyed up he is, doesn't want to admit the fact that, with a little bit of lube and a little bit of movement, he'd be cumming onto lando's hand.

thankfully, though, lando seems to be in the same boat, and he makes that very well known with a perfectly timed gentle thrust of his hips forward and a slight loosening of his hand, and the sound that it pulls from oscar's throat can only be described as unholy. "osc..."

"like this, lando, please."

"fuck, me too." oscar jumps slightly when the cold lube hits his cock, but with the slide it adds and the grip around lando's big hand has around them both and the fact that he's completely caged in and every single sense is flooded with lando, lando, lando, the temperature difference is rapidly forgotten in favor of white-hot pleasure. he can't stop himself- his hips are canting up into lando's hand, and it just feels so, so good. oscar's ears aren't processing the difference between his moans and lando's, so all he knows is that there's sounds of sex filling the hotel room, the wet slide of his cock along lando's, and it's so much at once.

when lando's hips start moving, too, fucking into his own fist, oscar throws his head back into the fluffy pillow and groans so loud that he gets a flickering sense of sympathy for whatever neighbors may share a wall with this hotel room, but it's immediately wiped from his brain as lando's lips meet his once more.

oscar isn't sure how much time passes, his lips and tongue gliding along lando's and their hips fucking into lando's hand, but his ears finally process that lando's moaning his name, desperately mouthing at his neck. "oscar, aah, fuck, i'm gonna cum, please, 'm gonna cum-" and, well. oscar didn't think he had a thing for begging, much less a thing for his teammate begging, yet here he is.

"yeah. yeah, go for it. cum for me, baby." before oscar finishes talking, his words breathy and faint, lando's cumming with a cry, his hips shuddering as his cum paints his hand and oscar's cock and stomach in a pearly white. oscar looks down, and the sight he's met with is absolutely filthy. past the mop of lando's curly hair and sweat-shiny skin, he sees the way lando's muscles tense with every thrust and the way his dick is painted white with cum and lube.

"fuck, fuck, fuck, osc, love you, love you so much." and that's what sends him over the edge, muscles in his torso tensing as he grasps desperately at lando's shoulders.

"aah, lan- love you. love you."

[jolalibrary]

let me worship

francisco "frankie" morales x ofc!reader | collection masterlist

summary: frankie's back, and he's desperate to have his face between your legs.

pairing: pre-tf/delta squad francisco morales x ofc!reader (has a name but nicknamed blue) chapter kink: pussy worship. warnings: smut. pussy worship. pussy pronouns. nickname is given by frankie. no y/n. no physical descriptions. oral (f!receiving). frankie paints you... wordcount: 3.8k an: this is a collection, so you can read any of the kinks and still understand what's going off after the meeting (aka the first part posted). huge thank you to @pedgito for doing whoregust with me, and for filling me with confidence as always. shoutout @luxurychristmaspudding for the shrieks and the cheers.

Frankie's knuckles have barely finished knocking when the door yanks open.

The breeze from it causes the skirt of your dress to flutter around your calves, your face all initially blank, before it stretches into a smile, a grin—wide, all full of light and brightness that seems to dilute all the stuff he’s carrying.

It’s all Frankie can do to stand in it, drown in it. Soak every last part of him in it as he silently hopes it has the same healing effects as being in the actual sun.

Gently, you lean, eyes firmly on him, smile sliding into a cheek as your elbow rests on the door frame. He adjusts the plain baseball cap on his head—the one picked up, no thought, not even sure where it came from—as he drags his eyes up and down you.

Letting them warm you, hoping they are.

He also hopes you’ve been thinking about him, as much as he’s been thinking about you.

Because it’s been occasional texts, nothing overzealous, but plenty to know you had meant your second goodbye to him last time. The same one as when he’d almost left before dragging you back to your bed, when the only breaks had been for the bathroom and eating slices of the obnoxiously large pizza you’d ordered for nutrition.

“Morales.”

“Blue.”

It’s then vanilla hits him, followed by something sweeter. Two scents he remembers instantly from last time, ones that clung to him when he’d left—lingered in his jacket, in his jeans. Unwilling to wash them from him for as long as possible.

It makes his chest tighten at the familiarity, at the way his shoulders loosen instantly.

He suspects it’s why, the moment he’d been able to and had a clear idea of when he’d be finished, he’d messaged.

Typed one-handed that he was free now if you are—your reply coming before he’d slammed the passenger door closed behind his duffel. Spinning his phone in his hand before throwing it under the radio, turning the dial as his tyres kicked up dirt behind him.

“Should thank you.”

“Why’s that?”

You smile, teeth showing, tongue sweeping over the tips of your bottom set. “I passed my exam.”

“You gonna invite me in then?”

Biting your lip, knowing exactly what you’re doing, you smile. “What’s the magic word?”

Snorting, and shaking his head, he waits. Six-letters sitting pretty on the tip of his tongue, fingers itching to grab your waist and pull you close.

You beat him to it. Fist balled up in his tee, the other hand looping around his neck, crashing your mouth to his as you drag him flush to you. With more strength than he counts on, making him drop his bag once inside and kick your door shut behind him.

Once his hands were free, they roamed. Reunited, slid around your waist as he grasped at the excess fabric of your dress at the base of your spine.

“Someone’s needy.”

“Vibrator broke two days ago,” you reply between kisses, smirking, pressing it to his mouth. “Glad you could be on call for me.”

He grunts, almost snarling. Perfectly justified he thinks as he manoeuvres you. Allowing him to lead, steer, and angle, until the backs of your knees are at the cushion, and he gives you one light shove. It’s a picture, watching your face shift into surprise. Landing with an oof, mouth parted in shock as your body bounces.

Frankie’s quick to remove the cap, to scratch at the hair close to his forehead. The one that’s a little longer than it should be—the downfall and evidence that he’s been off base longer than he should have been. Not that it matters now. Frankie’s here, with you.

That itch that refused to be scratched by stroking his cock in the shower, from grunting into his own pillow when he was alone, flared. The need, the one burrowed inside of him, a heat that has only fermented and twisted inside of him, not starved off by fucking his own fist, is all but roaring again.

“Spread your legs for me.”

“Why?”

Tracing his teeth with his tongue, he stares, ogles, gawks. “Wanna taste you—properly, this time.”

“Yeah? Gonna fuck me with your tongue, Morales. Make her all wet, messy?”

He almost groans. Almost.

Only able to hold off when your chin tilts up and you stare, dropping your knees as far down to opposite sides of your couch, fingers tugging up the skirt of your dress—not breaking eye contact. Not becoming shy or flustered. Not visibly, anyway.

Fuck, he doesn’t even need to get close to see the wet patch already on the gusset of your panties. The sign of arousal that makes him one to dive his face between your soft thighs and taste it through the cotton.

Because he remembers how perfect you are, he can recall the taste as easily as he can how tight you felt when you came around him sometime between two and four in the afternoon the day after you took him home with you. Just like how he sees how perfect you are with water cascading down your thighs when he dreams, sees it behind his lids when he closes them for a moment of reprieve.

Kneeling, he ignores the way his cargo pants protest at his thighs—the seams digging into his skin as you can only watch, keeping those hungry, pretty eyes on him as he watches you swallow.

“Not even touched you.”

You can only hum, fingers playing with the end of your dress, swallowing again a second later before you inhale when he slides his palms up your thighs.

“This where you want me, Blue?”

You seem to coyly smile at the nickname, leaning yourself further into your cushions as his fingers toy with the band of your panties—nodding, a little up and down with your head.

“Another time,” he begins, hooking a finger on either side before you lift your hips to help, dragging the fabric down, “I’m gonna make you come with these still on. But not today.”

He’s unable to not smirk when he balls them up and discards them to an undisclosed corner. Dropping his gaze, finding his cockiness momentarily stolen—

Because fuck, you’re already wet, glistening. Your breath hitches as he places his palms on your knees, thumbs drawing soft, gentle shapes as you shift your hips—a thing he stops, halts, with just a look.

Good girl he wants to say, but instead places a kiss to your inner thigh. His gaze flicks up, watching your chest rise, making the fabric strain over your breasts, those perfect pair he’d run the soap over last time, slathered with kisses when he got you back into the sheets, when he’d sunk back into you. When you’d keened, arched, fucking pleaded with him as you were already clenching as though you were close—

“You know, she’s the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen?”

It slips out. Knees digging into your floor, as though he’s confessing. Spilling truths. Running his fingers over your inner thighs as he leans, dipping his head—

“If you mean that, you won’t keep her waiting.”

He cocks his head, blowing out a slow breath as he watches you shift.

And he clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth, it echoing in the silence as you continue to stare. Stern, challenging and bold. Three things you’re masking over the mist which threatens to boil over, already knowing one kiss, one finger would have you pleading, arching—

He chooses not to tease. A choice he makes, because he's desperate. Having longed, imagined, dreamed. 

Another time, he thinks. Adding it to the list, the one only in his head as he closes the gap and offers one slow, first drag of his tongue. And the broken noise you emit from your throat makes him half-hard. Your hand clenches at a cushion, digging your nails into the fabric, making it crease under your grip as your chin lifts. Then, you whine, repeatedly so when he flicks his tongue against your nerves, swirling a circle, another shape, drawing them out like he’s being tested over, and over again.

All he can think is that you taste good.

A thing he had known but finds himself reminded of, able to savour it, take it all in. Less rushed, more to prove now he’s got you spread, that you’re at his mercy, that you’ve let him back in another time. He moans at the realisation, a thing which makes you whimper from the vibrations as he continues to taste, all but desperate to stain his tongue in you. Wanting to wake up and still taste you. Knowing full well memories are not good enough, not serving him well. He’d only allowed himself a little last time, but today he hopes to be drowning in you. That you embed into his skin, into the faint hair that tries to grow as he presses his palms against the underside of your thighs, forcing you apart, spread.

“This mess all for me?”

You whimpering, soft, eyelashes fluttering.

“You know how this works, Blue. Is this all for me?” he repeats, blowing out intentional cool breath, directly over where you’re slick and glistening.

“Yes. Fuck, yes.”

He smirks, before pressing a kiss to your mound. “Can’t wait to taste it all. Lick it all up. Fuck, you have the perfect pussy for pressing my mouth to…”

Whining, your hips try to grind against his mouth—earning just air and breath, blown out as he laughs. “Can’t—can’t say shit like that, Frankie.”

“No?” he whispers, blowing the word out, fingers spreading your folds, teasing, taunting. “What if I say you look so pretty with your thighs spread, baby?”

“Fuck…”

He keeps one hand on your thigh, tapping as you try to close them, as he uses the other to part you, to tease you, to trace the hole that clenches for him. Tracing, and tracing, before he slides one finger in—earning a moan, more wanton, a cry—as he’s enveloped by velvety warmth.

“I fisted my cock thinking about you, Blue. How you feel wrapped around me—even imagined how you’d look sat on my face. Fuck. You’d look so good. Your perfect pussy on my face. Thighs on either side of me. You’d be a queen. My queen.”

Curling in a second finger, thick, stretching you as he pushes in deep as you hiss, a depraved noise leaving you as your drop to his shoulder, leaving half-moons on as you stare, pleading—fucked, already looking desperate.

Frankie only speeds his fingers up. Wrapping his lips around your slit, the sounds of his wet and thick, crooked fingers finding that spot inside of you that makes you incoherent, a fucked out mess—

And his cock is straining, pressing uncomfortably—almost painfully—against his zipper.

“Could come like this, you know? That’s how pretty you look—how fucking good you taste.”

“Frankie.”

He has to lift, using one hand to undo them, needing to release some pressure—

“Touch yourself, Frankie.”

He doesn’t freeze, but he slows. Lifting his face, your eyes blown, dripping your gaze in lust.

“Show me what you did in the shower.”

He smirks.

A thing which seems to make you only moan when he thrusts his fingers in as far as he can, the noise drenching him, thighs beginning to shake as your hands came to rest on your knees to starve it off.

“You make the best noises for me.”

“Frankie, please—”

You barely finish your thought when he licks a stripe up his palm, wrapping it around his cock as he dips his head. It’s in tandem that he presses his mouth against you—nose inhaling you, alternating between flicking, lapping and sucking—as he begins to fuck his hand. His tongue licking up everything you’re giving him, feeling it on his chin, on the tip of his nose as loud, wicked noises fill the small space. All accompanied by your breaths, quick, frantic.

“Doing so good for me, baby. You know that?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby.”

You crack an eye open, staring at him, admiring from the looks of it. Committing the sight of him on his knees, mouth buried against your pussy, hand around his cock. “I—I like that.”

“This?” he asks, before his nose brushes against your clit, before his tongue flicks.

“Yes—but-fuck—when you call me that.”

He smirks, pressing it against you, curling his fingers as his tongue swirls over your clit again. Alternating, changing the movements, spotting your toes curling in the air, that your hips are finding a pace, seeking a rhythm as he pulls his fingers free, wraps his mouth around them, tastes the tang of your need as he groans.

“Need you to come on my tongue.”

Thumb pressing to your clit, mouth latching, side of his thumb abutting his nose as his tongue pushes inside of you. Groaning, moaning against you.

“Feel so good, taste even better. No one is better. Just you, fuck only you, baby—”

He knows he’s going on, practically babbling. His fist works his cock as he lathers each compliment against you, alternating, from tongue to fingers, to fingers to lips. Taking in a glance, a sight he’s thought of, dreamt of, all come true as your fingers tangle in his short hair, nails dragging along his scalp.

“Close, close—fuck, m’close.”

Your hips rock into his mouth as you paint the air in drawn-out, guttural pleas as he increases his pace, feeling your body tensing.

“That’s it, fucking so pretty right now. Love how you taste, baby. So good for me…”

And you're panting, moaning. All high-pitched like music to his ears—watching, looking up as your head throws back, teeth biting down on your lip as you choke out his name. Your breath is ragged, strained; your hips stagger before you clench around his tongue.

Then you snap. Coming into his mouth. His face is slick with it—all welcomed, forever savoured. Lapping up every drop as he guides and pushes you through it, all the while working his cock. Not stopping, not until your fingers loosen both on his head and your leg, quivering, shaking. The softest sob bleeds into a protesting mutter of too much as his mouth presses a kiss to your inner thigh as your lashes flutter open and embalm him in lust.

Frankie slides his hand from your core, massaging your other leg, head lifting, half-resting on your knee as you catch your breath.

“So perfect,” he repeats, “so fuckin’ perfect.”

And he’s close, strangled groans as it ebbs inside of him, building and building. Liquid fire spreading out and ready to burst inside of him as he loses his rhythm, hurtling—

“Where?”

“Right here,” you point. “Make me messier.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fu—

His mind blanks. Finds himself only able to focus on what his hand is doing and what yours is doing, as you play, as you tease your own slick across your pussy. Hips thrusting, teeth grit as his eyes clench shut and it hits him, slams into him, erodes everything for a moment as he hears only the grunt ripped from his throat and the white noise of how hard he comes.

Then nothing.

Nothing.

The room both pauses and spins all at once.

Before soft touches guide him back, a gentle palm against his cheek, eyes blinking open to see you staring at him, dress pulled up under your breasts and the rest of you painted in him.

Your smile is lop-sided, your chest still rising and falling. “Think y’missed me.”

Snorting, breathing ragged, he lowers onto his knees, hand still around his softening cock. “Missed your pussy.”

“Yeah,” you exclaim, breathless, head rolling as you lean back, forearm to your head. “Well, I missed your cock, too. Think you should let me show you.”

He considers it.

Thinks of your lips around his cock, taking him again, the chance to feel himself in your throat again, to have your eyes staring up at him.

“Think you owe me one more first,” he whispers, fingers sliding up and down your inner thigh as you tremble, jerk and shake. “But, maybe, we should order food, shower… then…”

“You staying for a bit, then?”

“If you want me to.”

And you smirk, sly, before you nod.

You wonder if you should be concerned about how quickly time flies with him.

How normal it is.

It feels less like half a day he’s been here and rather a week. A similar feeling to the last time he was here—the first time. When the only reason the two of you knew time had passed was the grumbling of stomaches and the various times of the day you both stirred awake in your sheets.

Now, the afternoon has bled into the night, and it should make you worried. But, you’re finding it hard to linger in negative when your thighs have shaken thrice—jaw still aching from spending time on your knees in your shower until the water had cooled.

There’s no rulebook for this, and no plan for the rest of it, the after. It wasn’t something you do, or usually desired, a thing you’d told him. So much so, even when you’d let it slip to friends, when you’d confessed what you’d gotten up to that last weekend he was here, they looked at you with open-mouth surprise.

Just happened, you’d explained. A truth—one that others found hard to swallow with the same ease as you’d said it.

“How has work been?”

It catches you off guard, almost makes you choke on your noodles.

Reminding you of the reality outside of his visit, outside of the few text messages he’d sent—ones you’d not expected, but found yourself eagerly waiting for the next. Can I see you again? Your body had buzzed and tingled when you’d replied, and then his name flashed up again. Broken flirting spread over days that shifted into weeks, the last before today being yours: Hope you’re not flying and texting?

Somehow, you’d convinced yourself you wouldn’t see him.

But he’s here, palm flat against your lower leg, the ones splayed out over his on the floor. He runs the tips of each finger over your bare skin, all calloused touches, as though it’s normal, a thing he’s done before. Sliding his grip out across your flesh while your hands are busy—one holding your container, the other using your chopsticks as you slurp up a bit of noodle.

“Don’t.”

“What? Friends know things like that.”

Your eyes roll, tilting your head. “You don’t even know if I have a middle name.”

“Do you?”

Narrowing your eyes, you smirk. Then you drop your stare down at your food, at the liquid in the corner and the noodles swimming in it.

“When do you have to go?”

“Not tonight.”

Smirking, tongue clicking you shuffle your hips on the floor—knees bent slightly, still a little sore, but all worth it. Twisting your chopsticks, you hover a portion close to his mouth, watching, finding his eyes staring, sinking into you, those perfect lips parting as you slide the noodles and veggies in before his mouth closes around it before you remove the utensil finding it clean.

Slow, intentional—all heavy with eye contact that makes your skin bristle with warmth and makes you rock a little on top of him.

Swallowing, you stir the noodles again, hearing it—letting it tick around your head. Unsure if it should be spilt, spoken. I liked that my sheets smelt like you. An omission that isn’t necessary, an internal battle occurring, one cleverly hidden as you slide the contents left around the tub. Just as his fingers slide up your knee, thumb brushing over it, almost making you jolt from the ticklishness of his carefulness.

“How’s your knees?”

“Why're you ready to go again, sir?”

The tip of his tongue pokes through, slightly dragging it over two, maybe three teeth, before his lips close, rolling. “See, there was me thinking the last time might have made you less bratty.”

“Bratty, or witty?”

He wants to smirk, you can tell. The slight shadow of a dimple begins to appear, to show. To stand out and present itself as your reward for being quick, for being as quick as him.

“Put the noodles down.”

“M’not finished.”

“Blue.”

Smirking, biting your lip, flicking your gaze up from your food to meet his—ignoring it, that buzz. That same thrum which occurs when you stare for a beat too long and things begin to warm or beat differently in your chest.

“Let me guess, you want me face down, ass up?”

He glares, a muffled grunt coming from the back of his throat, as you carefully place your mostly eaten noodles down on the coffee table where his finished tub sits, before you shift so your thigh crosses over his and your arms slide around his neck, watching his expression remain as stern.

“Can you imagine the angle, Morales,” you whisper, the tip of your nose brushing his, “You’d be so deep, she’d be so tight after earlier...”

His lips part, just ever so slightly.

“Remember how pretty she looks—how you told her how pretty she is.” Your hips shifting over him, rocking. “She’d look even nicer with you filling her—fuck, she’d be so full, Morales, to the brim. Can you picture—”

“Stop.”

But you don’t, fingers teasing the short hair at the base of his neck.

“You said you wanted a photo, you could be the one to take it—fingers parting her as she leaks—”

His mouth crushes itself against yours, almost biting, tongue forcing in your mouth as you taste the sauce from his food, even the two of you on his upper lip when you grasp both sides of his face and somehow fold forward—chest pressing to his, feeling his palms snaking up your thighs, kneading your ass.

And you smirk.

Rocking yourself against his stretched-out legs, already feeling him hardening, as you likely leave a wet patch on the gusset of your clean panties.

“Get on your knees…,” he hisses, each syllable extended out before he kisses you again. “Ass up.”

Shifting, moving, grabbing a throw cushion from the chair and twisting yourself so you’re doing as he’s asked. Cotton panties in the air, the oversized shirt sliding down from its previous placement.

“Fuck, I like it when you boss me around.”

His hand grabs a handful of your ass as he kneels up behind you, it almost bruising. “That mean you're gonna listen to what I say then?”

Glancing over your shoulder, lips spreading into a smile. “Nope.”

[willowsnook]

Can I have a tequila mixed with Red Bull in a tall glass please?

18+

max verstappen x bf!reader

let me take care of you

-------------------------------------------------

"AHHHHH," you screamed as you got into your car, slamming the door. You rested your head against the steering wheel, tyring to comprehend how you had just wasted another two months of your life.

Jackson was perfect. Except for when he insisted on going through your phone after the second date. Or when he was livid at you for being on the phone with another guy in front of him (the man was your boss). Or how it seemed like he just had the worst luck because how could all of his exes be so fucking crazy?

But you overlooked all of that because he gave you attention, and you were needy.

"Hello?" Your best friend Max answered as soon as the call connected.

"You got your wish Maxey, me and Jackson are done," you bit out, irritated that once again, Max was right.

"I hate to say I told you so, but…" Max’s smirk was almost audible through the phone.

"Fuck you," you snapped, but he just laughed.

"The door's unlocked, schatje."

You hung up and headed to Max’s place. Once inside, you stormed down the hallway and let yourself in. Max didn’t even glance up from his sim as you tossed your bag on the counter and grabbed a glass from the cabinet.

Max didn't splurge on a ton of things but he did pay top dollar for gin so you gave yourself a hefty pour, adding a little vermouth and calling it a day.

"So, what did he do this time?" Max asked, still focused on his sim.

"He lost it over me going to COTA with you next week," you replied. "Said I shouldn’t be wearing another man’s name on my body."

Max smirked. "I’m honored that was the final straw."

"He also called the waitress a cunt for bringing the wrong wine," you muttered, sipping your drink.

Max winced. "You sure know how to pick them."

Feeling bad for you, Max switched off his sim and joined you on the couch, pulling you into his arms. You settled between his legs, leaning back against his chest.

"You know what’s the worst part?" you groaned. "I had to fake it every time."

Max burst out laughing. "Two months, and not once? You’ve got to be kidding me."

"He had no idea what he was doing," you complained, taking another sip. Max didn’t respond right away, but you felt his hand on your thigh slowly sliding inward, making your breath hitch.

"What are you doing, Max?" you whispered.

"Shh, let me take care of you," he murmured, pulling your dress up to gain access to your thong. His fingers grazed over your clit through the thin fabric, making you gasp.

"Frustrated, hmm?" he teased. "I can’t imagine how worked up you’ve been."

His fingers slipped under the fabric, finding you wet and eager. You moaned softly as he gathered your slick, his thumb brushing against your clit while his other hand gently tugged your nipple.

"Please, Max," you whined.

"Please what, schatje?" he teased, slipping two fingers inside you, skillfully massaging your g-spot.

"Make me cum," you begged breathlessly.

"As you wish."

His pace quickened, fingers working you closer and closer to release. You clung to his thigh, your orgasm building with each movement. His warm breath tickled your neck as he whispered, "So good for me."

The pleasure became overwhelming, and your body tensed as the climax hit you hard. You clenched around his fingers, moaning loudly as waves of euphoria washed over you. He held you tightly, riding out the aftershocks with you.

As your breathing slowed, you realized how incredible he had just made you feel—more intense than anyone ever had. Shifting off the couch, you knelt in front of him, catching his surprised expression.

"You don’t have to do that," he said softly, looking down at you.

"I want to, Max. I’ve wanted to for a while," you confessed, pulling down his shorts and boxers.

His eyes darkened as you wrapped your lips around him, swirling your tongue teasingly. A sharp breath escaped his lips as he tangled his fingers in your hair. You took your time, savoring the way he reacted to every movement. When you took him fully into your mouth, he groaned deeply, his hand guiding you with increasing urgency.

"Fuck my mouth, Max," you said, pulling off briefly. His eyes widened in surprise before he complied, using his grip to control your pace, pushing deeper with each thrust. Tears formed in your eyes as you gagged, but you didn’t stop. His moans grew louder, and you knew he was close.

"You want my cum, schatje?" he rasped. You whimpered in response, encouraging him to finish. "I'm the only one you get to put that pretty mouth on," he growled.

With that, he released, spilling down your throat as you swallowed every drop. You stayed still, gently sucking until his hips bucked, too sensitive to handle it anymore. He looked down at you, wiping the tears from your cheeks with his thumb.

"Not too rough?" he asked, voice soft, and you shook your head, still catching your breath.

"Come here."

You climbed back onto the couch, resting your head on his chest as you both caught your breath.

"Why didn't we do this sooner?" You finally asked and Max chuckled.

"You were too busy fucking weirdos," he said and you playfully hit him. "Too busy to see that it's my bed you should have been in this whole time."

"Please, you had every chance to say something," you argued.

"Whatever," Max said rolling his eyes.

"You know," he said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, "I've wanted to say something for a while now. Just didn't know if you were ready to hear it."

Your heart skipped a beat as his eyes locked with yours, the teasing atmosphere from earlier fading into something more serious.

"And what is that, Max?" you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur.

His thumb traced the curve of your jaw, and he gave you a small smile, almost shy. "That you’ve always been it for me. I was just waiting for you to see it."

A flutter ran through your chest as the weight of his words settled in. Max’s honesty and vulnerability were unlike anything you had ever seen from him. You leaned in closer, your lips brushing his as you whispered, "I think I finally see it now."

His lips met yours in a kiss, slow and tender, as if he was savoring the moment that had been a long time coming. When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, both of you smiling softly.

"Good," he murmured, picking you up off the couch. "Now let me show you what you’ve been missing all this time."

[velvetyh]

⌜Ticket to Temptation⌝

꒰ PAIRING ꒱ Police Captain!Juyeon x implied fem!reader ꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ Provoking a police officer just for fun didn't end up the way you thought it would... is it bad, though? ꒰ WORD COUNT ꒱ 7.2k (I am so sorry) ꒰ TW ꒱ very poorly written, 18+, (semi?) car sex, public sex, lots of pet names, attempt at writing sexual tension, y/n calling Juyeon "Captain", ass spanking, oral (fem receiving), doggy style, degrading praising pet names ꒰ NOTE ꒱ the beginning of the fic is the same as my previous fic with eric!! I got a sweet person asking for an alternate fic in the same genre, so here it is! feedback is greatly appreciated !! <3 ꒰ REQUESTED ꒱ yes! sort of? (thank you for your ask, btw! <3)

୧ ‑‑‑‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑

“Good morning, Officer,” you greeted with a smile as you exited your vehicle parked not far from the police station to get to your work.

Honestly, working next to a police station had its benefits. Seeing handsome men in uniform was always a sight to see and knowing that they could be there in the snap of a finger in case of emergency reassured you.

“Morning, ma’am,” the officer answered after finishing talking to a colleague through a talkie-walkie, giving you a polite nod and a brief smile. You keep walking until you hear the same voice calling out for you.

“Ma’am, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” you turned around, looking in the man's eyes with a smile. He maintained eye contact briefly before clearing his throat, shoving his hand into his uniform pocket.

“You are the owner of this car, right?” he asked as he pointed at your black Audi RS3, and you nodded, staring up at him.

“Yes, why?”

“It’s not the first time that I've seen it poorly parked, you should be careful. It might disturb the traffic and cause an accident, or someone could accidentally smash it if they’re not paying enough attention,” you obediently nodded again, offering him your best smile.

“I promise to be careful next time. Have a good day, Officer!”

However, the next morning, you parked yourself the same way you did yesterday, the same police officer standing in front of the station. You got out of your car as if it were nothing, but you immediately bumped against a broad chest, recognising the same masculine fragrance as yesterday.

“Ma’am? What did I tell you yesterday? Your back tyres aren’t among the lines, and they’re almost hindering the traffic. Next time I catch you doing this I’m giving you a fine, understood?”

“Yes, Officer Sohn,” you mumbled as his name tag was almost hitting your nose at your proximity.

“Good.” You stared up at him for a few seconds and apologised again before he stepped aside, nodding again before walking away, going back to his spot in front of the police station.

You were doing this on purpose because he was hot, and the uniform didn’t help at all. You wanted to see how long you could play dumb until it went too far, but what could happen aside from a fine?

Maybe something amazing? you considered.

The next morning, you weren’t in the mood to play. You had started your day pretty badly, the waitress at the Starbucks drive-through had accidentally spilt your beverage on your brand-new blouse as she handed you your drink, not only ruining the fabric but also your mood and your good hopes of having a good day. And after being stuck in traffic for god knows how long, you finally made it to your workplace.

“Ma’am, this time-“

“Yes, Officer, I know that I’m not parked inside the lines, I know. Have you seen the side of your parking spaces and my car? It won’t fit, and I can’t take public transport from where I live, it’s way too far from my workplace to function properly the rest of the day. So just give me a fine so I can move on from this shitty day,” you snapped at the officer, whose eyes opened widely, and he took a step back, giving you space.

You sighed in annoyance and stared up at him, seeing him keeping a relaxed attitude somehow managed to calm you down a bit, which was something unexplainable.

“Rough morning?” he calmly asked, hand going to his talkie-walkie on his shoulder to quickly dismiss it as his colleague's voice buzzed from it.

“Yes, this morning's rough. I just want to go home to forget about everything,” you annoyingly said while looking at the traffic jam in front of you, the police officer looking at you with his hands on his hips.

“Okay, this is the very last time I let you run away with this. I’m being very indulgent with you today because I don’t want to worsen your day. Consider yourself lucky not to have met my superior yet. Captain Lee is not as lenient as I am, trust me. He would’ve fined you each time you wrongly parked, as well as the window tints that seem a bit darker than allowed,” Officer Sohn stated, his finger grazing against your windows, barely able to see the steering wheel and the front seats.

“Everything is up to date and in compliance with current requirements, Officer,” you spat, crossing your arms against your chest, hissing as the remaining bits of coffee went through the fabric onto your skin.

“If you say so,” Officer Sohn sighed, not convinced at all by your words, “when you arrive tomorrow, I strongly advise you park well, understood? I might not be on duty here tomorrow, so I won’t be able to let you get away with it.”

“Fine. Have a good day, Officer,” you mumbled while locking your car, leaving the police officer on the pavement and watching you angrily enter the building you worked at.

Your day didn’t get better despite praying whatever God to help you. As soon as you stepped foot in the building, the big boss saw you with your stained top and had to share his opinion in front of everyone, telling your manager that she wasn’t doing a great job at teaching her employees the company dress code.

So, of course, when the CEO was out of sight, she took all her anger on you, and it exploded in a big fight in the open space. All the precedent events had already angered you, but this was just the cherry on top. You almost said things that could have gotten you fired, and you were frustrated when she took her afternoon off for “personal issues”, leaving you to take care of all her daily assignments alone.

When you got out of work, you were mad at the world, ready to punch someone and yell out your frustration. You were thankful your intern was a hardworking person and tried to handle the work you gave him on his own, feeling bad when he walked on eggshells to ask for guidance, kind of scared of you after witnessing your row with your manager.

Car keys in hand, you walked to your parking spot, only to find it empty.

Your car was no longer there.

“What the fuck,” you mumbled, looking around, as if you had become delirious throughout the day and parked it somewhere else. No, no, it was supposed to be parked in front of the police station, on the left side of the main door. Yet, your Audi was nowhere to be seen.

Stepping foot into the police station, you cleared your throat as anger rose in your chest, finding Officer Sohn at a desk, focusing on a task on his computer.

“Officer?” you asked, and he looked up, his eyebrows furrowing at the sight of your figure.

“Ma’am? How can I help?”

“I am looking for my car, a black RS3 Audi. I parked it right there this morning.”

“I remember, yeah,” he smirked, the vivid argument between you two coming back to mind.

“Well? Do you happen to know where it is?”

“I know where it is,” a voice rose from behind you, making you turn around.

A tall, muscular figure appeared from the staircase, a serious frown on his lips contrasting with the curious softness that his eyes held. The weight of the bulletproof vest he wore didn’t seem to bother him, his movements as fluid as water. Slender fingers pushed some hair away from his face as he confidently approached you.

“You’re looking for an Audi RS3? Black, tinted windows? Poorly parked?” his deep voice made you shiver, and you nodded.

“Yeah, that’s my-“

“Towed to the pound,” he proudly stated, your face falling in shock making him smirk.

“What?” you almost screamed.

This day couldn’t get any worse.

“Did you really tow my car? Just for two wheels outside the parking lot? Don’t you have other things to do, like arresting real criminals, Officer?”

You failed to notice Officer Sohn’s eyes growing wide at the title you gave the man, the latter angrily scowling at you.

“First and foremost, when someone does not respect the laws, they are, in my eyes, a criminal. You didn’t park the way your little instructor taught you during your little driving lessons, so that makes you a valid criminal.”

You scoffed, your reaction not amusing the man in front of you.

“And, ma’am, for the record, this little symbol you see here,” he patted his upper torso with a smirk, “makes me a Captain.”

You read the name on his uniform.

Captain Juyeon Lee.

Oh shit.

You briefly looked at Officer Sohn, whose eyes held some sympathy in them mixed with an “I told you” gaze.

“Respect goes both ways,” he continued, “I’d like you to address me as Captain Lee from now on.” His serious, menacing tone was meant to impress you, but you were far from it.

“Fine, Captain Lee,” you stressed the word “Captain”, earning a bitter smile from the high-ranked policeman. “Since you oh so nicely towed my car to the pound on the other side of town, how do you expect me to go home in reasonable hours, when I live in the village downtown, two hours and a half away from here ?”

“There’s a bus leaving in… now actually, to go there,” Captain Lee smirked while checking his watch, and your eyes bore into his, your pupils sending him daggers that he ignored.

He found it quite amusing the way you were looking at him. Almost…cute.

“Or you could call an Uber and then go home,” he suggested, making you scoff again.

“An Uber? To this side of town? I can’t believe you are being serious right now,” you mumbled the last sentence, shaking your head at his dumb remark. “I won’t be your next murder case to investigate just to keep you busy, since you’re so bored that you like to bother people for two tyres,” you took a step and stared at him, the Captain not budging.

“Then there’s nothing else I can do for you, ma’am,” he stated, walking around you to get to his desk, soon followed by two officers.

You huffed, exiting the station to get some fresh air. Officer Sohn was right, he really was something else. He was not as patient as him.

On the other hand, you were the one to blame, you provoked it. By wanting to see how far you could go without getting a fine, you played and got burned. Now you pay the price of being stuck in the city and not having a car to go home.

“I’m fucking dumb,” you mumbled to yourself, typing on your phone as you tried to think of a solution, a hand flying to your hair to tug on some strands.

Your manager lived down the street. Hell no, with what happened this morning, you’d rather set yourself on fire than knock at her door for help. The CEO? Super weird. The intern? Even worse.

A few droplets of water landing on your head got you out of your deep thoughts. You stepped back when the droplets intensified, and you defeatedly watched the rain abruptly pour on the streets, people running in front of you to seek shelter.

Great. Today was officially the worst day of your life.

You sighed, stuffing your phone in your bag as you mentally prepared yourself to go to the nearest coffee to quench your thirst and think of a way to go home. Your heels clicked on the pavement, your hand rising to your face to shield your eyes and brows from the rain, ready to trot to a bar or whatever building could offer you something to drink.

As you were about to step away from the police station into the rain, a strong hand seized your biceps, dragging you in the other direction. You shrieked and tried to set your arm free, but the grip was stronger than you thought. Looking up, you growled in annoyance as you recognised the same jet-black hair and bulletproof vest from a few moments earlier.

“What did I do now? Did I breathe incorrectly? Were my heels too loud on the tarmac for the neighbourhood? Did I huff too loudly?” Captain Lee shook his head from side to side with an amused smile on his face at your words, his eyes rolling as you tried to set yourself free again. This time, he didn’t fight and let go of your arm. He unlocked his police car in a swift motion and opened the passenger door.

“Get in,” he ordered.

“What for?” you questioned, and he sighed, wordlessly gesturing you to sit down. You growled but obliged, startled at the force he used to slam the door shut.

A few seconds later, he’s next to you, turning the engine on.

“You’re lucky Sohn is a nice guy. Seatbelt,” he ordered.

“What do you mean?” you side-eyed the police officer, his words making you look at him.

“You’re lucky he can read people well and has good arguments,” you stared at his hand on the steering wheel, effortlessly shifting gears as you slowly exited the city.

You remained silent for an instant. That’s when you realised where you were heading—the car pound.

“Thank you,” you mumbled and crossed your arms against your torso, shifting to the right side to slightly turn your back to him, your body suddenly seized by comfort and exhaustion as you could begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

You didn’t know if it was his cologne, his way of driving or the warmth oozing from the seat heater that got you so relaxed, but you weren’t going to complain. It was nice, almost making you forget about your terrible day.

“I’m not the one you should thank for this, I’m doing this so Sohn doesn’t throw a tantrum in the middle of the police station. You have a lot in common you two, I wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up together,” his last sentence sounded like a backhanded compliment, but you took it, nonetheless.

“It’s still better than being rude and arrogant,” you mumbled, and the Captain’s brows rose to the sky, slamming on the brakes as you arrived at a stop sign. You were startled, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Don’t make me regret listening to my colleague,” he mumbled through his gritted teeth, turning on his indicator before making a right turn.

The rest of the journey to the car pound was quiet, only the sound of the car engine filling in the silence. Despite his shitty attitude, the Captain next to you was quite handsome. Long neck, high cheekbones, slender fingers, flawless skin, and a muscular body, he was well-proportioned. The uniform added a little something to his charm. Or it was maybe just your uniform kink speaking up.

When you arrived at the car pound, the rain had stopped but it was stuffy. A storm was not far from breaching the sky, the clouds were so dark that you were expecting thunder at any moment. Not something you were looking forward to going home with.

“I hope they took good care of my car,” you mumbled as you walked next to the Captain. His boots hit the ground in a soft thud, matching your pace as you were still in your office clothes.

“Come on, it’s just a heap of metal pieces,” Captain Lee stated, and you stifled a growl of annoyance by deeply sighing.

“To you, maybe. I cherish it a lot, I worked so hard to afford it,” you retorted.

“If you say so,” he shrugged, and you huffed.

“Yes, I say so.”

You didn’t have time to argue further that the guy responsible for the car pound greeted you with a professional smile.

“Captain! You are back already?”

“Yes I am, joined by the culprit in person,” the guy laughed, and you scowled at the police officer, who briefly looked down at you with a satisfied smirk.

That fucker was enjoying playing with your nerves.

“I was not expecting such a pretty lady to own a car like this one,” he said, and you offered him a fake smile.

“Yet here I am,” you said, voice emotionless, the guy not taking the hint that you didn’t find him funny.

“Follow me, please,” the grey-haired man led the way, Captain Lee’s hand hovering in your lower back made you shiver.

The walk to your car was muddy and perilous in heels, Captain Lee had to catch your arm once to prevent you from falling face-first in a puddle of mud.

“What a good idea to come here in heels,” he sarcastically said, making you roll your eyes.

“Your fault,” you mumbled, readjusting your bag strap on your shoulder.

“My fault?”

“Yes, your fault! If you took care of burglars and thieves rather than bothering a woman that just tries to do her job, we wouldn’t be there,” you pettily retorted and the guy laughed, enjoying your bickering with the police officer, who simply scoffed.

“You remind me of my wife and me when we were younger,” your face turned into a frown that thankfully no one saw. You didn’t say anything and kept walking.

Your heart lightened a bit when you saw your car, but your face immediately fell when you saw how muddy it was.

“What the fuck happened to my car? It was clean when I arrived at work this morning!” you exclaimed, walking around it to check if there were any shocks or dents in the body of the car.

“Ahh, this,” the guy embarrassingly scratched the back of his head, looking down as he felt the Captain’s questioning eyes on him, “it’s probably my employees. They can’t resist testing them when they see cars like this.”

You were going to murder someone.

“And you’re going to let that slide, Captain?” you spat, drawing the officer’s attention on you, as he seemed quite interested in your car, despite what he had told you earlier.

“Do you have proof that they did it?” he argued back, and you resisted the urge to strangle him by breathing deeply.

“He just confessed!” you yelled, and the Captain shrugged.

“I would need stronger proof to incriminate them,” you closed your eyes, focused on your breathing pattern, and nodded. Reopening them, they were glossy with tears, the car emitting a low “click” as you unlocked it with your keys.

“Do I need to pay for something?” you asked no one in particular, the two male figures blurry because of your tears. You noticed that the car guy was slightly embarrassed by the situation, Captain Lee remaining the same stoic man as before.

“225 000,00 Won for the journey and parking here,” the car guy mumbled, and you got your wallet and got the bank notes that he requested.

“Here you go. Captain, feel free to send me a fine for my parking by post, I’ll pay it as soon as I receive it. Have a good evening,” you mumbled as you entered your car, carefully driving on the road, the police car soon a memory.

“Fucking assholes,” you mumbled through gritted teeth as you reached the main road, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

Maybe your reaction was a bit too much, but it left the two men too stunned to speak. The car guy was embarrassed by his employees’ behaviour, and Captain Lee was silent.

He had pushed your buttons for hours when you were already on the edge and eventually, you broke down. He had done that in the past with witnesses to check if they were telling the truth or not. Normally, he enjoyed watching the culprit break down in tears and confess their crime, yet here he wasn’t as satisfied as usual.

He felt bad. Guilty, per se.

He bid farewell to the car guy and paced back to his car, starting the engine as he followed your path. The thunder was raging in the middle of the town, he could see the lightning bolts illuminating the sky as he drove back to the civilisation.

Captain Lee paused at the same stop sign, yet not abruptly this time. He took a quick second to think logically. He had two chances: either you drove straight back home, or you went to the closest car wash station from here.

Turning on his blue and red lights, he floored the gas pedal and drove to the nearest car wash station he knew.

The distant sound of a siren drew your attention as you finished inspecting your car, relieved that, after a good wash, your vehicle was intact as before. You got back into your car as the siren got closer. Soon blue, and red lights were illuminating your face as you watched in your rearview mirror. With a sigh, you noticed Captain Lee approaching your window. Anger washed over you and you got out of your car, startling the Captain. You noticed that his hand was quick to go to his holster – probably a force of habit – before going back to his pocket.

You wordlessly side-eyed him as you tore the dark tint on each of your windows, crumpling up the pieces in a big, black plastic ball before handing it to him.

“Here you go, Captain. My car is now 100% in compliance with your current requirements. Happy?” you questioned and forced the ball of waste to his chest for him to take.

His hand seized your wrist, much gentler this time. His softness startled you, making you look at him with furious eyes to make your confusion.

“Things went too far, ma’am. I didn’t mean to make you cry, I’m sorry,” his baritone voice was calm and low, sending vibrations in your heart.

You sighed, swallowing the lump in the throat that was threatening to rise, again. Captain Lee had to resist the urge to wipe the streaks of dry mascara under your eyes, forcing his hands back in his pockets as he let go of your forearm.

“It’s not entirely your fault. I had a really shitty day, all of this just made me exhausted and– .”

“I didn’t help to ease the situation. I wanted to apologise, it went too far,” he cut you.

“I appreciate your apology, Captain,” your mouth stretched in a small, tired smile, which the officer replicated almost immediately.

A few seconds passed as you kept staring at each other, Captain Lee carefully stepping closer to you as he saw you didn’t budge the first time.

The wind softly blew a few pieces of hair in your face. Juyeon’s fingers were quick to place them back behind your ear, much to your surprise. His body worked quicker than his brain, realising way too late what he had done.

“You do this to every woman that cries out of frustration in front of you?” you teased.

The police officer smirked, studying your facial features.

You were beautiful.

“Only to the pretty ones that throw tantrums like a child and drive a black Audi RS3,” he mumbled. You rolled your eyes, Juyeon’s hand quick to seize your jaw to make you look at him, his actions surprising you.

“You drive me nuts with those eye rolls,” he mumbled, his lips ghosting over yours, his warm breath tickling your skin.

“Yet you’re the one causing them,” you retorted in a mumble, now stuck between the side of your car and the bulletproof vest Juyeon was wearing, his knee slotting itself between your legs.

“But not for the good reasons,” your eyes studied his and you thickly swallowed when you saw his eyes briefly drop to your lips.

His free hand joined the other that was holding your jaw to cradle your face between them. Another pang of guilt hit his heart as his thumbs were stroking the salted, dry skin under your eyes because of the tears he caused.

“May I?” he whispered in a hushed voice. Immediately knowing what he wanted, you nodded, and his lips were on yours the following second.

The kiss was passionate and vivid. It held so many emotions that your head spun. You felt how sorry he was but soon after, how much he needed that. Your lips moved in sync, his tongue begging for entrance. When you granted him his wish, he was quick to fight for dominance and you gave in, a hand fisting his hair while your other arm was around his neck, trying to keep yourself grounded and steady in this kiss.

When you pulled away from his lips, you were breathless, heart rummaging in your chest. You had never been kissed like that by anyone, yet you adored it. You wanted more. Juyeon wasted no time and peppered your jaw and neck with hungry kisses, nipping and licking at the skin to rile you up.

“Officer,” you said in a moan, choking on a squeal when Juyeon’s hand harshly collided with your ass.

“You know you’re not supposed to call me that,” he grunted, pulling away from you. You whined from the lack of warmth his body provided you.

“Captain,” you corrected yourself, and he smirked, his hand spanking you again, softer this time, before whispering you to jump.

Wrapping your arms around his neck and linking your legs at the small of his back, Juyeon effortlessly walked you back to his cruiser, opening the passenger door and gently settling you down on. Finding the handle underneath the seat, he rolled it away from the dashboard and inclined it down. You were in such a comfortable position that you could almost take a nap, yet Juyeon had other plans for you that sounded more exciting.

“You okay, darling?” he asked, and you nodded, smiling as he removed his bulletproof vest from his chest to take off his shirt. The sight almost made you drool, his muscular body begging to be touched. You couldn’t resist and felt his abs with your hand, the gesture making him smirk.

“Like what you see?”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” you shamelessly answered, and he smirked, diving back to your mouth to kiss you before settling on his knees in the small space between your seat and the dashboard.

“Pretty girl got her heels so dirty,” he said as he seized your calf and removed your shoes one after the other, carelessly tossing them in the backseat.

Goosebumps rose in your body as his mouth started to kiss your skin from your calf up to your knees, his hands bunching up your pencil skirt in the process to get access to the skin of your thighs. His mouth was hot against your shivering skin, your breath catching in your throat as he was at eye-level with your core. Looking up, he kissed the inner parts of your thigh, earning a low moan from you as he progressively got closer to your core.

“More, Captain. I need more,” you whined, and he smirked, his hands caressing your calves up and down.

“More of what?” he teased, and you wiggled like a maggot, attempting to get your core closer to his mouth.

“Of you,” you breathily mumbled, “I need your mouth on me.”

A high-pitched groan escaped your lips when he pressed his lips against your clothed core, his tongue poking your entrance in a teasing manner. You were already withering under his touch, and he had barely done anything. He could feel how wet you were through the fabric, his ego flying through the roof that he was the one leaving you in such a putty state.

“I promise I’ll be a good girl,” you seemed to have found the right words to get under his skin, your begging awakening something inside him that blood rushed straight to his cock.

“Yeah? You promise you’ll park well tomorrow?”

“I promise, Captain.”

“Good girl,” he kissed your hip bone, and you whined, your core clenching around nothing when he pulled your panties down in a swift motion, the air welcoming your folds in a fresh embrace that made you audibly gasp.

“Such a pretty cunt, so wet, just for me,” he stated as he trailed his fingers down to your glistening slit, earning a back arch from you.

Your hand fisted his hair when he dragged his tongue from your slit to your clit, giving it special attention as your lustful moans spurred him on. His tongue rolled and licked around your clit, his fingers teasing your entrance as your legs wrapped themselves around his head.

“Oh my god, fuck!” you moaned as Juyeon inserted two fingers inside your warmth, humming at how wet you were thanks to him. Turning his palm to the sky and hooking up his fingers, he started licking your clit harder and pounding his fingers inside you at such a rapid pace that you were barely controlling your moans.

“You sound so pretty for me, darling,” he praised you, smirking as his words made you clench around his fingers, making a mental note of it, “do you like how I make you feel?” he asked, his free hand playing with one of your breasts over your shirt.

You hummed in agreement as your shaky hands tried to undo the first few buttons of your shirt, passing it over your head to reveal your bra. Juyeon hummed as he saw the black lingerie decorating your chest and caressed it, feeling the warm, bouncy flesh against his palm while his other hand was still buried inside your pussy.

“Put your feet on the dashboard for me, love,” he ordered in a whisper, and you immediately obliged, allowing his fingers to reach deeper inside you, making you groan in pleasure.

“Oh my god, Captain, please keep going, that feels so good,” your voice was getting weaker as your orgasm was approaching thanks to his fingers and tongue skills, the public situation of your dirty little business only increasing your sensitivity and pleasure.

“Does it?” he questioned, and you moaned as an answer, urging Juyeon to pick up the pace by seizing his forearm and pushing his fingers harder and quicker inside you.

The message was loud and clear for Juyeon, who immediately removed your hand and latched his mouth around your clit, loudly suckling on it. His moans against your sensitive skin sent jolts of electricity in your body, the knot in your stomach close to snapping. You wanted to last a bit more, but the feeling was becoming overwhelming when Juyeon added a third finger, stretching you out like no one had done before.

You cried in pleasure, Juyeon smirking against your pussy as your moans were making him as hard as a branch.

“C-Can I cum?” you begged between staggered breaths, your fingers playing with your breasts.

You were being a good girl to him, asking in such a pretty, begging voice if you could finish. He really had to resist the urge to just remove his fingers and instead stick his cock deep into your core.

“Cum for me, pretty girl, you deserve it. You had a long day today,” he mumbled, his fingers still entering you at a rapid pace as his other hand left your breast to play with your clit.

His attentive words pushed you over the edge. Juyeon felt the force of your orgasm by how strong your core was clenching around his fingers, almost preventing him from moving. Your voice was strained as you loudly moaned, a mix of “Captain” and “Juyeon”, as well as profanities shamelessly leaving your pretty, bruised lips from biting them too much.

What a pretty sight that was for Juyeon. He had made his ex-girlfriends cum before, but not this hard and not with just his fingers and tongue. His dick was rock hard as you slowly came back to your senses, chest heavily heaving up and down, eyes glazed with lust and tiredness. You whimpered when Juyeon removed his fingers glistening with your release, sucking them clean. A lazy smile decorated your mouth at his action, grabbing Juyeon by the back of the neck to taste yourself on his lips.

“You’re so sexy,” he whispered against your mouth, your shaky hands caressing his warm torso. You wanted more of him, your hand unbuckling his belt as you pressed your mouth against his.

Your curious fingers eventually found the waistband of his underwear, tugging it down to reveal his hard cock. It was girthy but mostly long, leaking with precum, his balls feeling heavy in your hand. It jolted when you wrapped your digits around it, giving a few sharp strokes, earning a deep groan from the police officer on top of you.

“Easy, pretty girl, I wanna last,” you giggled at his words and kissed his lips, Juyeon blindly searching for something in the compartment of the centre console armrest.

“What are you doing?” you asked while kissing his neck, your hand still lustfully stroking him.

“I’m looking for a condom,” he grunted and softly moaned in your ear when you teased his slit.

“Awn…. Scared your pull-out game isn’t strong enough?” you teased, and he grabbed your throat, pinching your nipple as he planted his gaze in yours.

“Would you prefer getting knocked up by a total stranger?” he retorted.

“If it’s a hot, dark-haired Captain named Juyeon Lee, I wouldn’t mind,” you joked with a bright smile, the man in front of you capturing your lips in a swift kiss to shush you.

You giggled when he flipped you around and spanked your cheeks with a grunt, your laugh turning into a moan as the pain increased the wetness pooling down your leg.

“I take what I said earlier back, you’re such a dirty, bad girl,” he punctuated the downgrading nickname with a harsh spank, making you moan.

“See, your moaning confirms that I’m right,” he snorted, and you pushed your bum backwards to get him to keep going.

“Fuck me please, Captain?” you looked behind and feigned innocence, offering big doe eyes to Juyeon.

After eventually finding a condom and rolling it on his hard shaft, Juyeon neared his tip to your entrance, easily sliding it in thanks to your wet cunt. You loudly moaned his name and earned a spank from the police officer, his hands holding your hips as he pushed himself further inside you. He was so long, you felt like his tip was poking your stomach when he bottomed out.

“You feel so tight,” he grunted through gritted teeth as you clenched around him.

“You’re so long, gosh. You fill me up so well,” you closed your eyes as you laid the side of your head against the headrest, enjoying how good his dick was filling you, Juyeon’s chest resting against your back as he was moaning in your ear, his fingers teasing your clit just to rile you up and get you even wetter.

“As if we were meant to be, mh?” he mumbled in the shell of your ear and you nodded, his hips rolling against yours in slow thrusts, letting you adjust to his length. He didn’t want to go all in at the beginning because he knew that he wouldn’t last two minutes, especially with the way you were moaning his ranking.

Plus, backshots were always one of his favourite positions to use during sex. With you, it was even better than the times with other girls. He loved to see his cock going in and out of your cunt, how your wetness was coating his shaft, the excess pooling at the rim of it and slowly drooling down to his balls. Your back was arching like a cat stretching, allowing him to caress the soft skin and decorate it with kisses or bites. Your ass colliding with his hips was also a sight to see, the red imprints of his hands slowly forming on the soft flesh from all the spanking.

Juyeon’s hand came to grab your neck and push you deeper into the seat, granting his cock better access to the depth of your core. He reached further inside you, triggering your g-spot and making you scream in pleasure, your thighs slowly starting to shake. You had to fight the urge to let your eyes roll at the back of your head at how good Juyeon’s cock was making you feel. It reached places you never thought existed, that was at least never found by your exes.

“The beautiful sight that you are,” the officer mumbled, his hands caressing your back down to your ass, down your hips to your pussy. His mouth rested against the shell of your ear, gently nibbling on your lobe, whispering soft words of praise at how well you were taking his cock.

He smirked at how you clenched around him, the hand that was still between your legs coming up to your mouth, forcing it open. You welcomed his fingers with a hum, your tongue rolling around them to taste yourself.

“You’re such a pretty, obedient slut, you know that?” he kissed your cheek as he picked up the pace, your moans muffled by his slender fingers still pressing down your tongue. You looked over your shoulder with pleading eyes, the slight gloss over them warning the officer that you were close, again.

“Don’t worry, darling,” the officer whispered, his hips colliding with your ass at a steady pace, “I’m going to make you cum again soon, just be patient, okay? I’m almost there,” his breath was heavy, his thumb caressing your cheek as you docilely nodded at his words.

Eventually removing his fingers from your mouth, you yelped in pleasure as his wet fingers pinched your nipples, sending jolts of electricity down your body to your core.

“Please, Captain, I’m so close, I need it. So badly,” you begged, getting tired and so sensitive that one sharp movement could make you topple over the edge.

Juyeon stilled inside you, taking the time to gather your hair in one of his hands and kiss you on the lips. Your head dropped and you moaned as you felt him push himself desperately deeper inside you, your ass and his hip bone forming one, his cock thickening with lust.

Without a warning, the hand in your hair tightened, making your head tilt back up and groan, his hips colliding hard and fast with your ass, the flesh giggling at every movement.

Drunk in pleasure, Juyeon’s chest was pressed against your back, primal movements not faltering a second. His moans were erratic, grunts all over the place as the sound of skin slapping filled the police car.

“I’m gonna, I’m gonna- Oh fuck!” that’s all you managed to say before your body went totally limp, legs shaking as your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, a hand wrapped around his wrist as your core was almost pushing him out of you.

“That’s it, pretty girl, that’s it. Come around my cock,” he helped you ride your orgasm by toying with your clit, mouth praising you between covering your shoulder blades with hot kisses.

Your pussy tightening made Juyeon’s cock super sensitive, precum slowly filling the condom. He was not going to last long, he just needed a bit more of you to get there.

“Can you handle a bit more, baby? I’m almost there,” he whispered, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as if he hadn’t just given you the best orgasm you’ve had in ages. Turning around to face him, you spread your trembling legs wide open for him, taking his cock in your hand to stuff it back inside you.

“I take that as a yes,” Juyeon smirked and you hummed, barely catching your breath as his hips were already ramming back inside you.

Resting his forehead against yours, Juyeon’s movements started to falter, his brown eyes blown out with lust. The way your face contorted in pleasure and your legs shaking in sensitivity were helping him get closer to his peak, loving that you were drowning in lust thanks to him.

Your hand flew to his hair and started tugging on some strands as he picked up the pace. Legs crossing in his lower back, caging him in an embrace, a low grunt of your name erupted from the police officer’s mouth, his hips stilling a second later.

“Oh my god, Y/N, fuck!” You gasped as his cum filled the condom, Juyeon rutting his hips against yours as he rode his orgasm, low groans escaping from his lips.

Your moans and your nails digging into his shoulders made him groan in lust and ride his high, soon resting his weight on you, your sweaty bodies heaving up and down in sync.

Slowly coming back to your senses, Juyeon partially removed himself from you, pulling away from your core. He smiled at you, softly kissing your lips before quickly sucking on your breast. You shivered, almost getting turned on again at the sight of the filled-up condom.

Helping each other to get dressed, it was hard for you to stand on your heels. Juyeon had turned your legs into jelly, and you could barely walk the distance that separated your car from the police cruiser.

“Are you going to be okay to get home safely?” Juyeon looked at you with a veil of worry in his eyes. You smiled, carefully walking up to him to press your lips against his.

“I will,” you smirked, your hand removing non-existent dust on his uniform just for the physical contact to linger one more second. You were already exhausted because of your day at work, those moments with him didn’t help you feel energized at all.

“Be careful on the road. I wouldn’t want the next time I see you be at the hospital,” you smiled as his hands were gently stroking your sore hips.

“That wouldn’t be a great idea, indeed,” you teased, your mouth kissing his neck. He closed his eyes for a moment, getting lost again in the sensation of your mouth on him.

“What about a date, instead?” he suggested, changing the subject as he was close to ripping your clothes from your body, just to feel your core squeeze around his cock one more time.

You smirked at his words, making you take a step back at him.

“I’d love that, Captain.” you teased as you stuffed something inside the back pocket of his pants before carefully walking to your car.

Frowning, he reached for his pants and scoffed at the lacey lingerie between his fingers, his boxers feeling restrictive, again.

As you drove off back home, Juyeon did the same, your panties in his hand. He smirked as he noticed the dry stains of your wetness he caused by kissing you.

He couldn’t wait to make you scream his name again. For now, he’d have to use his imagination.

And your panties.

[theemporium]

[2.3k] when your boyfriend achieves a podium at his home race, it’s only right that you give him the reward he deserves. even if you only have fifteen minutes to do so. (smut)

part two

.

He had barely stepped off the podium before you were dragging him into his driver’s room.

Silverstone was always an important race, regardless of the racer. It was a historic track and an iconic race to drive in. It was one of those races—alongside Monaco—that every driver dreamed of winning, of standing on the podium and looking down at the cheering crowds. 

And for Lando Norris, it was also his home race. 

After the struggles the car had been putting him through all season, seeing his smiling face as he climbed off the car behind the number two sign made your heart swell on Saturday after qualifying. Watching him run towards his team, cheering and celebrating and slapping him on the back. 

For the first time in a long time, he felt hopeful this season. 

Then Sunday came along and it had been full of nerves and butterflies and silent prayers that your boy would do well, that the team wouldn’t screw him over. 

Truthfully, your faith wavered after the safety car pit stop that put Lando’s car on hards. You stood by his team and his parents, practically watching the release of the safety car between your fingers as you watched your boyfriend be squished between the Red Bull and the Mercedes, both on soft tyres. 

And then the fucking unbelievable happened. 

Your stomach flipped as you watched your boyfriend fend off the seven-time world champion. Your nails were digging into your palms as each corner came and went, and before you even realised it, the checkered flag was waving and Lando Norris crossed the line in P2. 

P2 in his own home race when even McLaren themselves doubted they would be able to pull it off. 

The roars of the crowd was surreal, the way they clapped and chanted as he walked out onto the podium. The way he lifted the trophy over his head, a massive grin split across his face. The way he hit the bottom of the champagne bottle off the podium, soaking himself and his fellow drivers until champagne was dripping off their bodies. 

You don’t think you had ever been as attracted to your boyfriend as you were in that moment, in that snapshot of seeing him be the happiest he had been in months. 

Lando, like the rest of the drivers, had around fifteen minutes to freshen up before they were whisked away to their media duties. 

You weren’t going to waste a single second of it. 

“Baby,” Lando laughed as you tugged him into his driver’s room, the door locked quickly behind you before you turned around to him. “What’s up—mphm.”

Your lips were against his before he could even finish his question. But talking was the last thing on his mind as his hands fell to your waist, bunching the fabric of your dress in his fists as you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

“Congratulations, baby,” you murmured in between rushed kisses, your nails scratching along the back of his neck in the way that made him shiver. “You did so fucking well.” 

“Yeah?” He grinned in such a way that you didn’t know if your heart was going to beat out of your chest or if you were going to clench your thighs together in hopes it did something. “Feeling proud?” 

“So proud,” you mumbled before pulling him closer, but Lando just chuckled slightly.

“Baby, I gotta get changed for media,” he told you, squeezing your hips to exaggerate his point. “Someone is gonna come knocking in ten minutes—”

“So we have ten minutes?” you interrupted, your eyebrows raised in questioning.

“I mean, technically—” he started but that was more than enough. 

“We can do a lot in ten minutes,” you said to him, your eyes wide and eager and he felt something in his stomach clench. 

“Yeah?” he rasped. 

“Yeah, baby,” you grinned before you leaned forwards, your lips meeting his in a slower, meaningful kiss. “Let me show you how proud I am.” 

Lando gulped, only nodding his head in response. 

“Words, Lando. I need words.” 

“Fuck, please,” he all but whined as he ducked his head back down to meet your lips again. 

The grip he had on your hips was desperate, fuelled with a newfound need to have you. Ten minutes was more than enough time, plus the media team could always talk to the other drivers first. He wanted you, he needed you and he was going to have you—consequences be damned. 

The noise he let out was almost like a whimper, need and want so clear in his voice as the heel of your palm stroked along his length through his thick face suit. 

“Baby—“ Lando wheezed out, his eyes clenching shut as you began to undo the zipper of his suit. 

“Gonna give you want, pretty boy,” you murmured, your lips falling down to the skin peaking through his race suit as you finally began to start shrugging it off his shoulders. You leaned closer, kissing down his jaw and the column of his neck as your hands worked on getting him undressed. “Gonna make you feel good.” 

“You always do,” he breathed out, his voice a little shaky as he helped you pull his arms out, pushing the race suit until it was pooling at his knees. But before he could even try removing it the rest of the way, a hand on his chest stopped him. 

He watched you, his eyes focused on you like a hawk as your fingers traced along the waistband of his boxers. He reached for you, reached for the skirt of your dress but you swatted his hands away before he could even make a move. He opened his mouth, a small pout on his lips but he quickly fell quiet as he watched you sink to your knees. 

“Baby—”

“Be a good boy and stay quiet for me, yeah?” you asked, looking up at him with such an innocent expression that he could’ve blown his load there and then. 

“Promise,” he murmured, his heart beating against his ribs. “Gonna be your good boy.”

And you just smiled. A simple fucking smile and Lando knew that regardless of what you did, he wasn’t going to last long at all. 

His back was pressed against the thin wall of his driver’s room, his hands tightened into fists in his hand as he watched you. The way your nails traced along the length of him over his boxers, the way your eyes lit up as his cock jumped at the simple act. The way you leaned forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his clothed length as your hands wrapped around his thick thighs, watching the way he squirmed under your touch.

“Please,” he whined.

But you didn’t listen, your nails lightly raking up and down his thighs as his legs shook with a strong desire he had never felt before. He needed you. He needed to be inside you. He didn’t think he needed anything more than he needed you right now.

Your fingers curled around the waistband of his boxers, slowly tugging the material down his legs until it was pooled at his knees with the rest of his race suit. He let out a soft hiss as the cool air hit him, the tip of his cock already leaking a small bead of precum. 

But before he could even get used to the cool sensation, you were leaning forward and wrapping your lips around the head of his cock, letting it lay heavy on your tongue.

“Shit,” Lando whined, his hips bucking on instinct and it was your hands pushing him back against the wall that made his eyes snap back open. He looked down at you, the tip of his cock in your mouth and your wide eyes staring at him, and he was starting to wish this was how every race ended. 

You bobbed your head further along the length of him, your tongue pressed against the underside of his cock as the tip brushed against the back of your throat before you pulled back. You pulled back until his tip was brushing against your lips, a thin line of salvia connecting them both as your hand moved to replace your mouth.

“You know what I want?” you asked, your voice a little raspy and low and it only made the blood rush to his cock. “You know all I thought about when you were up there?”

“What?” Because he knew, no matter what you asked, he would give you. He would give you anything you asked when you were on your knees in front of him with your hand wrapped around his cock.

“You,” it was as simple as that, if it weren’t for the fact you were reaching for his hands, slowly prying his fists open and guiding them towards you. “You taking out all that extra energy…on me.”

His stomach coiled in desire. “Baby—”

“Please, Lando,” you whispered, your tongue darting out to collect some precum leaking from his tip. “Just need to feel you inside me.”

And who was Lando to deny you? Who was he to not give you what you so desperately wanted and desired?

There was a voice in the back of his head that tried to remind him where he was. The same voice that was reminding him he had duties to uphold, he had journalists to talk to, he had a podium to celebrate with his team. The same voice that was reminding him that the locks on the driver rooms aren’t absolutely secure, that a hearty shove would be enough to get past it.

And yet, that voice in the back of his head was the last thing he was focused on.

Not when his pretty girlfriend was on her knees in front of him. Not when he had his fingers tangled in her hair as he guided her head up and down his cock. Not when his hips were thrusting, the debauched and needy sounds you were making as his cock hit the back of your throat echoing through the small room.

Not when Lando wanted to stay in this moment forever.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groaned, the muscles in his thighs tensing as he reached closer and closer to the edge. “Feel so fucking good for me, so fucking good for me, baby.”

You moaned, the noise muffled and garbled but he felt the vibrations along the length of him all the same. You pushed your hands under his fireproofs, your nails scratching down his toned torso as his abs clenched softly under your touch.

“Like you were fucking made for me,” he muttered out, his voice a little breathy and whiny as he found himself clenching his eyes shut. “Shit, baby—”

His head fell back against the wall with a soft thump as he came, his cock still deep down your throat as he spilled inside your mouth. The noises he let out were pathetic and needy as his hips bucked up as your tongue teased the tip of his cock. He slumped back against the wall, his chest rising and falling with heavy pants and little white dots blurring his vision.

He let out a soft whimper as you finally pulled away from him, pressing a chaste kiss against the head of his cock before you began to pull his boxers back up. He let out a noise of aversion, trying to bat your hands away and instead pull you closer to him which he allowed.

“Lando—” you started but you didn’t get far before he had both hands on your cheeks, pulling your face to his so he could kiss you. He didn’t even care if he could taste himself on your tongue, he just needed to kiss you.

“I love you,” he sighed wistfully against your lips in between kisses.

“I love you too,” you murmured before pulling away, a hand on his chest to stop him from trying to kiss you again. “You need to go.”

He looked like a kicked puppy. “Why?”

“You have media, Lando,” you murmured with a soft smile, looking at your boyfriend’s flushed cheeks and glazed eyes. You almost felt bad that you would have to send him out like that. 

“Fuck the media,” he grumbled as he tried to lean down again, but you stopped him once again.

“Your team will kill you,” you snorted, shaking your head. “Go. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Lando let out a huff. “You give me the best goddamn blowjob of my life and expect me to just go about my life like everything is normal.”

You patted his chest. “You’ll survive.”

He sighed dramatically. “Barely.”

“Tell you what,” you said as you watched your boyfriend scamper around the cramped room to make himself look somewhat presentable before he headed out towards the media pen. “If you go out and be a good boy and do all your media duties, I’ll let you do whatever you want tonight.”

Lando paused, glancing up at you. “Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want,” you murmured, leaning to kiss him one last time before he left. “But only if you’re on your best behaviour.”

“Deal,” he blurted out quickly, a giddy smile spread across his face and something almost like mischief shining in his eyes. 

“That’s my boy,” you said with a fond smile. “My winner.”

Lando snorted. “I was P2, baby.”

“Like a winner to me, anyways,” you shrugged before you leaned down to playfully smack his ass as he walked past. “I’ve got my eyes on you, Norris.”

He flashed you a cheeky smile. “Keep ‘em up here, darling.” 

And you could only laugh when he barrelled back into his driver’s room two hours later, grinning like a cheshire cat as he did so.

“A deal is a deal, baby, gotta pay up now.”

So you did.

.

[momotonescreaming]

STWG Daily Drabble

Prompts: Give in and chill

“I can’t do it anymore,” Eddie exclaims as he storms through the trailer door, wind blowing in from the Trailer Park behind him. He slams it shut behind him, running a hand through his now bedraggled hair. Rings catching on his curls, he groans in frustration, he rips his hand out of his hair and throws his bag to the floor along with his mechanic jumpsuit. Kicks off his shoes. “I’m done.”

Steve watches as his boyfriend stands there for a second, breathing heavy, looking down at his pile of things on the floor. He takes a deep breath, or he sighs, and Steve hums in affirmation that he’s listening. Tilts his head to see if he can spy the look on Eddie’s face.

Huffing, Eddie turns to Steve’s position on the couch, huffing, muscles tense in a tight line across his shoulders. “Work sucks. I’m quitting. I’m becoming a dealer again, that was easier.”

“No it wasn’t,’ Steve says simply. Feeling his lips curl up into an ever so faint smile.

“Okay, no it wasn’t,” Eddie concedes, before whirling around and throwing is arms up in the air. “But my point still stands! I’ve had enough of old men either telling me I’m a murderer or that they know how to change tyres better than me. Fuck them. I’m giving up. I'm giving in and out and around.”

He lets out another noise, a scream or a yell of frustration, clenching his hands tight. And then he releases. And Steve watches as all the tension leaves his body, melt off his shoulders and drip onto the floor. Looks up at Steve through his large wet eyes, bottom lip protruding just slightly as Eddie pouts.

Steve holds open one arm, making space for Eddie, looking reassuringly at the man. He slumps his way across the trailer, dragging his socked feet, before falling into the couch cushions. Snuggles into Steve’s hold, resting his head on his chest. Feeling the gentle rise and fall of it under his head. It’s soothing, so Steve makes sure to try and keep his breathing slow and steady.

He wraps his arm around his boyfriend, bringing him in close, before gently kissing him on the top of his head. Eddie sighs at that, melting further and wrapping his arms around Steve in return. He smells like engine oil and cheap deodorant. Of cigarette smoke, and of home.

“Fixing cars was more fun when I was doing it with you and Wayne,” Eddie mumbles. Clutches at the fabric of Steve’s shirt. “Doing it for work sucks.”

“Just take a deep breath, Baby,” Steve says, rubbing his hand across Eddie’s shoulder. Slow and soothing, a steady comforting weight. “Chill out with me for a second.”

“I can do that,” Eddie replies, voice mumbled as he presses his face into Steve’s chest. He takes a stuttering breath, and Steve can feel it from where their bodies are pressed together. Takes a deep of his own.

“Just relax, sit with me,” Steve starts, pressing another kiss to Eddie’s head. “And when you feel better I’ll put a movie on while you change into some comfy clothes. We’ll chill, relax, and you can tell me how much work sucked in great detail.”

Eddie snorts a weak laugh.

“That sound okay, Baby?” Steve adds, turning so he can look at Eddie, try and get a glimpse of his face.

Eddie’s smiling, a little weak and watery, but it’s there. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good.” Steve says, fondly looking down at his boyfriend. Gently resting his fingers under Eddie’s chin and tilting his head up. Eddie lets himself be moved, eyes wide and shining, eyes flicking down to Steve’s lips and then back up to his eyes again. God, Steve could drown in Eddie’s eyes. Eddie would let him.

Instead he leans into to kiss him, soft and gentle and exactly what Eddie needs.

[pinguwrites]

Kinktober 2023 | Day Three — Raymond Leon + car sex

Pairing -> sub!raymond leon x reader

Warnings -> smut (minors dni), maybe kinda sorta dub-con just to be careful (but not anything big, it can be looked over), road head (don't do this irl be smart),

KINKTOBER 2023 MLIST

Disclaimer: In Time characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

Sometimes Raymond was a little boring. Not in any insulting way, only that he tended to be more stern and strict, and he always had to have things in control. It was probably something about being a timekeeper. That’s how they all were, at least the one’s you’ve met. But with Ray it was a little different, more . . . old. You didn’t know how to describe it. He wasn’t out of touch with anything, but he just had that sense of dullness in his personality that he carried around with him like a raincloud.

It wasn’t physical or anything — sex was great, and the stunts he did when he was out policing the timezones proved he was in great shape. He was twenty-five, after all, everyone nowadays was. But he was fifty or something mentally (what age exactly, you didn’t know, and didn’t dare ask). 

You loved him, so it wasn’t a major problem, but you did have to admit, sometimes you wished he would so something unprovoked, unpredictable, hot.

Deciding to take matters into your own hands (literally), your reached over and placed your hand on his thigh. Raymond noticed, but focused his attention on driving, not making any move to push you away. It wasn’t until you crept closer to his crotch did he say something about your behavior. 

“What are you doing?” he asked sternly. He glared at you, something you learned not to take personally. 

“Nothing.” You shrugged innocently. “Just tryna have some fun.”

Your fingers brushed over his crotch.

Keeping one hand on the steering wheel he took off the other and grabbed your wrist.

“Stop that,” he growled. “Can’t you see I’m driving?”

“Yeah. That’s why it’s fun.”

You gave Ray’s cock a little squeeze through the fabric and he let out a little gasp, one you wouldn't be able to hear unless you were listening for it.

To your surprise, he didn’t say anything after that. He just stared dead ahead at the road, not giving you any indication he wanted you to stop.

So you didn’t. You continued to tease him thrugh the fabric, waiting for him to get hard, and when he finally did, you unzipped the zipper and pulled his hard length out.

You caught your boyfriend glancing at the side of the roads, looking out for other cars. But it was night and no one was there, like they could see anything in the darkness even if they were. 

“Relax. No one’s gonna see us,” you reassured him.

“I know that,” Ray breathed out as you rubbed his precum all over the tip of his cock. He shuffled a little in his seat. “Are you really going to do this? Now?”

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked, halting your hand movements.

“. . . No.”

“Say the magic word,” you teased with a grin.

He sighed, not wanting to prolonge the foreplay. “Please?”

“Please what?”

“Touch me,” he said, exasperated. 

“Good boy,” you said, giving him a long stroke.

He threw his head back, in annoyance or pleasure, you could not tell. He always denied it, but you knew he liked it when you called him your ‘good boy’.

“Go slow,” he pleaded, when you picked up the pace.

You chuckled. “Loosen up, Ray.”

You and Ray tightened your grips, yours on his cock, pumping with precision, and his on the steering wheel, desperately tyring to stay in control. 

You took your hand off for a brief moment, prompting Ray to glance over at you, only for his breathing to hitch in his throat when he saw you lean over spit on his cock, resuming your pumping.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “Yeah, that’s good.”

You fondled his balls, giving them a little pinch. He squirmed in his seat.

“Don’t move,” you demanded, taking off your seatbelt to fit his entire length in your mouth. 

The car swerved a little, but it immediately got back on track.

You gagged, but kept yourself down for a bit, before getting up for some air.

Ray groaned loudly. “Oh, don’t do that, I can’t focus.”

You both knew that he could easily push you away. He was stronger than you, but his desire was getting in the way of reason, and all he wanted to do was relax in the car seat, you here to give him a blow job like there wasn’t anything else the mattered.

You ignored his words, continuing to suck of his cock, hollowing your cheeks out and timing your breaths so you didn’t choke as much. You bobbed your head up and down, revelling in the way he wriggled away from you. 

Ray had enough, and pulled the car over to the side of the road, parking it on some grass. He stopped the engine and spread his legs, relaxing his arm on your back.

He came soon after with a whine. You swallowed his seed, making a disgusting gulping sound. 

You took the paper wipes from the backseat and wiped his cum off your face, leaving his now soft cock out of his pants. He tried to put it back in but you stopped him, wanting a nice view of his length. You put on your seatbelt and playfully slapped his thigh.

“Well? I wanna get home. Start driving.”

Taglist:

@rainyforest777

@thatwitchybitch420

@madeinuk

@henrywintersdearestgirl

[hookedonhuge]

A Hot Pipe Dream

Ding Dong!

You opened the door and staring back at you was a handsome beast of a man. Thick beard, big arms, and a large chest that pushed against his tight shirt. It must be the plumber!

“Umm… hi, I’m – I mean you must be umm… come in.” You completely stumbled over your words, intimidated by the aura of the large man in front of you.

“What do you want me to come in?” The plumber said with a confident smirk. His lewd joke made you even more flustered.

“The kitchen… umm the pipes – I’ll show you.” You avoided eye contact and quickly turned around to head for the kitchen. You rushed off to the kitchen, not even paying attention to whether he was following behind you or not. You opened the cupboard beneath the sink and pointed to the pipes, still too flustered to look back and meet his powerful gaze. “Yeah we’ve just got a blocked pipe, umm… in the pipes, yeah…”

There was no response. Had you just been talking to the air? You turned around to try and find the plumber thinking that he might have gotten lost behind you. What you found was two hairy, meaty pecs staring directly at you.

“My eyes are up here.” He laughed.

“I’m so sorry!” You said quickly shifting your gaze from his chest to his intense eyes. Your face turned beet red; he seemed to be enjoying making you embarrassed.

“Don’t be shy!” He said as he cockily bounced his pecs. “Nothing strange about two men working on a long, hard pipe together.”

“Together?” What an odd choice of words, you certainly weren’t planning on helping.

“You’re right, I think you’ve got this pretty well covered yourself.”

Without even realising it, you had bent over to investigate the pipes yourself. Your body felt heavy and your brain was foggy. Suddenly there was a weighty tool belt around your waist, and you were only wearing shoes, socks and a pair of tight white underwear!

You looked back to the big man in confusion. “What is going on?”

“You’re fixing the blockage, of course.”

“But I don’t know how.”

“Well if you want to be a plumber then you need to look like one.”

What did a plumber look like? Well this plumber had big strong muscles. And don’t plumbers usually have their big, hairy ass crack hanging out of their pants?

As you thought this you felt thick, dark hair burst out of your smooth lower half. Then, your underwear got even tighter as your cute little ass started inflating. It was like someone had stuck a needle between your cheeks and was pumping you up like a bike tyre. Your underwear started to look more like a thong with every passing second until your fat cheeks tore through the fabric completely. 

It wasn’t just your butt, your whole body was growing. Your arms, chest, back; they all now bursted with strength. Even your feet outgrew your socks and shoes.

“You look much more like a plumber now!”

You felt like a plumber too. Your head started to clear and it seemed like bending over with your ass out to look at pipes was your natural position. It was like you had been there so many times and you knew exactly what to do to fix those pipes.

“Boss, I haven’t seen a pipe this clogged in a while.” The big plumber got down behind you to investigate what was happening. He rested his chest on your back with his powerful hand on your big, hairy, wobbly butt for support.

“You know I’ve got a special tool that’s perfect for getting into tight pipes like these.” You felt his warm breath against your neck as he said this. “It might look too big to fit in, but trust me, it always gets in there and gives these dirty pipes a good clean.” 

“Can you give me this tool, boss? Please boss, I need it. It will be perfect to fit in this tight hole.”

“It’s not easy your first time, so let me help you.” He leant further over you in order to reach his hand under the sink. You both grabbed hold of the tool and stuck it into the entrance of the clogged pipe.

It took a couple of thrusts but you two eventually slipped the tool into the pipe. “Ah, it’s in!” You exclaimed, letting out a laboured breath. “But it won’t go any deeper.”

The plumber started to lend you more of his strength and took control of the thrusting. With each thrust his body pushed forward into yours. “So close! I can feel it’s so close!” He sped up his pace. “Just a little deeper!”

It felt like a volcano erupting when the two of you finally hit the right spot. A jet of liquid bursted out of the pipe but the plumber’s quick hands were able to reseal it before it got everywhere.

You panted in exhaustion. “Thank you so much, I really needed that!”

“No need to thank me, you did most of the hard work today.” He gave you a strong, friendly slap on the ass. “You will make a great plumber.”

You blushed. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow, boss.”

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 19 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N - part two of a two part chapter. Picks up where the last one left off.

Summary - As Spencer’s mental health continues to decline, you connect the dots as to what’s going on with him. But his brain can’t take much more and it finally splinters and he takes on the guises of various faces from his past.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - heavy drinking, oral (f receiving) faked orgasms, reckless gun use, weight loss, vomit, swearing, spanking, Dom! Spencer, penetrative, unprotected sex, dissociation, blood, self harm, blood, personality split, Spencer’s brain completely fractures.

WC - 6.7k

One Month, Three Weeks Ago

You heard the car tyres crunching up the gravel driveway through the open bedroom window. You instinctively pulled the sheets further up to your chin as though the flimsy material would protect you from whatever was about to happen. 

You couldn’t fein sleep, your cheek still throbbing from his slap and the fear pulsing wildly throughout your body. He’d no doubt drunk more, driven your car home in a state and you could only assume more violence awaited you. 

You heard the engine die followed by the car door being opened and closed. Spencer sounded like he was dragging his feet in the dirt, shuffling drunkenly towards the house.

Once the front door opened, Copper was up and out of his dog bed, on high alert. You heard it close again and then there was stumbling on the stairs and what sounded like Spencer bumping to walls. 

You held your breath in anticipation. The bedroom door flung open and Copper let out a singular bark before he realised who it was and quickly retreated back to bed, his tail between his legs. 

You watched in the dark from the bed. You didn’t think he realised you were awake as he didn’t look at you, just went about removing his clothes. 

He struggled with the sleeves of his denim shirt and wrestled it off his body to the floor. Next came his t-shirt which he seemed to have slightly less trouble with. 

It was his pants that tripped him up, quite literally. It was almost painful watching him trying to get both legs out of the fabric. If you weren’t so mad at him you might have tried to help. 

Eventually he got them off and crawled into the bed in just his underwear. It was only when he laid his head down on his pillow and saw you staring back at him in the dark that he noticed you were awake.

Even in the low light you could see that sorrow that washed over features as he registered the fear in your eyes. He raised a hand and you flinched involuntarily when he cupped your face. 

He brushed his fingers over the red mark he’d left behind on your skin. His eyes misted over as he breathed raggedly. 

“I’m s-so sorry.” He whispered, words a little slurred. His breath stank of whiskey, he hadn’t tried to hide it this time. “I’m so sorry. I d-didn’t mean to. I love you. You know I love you, right?” 

You clenched your jaw but didn’t speak, couldn’t speak. And when he suddenly crashed his lips against yours and kissed you ferociously, you didn’t stop him. 

He was mumbling and whimpering into the kiss as he rolled himself on top of you. You let him kiss you and still didn’t say a word as he lips trailed lowered. 

Even when he removed your shorts and edged his face between your legs you stayed silent. He muttered against your leg how sorry he was and how much he loved you before plunging his tongue between your folds. 

He continued whispering his regret between your legs. Usually Spencer’s tongue was a thing of magic but in his drunken state his ministrations were messy and lacklustre and after a long time of pretending to enjoy yourself, you simply faked your release and pushed him away. 

He fell back to the mattress next to you, his mouth and chin still slick with his saliva. Moments later he was snoring, leaving you to stare at the ceiling while you fought back tears. 

***

The following night he didn’t go to work again in lieu of getting drunk. Despite the fact you now knew about his drinking he still tried to hide it from you, drinking alone down at the stable most days. 

He’d purchased a shotgun at some point recently and you often heard rounds being fired off down by the creek from the house. He was a danger to himself, to everyone. He needed the kind of help you couldn’t offer him. 

But you were too scared of him to tell him that. You were also too afraid to leave. 

It was nearing eleven pm when you heard him trudging up the hill towards your homestead. You were sitting on the front porch reading with Copper curled up at your side on the swing chair, head in your lap.

He appeared over the brow of the hill, dragging the shotgun behind him. His hair was a mess and his clothes seemed to hang off of his frame. You knew he hadn’t been eating and the amount he was drinking often made him vomit. He’d lost so much in the last few weeks he was a shell of his former self.

You closed the book and braced yourself for whatever was to come. He didn’t look at you as he traipsed up the steps towards the front door. He swung it open and you thought maybe either he hadn’t seen you or was ignoring you. He took one step inside the house before he spoke without turning around. 

“Inside.” Was all he said before he continued on his way.

And like an idiot, you didn’t even question it. You nudged Copper off of your lap and the two of you got to your feet and followed him inside. It was unclear which of the two of you were more frightened by the drunk man and his shotgun.

Spencer leaned the gun against the wall next to the door which offered you a little bit of relief. He turned to look at you, his expression completely unreadable. He took a step closer to you and you held your breath, desperate not to let your fear show. 

His hand lifted from his side and found purchase on the back of your neck, gripping it a little tighter than he normally would. He used his grasp on you to lead you into the living room. It didn’t hurt, he wasn’t being overtly rough but it was firm enough that you didn’t want to question him. 

He moved you up against the wall, the same one he had thrown you at last night but this time with more care. He pressed his body flush against yours, caging you into the wall with his hips. You could feel he was hard and straining at the front of his pants. 

“I l-love you.” He slurred, eyes glazed over from the whiskey. “I love you s-so fucking much. I’m an ass. I’ve not been g-good to you and I know that. But I love you. P-please forgive me.” 

“Spencer,” you whispered, tears springing to your eyes as his fingers brushed over the bruising that had formed on your cheek from last night. 

“Do you still love me?” He spoke, this time he sounded surprisingly sober. 

You sighed, blinking back your tears. You wished you didn’t, it would be easier if you didn’t.

“Yes.” You nodded.

“Good.” And then he kissed you surprisingly delicately, holding your face like you were made of glass. But his tenderness was fleeting.

Soon his hands moved to your hips and he gripped them tightly in his hands, fingers digging into your flesh beneath your shirt. He tugged you away from the wall and led you across the room to the arm of the couch. 

When he reached it, he turned you around so your back was to him and forced your body over the arm, your face buried in a couch cushion and your ass in the air. He reached around you and unbuttoned your pants, but before he could pull them down he stilled.

“Do you…do you want this?” He asked, sounding so unsure of himself. 

And even in the face of it all, you did want it. Regardless of the way he’d treated you, in spite of the fear he’d caused you, you still wanted him.

“Y-yes.” You nodded against the cushion. “P-please?”

Spencer continued to lower your pants and underwear down to your ankles and spread your legs as wide as he could with the fabric hindering them opening too wide. You heard his own button popping, the rustling of his jeans and pants as he pushed them down his thighs. 

He freed his shaft in one hand, dangerously hard and already leaking in desperation, while his other gently stroked over one of your ass cheeks. You hummed pathetically against the cushion at his soft touch.

His hand suddenly left your ass but seconds later it returned in slap so hard the skin on skin contact echoed around the room. You yelped at the impact but you couldn’t deny it was dizzying. 

He spanked you a second time, the sting of his first slap tingling your flesh. He did it a third time and on the fourth time he simultaneously plunged inside of you while his hand scored against your sore cheek. 

You let out a sound half way between a scream and moan at the dual sensation, Spencer bottoming out inside of you right away but not staying there long. He moved his hands to your hips and gripped them with bruising force as he started pounding into you aggressively. 

You hadn’t been quite limbered up enough for the sudden intrusion and Spencer was so big and thick that he felt like he was splitting you in two. But the pain was delirious, the friction of him inside of you, stretching your walls in a way you’d never experienced before was heady. 

Your ass cheek stung and it added to the pleasure. His balls slapped harshly against you with each thrust. From this angle he was able to reach deeper caverns inside of you, chambers you didn’t even realise existed. 

His blunt head slammed repeatedly against your cervix and with each merciless pound your walls clenched tighter and tighter around his thick length.

He was muttering incoherently, fingernails digging into the flesh of your hips. He berated you with his body, breaching you again and again while you did nothing but whimpering and whining beneath him. 

Tears left your eyes, soaking into the cushion beneath your face. Each thrust somehow burnt more than the last but you were so close it was almost laughable. 

His grip tightened and his pace increased, his breathing heavy and rampant. He was succumbing to his release, ready to fall over the ledge into the abyss of pleasure. But he wanted you to fall with him. 

“Are you close?” He mumbled, his sentence punctuated with moans.

“Hmm.” you whined as he jabbed against your cervix again. 

“Fuck princess, wanna feel you come.” He angled his hips upwards, slamming into you at another new angle that made you mewl.

“F-f-fuck!” You whined, legs shaking. “F-fuck Spencer!”

“Come for me, pretty girl. Show me how good I make you feel.” He moaned, his own legs barely holding him upright. 

It took two more thrusts before you were coming undone, clamping so tightly around Spencer’s cock that he saw stars. Your arousal was leaking down your thighs as Spencer fucked you through your orgasm before his own washed over him. 

With a loud and feral moan, he exploded. Strings of his come filled you up, his seed buried deep inside of you. He continued to thrust more lazily while he expelled every last drop of himself until he was completely spent. 

He must have carried you to bed that night because the next thing you remembered was waking up the next morning in bed, sore and covered in welts and bruises. 

***

This pattern continued almost every day. He spent his days getting drunk and shooting at trees down by the creek only to return late at night and fuck you, sometimes for hours. Your bruises had bruises, the welts on your ass became so bad you could barely sit down which made horse riding an extremely painful experience. 

Sometimes he was more gentle, making love to you in missionary while he looked you in the eyes and told you how much he loved you. Other times he pinned you to walls and fucked you so hard you couldn’t breathe. 

And every single time after, he dissociated. 

You often found remnants of blood on the linoleum floor in the bathroom or sometimes in the tub. Spencer stopped getting undressed around you, keeping himself covered when you had sex. You didn’t know the extent of the damage he was doing to himself. 

One morning you awoke to find him still asleep which was a rarity. And so you dared to lift the sheet from his sleeping body and inspect the mutilation he’d inflicted upon himself. 

The first thing that struck you was just how much weight he’d lost in such a short time. His position on his back allowed you to see how painfully his hips jutted out, how sunken his stomach was. His collarbones and ribs protruded from beneath his flesh. 

But it was his thighs that caused you to whimper. 

You couldn’t even count the number of cuts littering his skin. They were all in various stages of heeling, some even caked with dried blood you assumed were his most recent works. They painted both legs almost all the way to his knees, his canvas for his self abuse. 

The tears silently fell from your eyes and you dropped the sheet, feeling your stomach lurch violently. You removed yourself from the bed and shut yourself in the bathroom. You ran the shower, got undressed and climbed inside. 

You sobbed beneath the flow of water. You cried for Spencer and what he’d done to himself. You cried for the aches and gripes in your body which Spencer caused you. You cried at your own stupidity at putting yourself in this situation in the first place. 

You should never have stopped to help him. You should have trusted your gut and kept driving. None of this would have happened if you’d just left him on the side of the road. You could have saved yourself the trouble of falling in love with a monster. 

By the time you stopped crying and exited the bathroom, the bed was empty and made with military precision as was Spencer’s way. You dressed as you caught a faint whiff of something from downstairs. It smelt suspiciously like bacon but surely it couldn’t be.

Low and behold you found Spencer in the kitchen, plating up bacon and eggs and toast whilst he hummed to himself. He had his back to you but when he turned around he was smiling brightly.

“Morning princess.” He beamed, setting the plates down on the counter. “I made breakfast.” 

It was like living with Jekyll and Hyde and you weren’t sure which one was more terrifying. You knew you should leave, disappear in the middle of the night and go somewhere he would never find you.

But despite your better judgement, you loved this man. You loved him more than you thought it possible to love someone. So no matter how idiotic it made you for staying, leaving simply wasn’t an option. 

***

One Week Ago

Things had been improving slowly but steadily. Spencer didn’t seem to be drinking as much, or if he was he was getting better at concealing it. He was less angry, although that’s not to say he hadn’t blown up a few times in the past month.

You were walking on eggshells most of the time, trying to appease him, keep him happy so as to avoid another fall out. You had sex almost every day and by this point his dissociations were becoming a normal occurrence and you’d long ago learnt how to quickly deal with them. 

He’d started working again although not as frequently as he was. He lost his job running the ghost tours when he stopped showing up but the Four Deuces still allowed him to pick up shifts here and there as they were short staffed. 

You both had the day off today and Spencer surprised you by taking you for a picnic down at the creek. Copper followed along, playing in the water while the two of you ate the lunch he’d packed. Afterwards he laid you down on the blanket and made love to you.

He was gentle and caring, slow and sensual. He made you come twice while he fucked you leisurely as though he had all the time in the world. And he kept his eyes locked on yours throughout it all. 

He even helped clean you up after, placing delicate kisses in your hair. And then while you were still hazy from your orgasms, he pulled a jewellery box out of hiding. 

“Y/N, I know things have been…not great lately and I’m so, so sorry for that. But I love you more than I ever thought it possible to love someone and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. 

“I know it’s crazy, I know it’s fast. But when we decided to run away together we were kinda promising each other forever anyway right? And I know with you being a fugitive filing a marriage licence won’t exactly be easy, but we can figure it out. 

“Or you know, maybe we can’t get married for real. But at the very least I want you to have this ring as a symbol that I will never, ever leave you. And if you decide to wear it you’re saying the same. I promise I’m going to try and be better for you. I want to be the man you fell in love with. So, uh, will you marry me?”

He flipped open the box to show you a beautiful vintage silver engagement ring. His face conveyed his nerves as he rolled his lip between his teeth awaiting your response.

You blinked at him rapidly, trying to clear the fog from your brain. Were you delusional from your orgasms? Surely this wasn’t happening.

But it was happening. Spencer had a ring, a stunning ring, in his hand and he was asking you to marry him even though you both knew with you being on the run it was impossible. But he wanted your promise. 

Your love for him was so boundless, perhaps it was even reckless to a fault. You should have left the first time he raised his hand to you, should have gone running and never looked back. 

You knew first hand that abusers didn’t just stop. You’d murdered the first man who dared hit you, yet here you were in love with the other. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on you, its morbid facsimiles to a life you’d lived before were startlingly apparent. 

The last thing you should ever do would be to promise Spencer forever, to agree to wear his ring. But yet it was the only thing in this messed up world that made any semblance of sense to you. 

You’d both experienced your share of trauma, both done things you weren’t proud of in order to survive. You were eerily similar and perhaps the two of you deserved one another. You were coerced together like two opposing puzzle pieces but you’d both adjusted around each other until the fit didn’t seem so manufactured anymore. 

He understood you to your bones, the way you did him. It may be toxic, it may be poisonous to you both to stay together but maybe you could be each other's antidote if you just tried hard enough. 

Relationships were never without their flaws, yours just had a few more than most. But they were nothing you couldn’t work through, right? If you operated as a unit instead of separate parts, played for the same team rather than as oppositions, you could be a force unto yourselves. 

The sad truth of the matter was, neither of you deserved any better than what you offered each other. 

So ultimately there was only one answer. You couldn’t quite vocalise it, instead giving a meek nod of your head. Spencer beamed as he removed the ring from his velvet cradle and slid it onto your finger. 

And thus your fate was sealed. 

***

Two Hours Ago

Suddenly with the kind of startling clarity that smacked you around the face like a tidal wave, all the little puzzle pieces fell into place. 

You’d had the skeleton in front of you but had yet to flesh it out, to see the bigger picture. Or perhaps you had an idea but you weren’t ready to go down that rabbit hole for fear of no return. 

But it was here now in black and white, no more grey areas. The voicemail left on Spencer’s cell phone spelled it out clearly. 

“Doctor Reid this is Marnie calling from Doctor Suez’s office. It looks as though you still have an outstanding prescription to collect and the doctor is a little concerned of what might happen if you fail to refill your paroxetine. This is the third time I’ve tried to call, please do call me back as soon as you can.” 

You hadn’t deliberately been going through his phone. But he’d been hauled up in the stable all day and the device hadn’t stopped ringing. By the fifth call you’d grown curious and found yourself invading his privacy and listening to the voicemail. 

It all made too much sense now and you felt stupid for not seeing it sooner. Spencer had come off of his medication, the medication which barely held him together in the first place. Now he was off of it and all his old symptoms were coming back full throttle combined with what you imagined to be an extensive amount of withdrawals to the medicine. 

He was a danger to himself and to you. There was no telling what a man with his level of trauma could do when he’d stopped relying on the one thing that was helping to keep him tethered. 

You pocketed his phone without meaning to and the ring caught your field of vision. Your stomach clenched tightly like a cramp and you felt a wave of nausea flood your body. How could you promise yourself to someone who couldn’t even look after himself? 

Spencer was a genius, he would know the exact risks of coming off of his medication yet he’d done it anyway. And he’d put you both in jeopardy by doing so. That kind of behaviour was selfish and reckless. 

Would you be able to talk sense into him? Would you be able to make a lunatic see the light? Or were you putting yourself in further danger if you confronted this? 

You loved Spencer and because of that you couldn’t stand back and do nothing. You needed to talk to him, to try and help him understand that needed to be on his meds for the sake of himself and you. You needed to appeal to the rational side of his brain you knew still existed somewhere in the depth of his trauma. 

You had to address this before it continued to get out of hand. You needed to help cloy Spencer back from the brink of insanity before he was lost to his own demons forever.

***

The glass mouth of the bottle was cushioned between his lips, tilting, tilting until every last drop of the smooth amber liquid passed down his throat, burning on its journey down his oesophagus and into his empty stomach. 

Drawing it back away from his lips once it was drained, he clutched the neck in his tetchy fingers, curiously inspecting it for a moment or two. 

And then he raised his hand high above his head, swinging it back down with force until the body of the bottle collided with the side of the cabinet in the back of the stable and smashed into hundreds of little shards.

The fragments mostly flitted to the ground around his feet, some remaining to decorate the wooden surface he’d used to smash it with. There may have even been a piece or two in his palm, there was certainly a little blood. He wiped the claret on his jeans, the alcohol numbing him from any pain that action might have caused. 

This had been another one of his utterly dumb ideas, the kind he had become so well versed in making as of late. But this one was particularly close to the top of the list for stupidity.

The gift had remained untouched, forgotten in a cupboard in the house for six months. Spencer didn’t even remember having the forethought to bring it with him to Tombstone, why didn’t he just throw it out? 

It was only this morning when he’d been looking for places to hide the dozen or so whiskey bottles he’d purchased that he found it. The birthday gift from Luke. 

Taking it out to the stable with one of his bottles of liquid heaven, he’d gotten through half the whiskey before he dared tear into the dogeared paper. 

Staring back at him a simple black frame displaying some kind of collage that looked almost childlike in its construction. Luke wasn’t exactly known for his artistic prowess. 

Scanning his eyes over the collage, despite the whiskey clouding his brain it was clear what he was looking at. It was a montage that told the story of Spencer Reid and Luke Alvez. 

It began in the top left hand corner with a ticket stub from the movie they’d seen on their first date, which Spencer hadn’t realised was a date. 

Luke had asked him to go see some action flick which was so far out of Spencer’s comfort zone. But he enjoyed Luke’s company and agreed to go with him. 

After the movie they went to a bar and Luke slid into the booth next to Spencer which Spencer thought was a little odd. But it got a whole lot stranger when Luke placed his hand on Spencer’s thigh under the table. 

“Uh, Luke? That’s my leg.” Spencer’s eyebrows knitted together. 

“Yeah I know.” Luke’s expression mirrored his. 

“Okay,” Spencer looked even more confused. “Why are you touching my leg?” 

Luke suddenly looked extremely self conscious and he removed his hand and placed it in his own lap. 

“Sorry,” Luke huffed. “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve been on a date. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“D-date?” Spencer was extremely confused now. 

“Yeah?” Luke was fidgeting uncomfortably. “Oh my god, is this not a date?” 

“It’s the first I’m hearing about it.” Spencer’s mouth fell open. 

“You…you didn’t realise I was asking you on a date?” 

“No!” Spencer shook his head. “You said, and I quote, ‘Hey man, do you wanna go see a movie tonight? Maybe grab some dinner or a drink afterwards.’ How was I supposed to know you meant it as a date?” 

“Movie and dinner? That’s clearly a date!” Luke looked bewildered. 

“I go for dinner and movies with Garcia all the time. And JJ, Emily even.” Spencer was scratching at the back of his head. 

“I…I…ay dios mio.” Luke shook his head. “This is so embarrassing. I am so sorry, I assumed we were on the same page. We should call it a night to save me any further humiliation.”

Luke went to reach in his pocket for his wallet to pay for the drinks but Spencer’s gentle hand on his wrist stilled him.

“Luke,” Spencer smiled a little shakily at him. “I didn’t say I didn’t want it to be a date.”

What had started as Spencer thinking he was seeing a movie with a friend ended with a heavy makeout session in the bar. Just the thought of it made Spencer’s knees wobble a little, the memory of that first kiss taking his breath away like nothing he’d ever felt before. 

The medley in front him contained many other tickets, receipts and photographs from his and Luke’s time spent together. It was all brought together in the middle with a simple quote, penned in Luke’s uniquely identifiable handwriting -

“The world breaks everyone, and afterwards, some are stronger at the broken places.” - Ernest Hemingway.

The alcohol and the memories swarming his brain caused a torrent of emotions. It was a tsunami raging inside of him, a war being fought within. Luke had collected all these little mementos, kept hold of the pieces of their relationship even after all this time. 

He’d meticulously, if not a little messily, compiled this gift for Spencer because in spite of everything Spencer had done, Luke still loved him more than anything. Luke loved Spencer in a way that superseded his trauma, in a way that was bigger than his demons he struggled to fight.

Luke loved Spencer the way Spencer loved you. And that thought alone was enough for Spencer to feel the weight of everything he’d put Luke through. He understood it now, he understood the hurt he’d caused. If you left him, Spencer wouldn’t be able to cope, his life may as well be over. If he lost you he wouldn’t go on. 

That’s what he’d done to Luke. Spencer had admonished him, punished Luke for simply loving him. And in the process he had broken the other man into more pieces than the whiskey bottle was now in at his feet.

“You fucking broke me, Spencer. The way you left, it destroyed me. Nothing in my life has ever hurt as much as having to hear from Prentiss that you’d left without a word. I’ve spent the last two years trying to get over you, trying to move past the pain that you caused. And I have finally met someone who made me forget all about you. I’m not asking you to be happy for me, but you don’t get to be mad either.”

It all made so much agonising sense. And Spencer hated himself more than ever at the realisation of exactly what he’d done to Luke. Staring at the pieces of glass and the framed collage still laying on a blanket of gift wrap, he felt tears clouding his vision. No, not tears…

The edges of his vision were growing hazy in a way he knew all too well. His stomach was tightening, anger and sadness tangling themselves together to create a whirlwind inside of him. It snuck up on him faster than he was used to and before he could even grasp what was happening he was outside of his own self. 

He could only stand by and watch dumbly as the body his mind longer inhabited picked up a large shard of whiskey dampened glass and without hesitation brought the sharp edge to his right leg and scored straight through his jeans. 

Creating a hole in the fabric, the glass splinter was then slicing into the thick flesh of his thigh and he was hissing in morbid pleasure as the blood quickly began to trickle from the open wound. The detached body threw its head back, lips parted and eyes closed as thought in the throes of passion.

Spencer watched the figure who looked suspiciously like himself lean back against the cabinet as the blood continued to pour from his leg. 

An almost devilish grin spread across the face of the man who was, yet was not Spencer Reid. His lips started moving, chanting under his breath. The mind belonging to the body simply stared until the voice started growing louder.

“That’s the devil vacating your body.” 

The voice was unlike anything Spencer had heard from his own mouth. It was a husky southern drawl for which he recognised from a shed in a graveyard from years past while the smell of burning fish guts smouldered around him. 

He spoke again, the body that was and wasn’t Spencer Reid, leaning back heavily against the cabinet coated with glass while blood continued to roll down his leg.

“I didn’t know how to take care of you anymore.” 

The voice was different again, not quite his own but not entirely different. It evoked recollections of a stuffy office, of Morgan and Rossi and the older man who used to look like him but didn’t anymore. 

“I was hoping you'd figure out my riddle. I-I mean, I knew you would. The fun was just how fast you'd do it. All this and brains, too.” 

A higher pitched octave left his lips now, a much more feminine tone to his words. It summoned him to a dark warehouse, brought forth memories of blindfolds and hands that groped upon him in places he wished they wouldn’t.

“Believe me, getting pregnant with your baby was not easy.”

This one was still feminine yet harsher. He was in an interrogation room, bright orange scrubs and a menacing smirk clouding his better judgement. 

“Spencer, the keeper of provisions. You have given selflessly to others and will be rewarded by the highest honour we could bestow. Your blood will be our blood. Your life will fuel ours.” 

Once again the voice of the slumped body became more masculine, hoarse almost. It brought forth images of restraints at his wrists, ankles, waist and head. Hyoid bones dangling before his eyes, swaying in the soft breeze and knocking together like macabre windchimes. 

The man who looked like Spencer Reid was certainly not Spencer Reid anymore. The body bleeding from a self inflicted wound didn’t even seem to know who he was anymore. 

The Spencer who was suspended, watching his own form flit between varying people from his past was aware of what was happening even if the husk of his body didn’t. 

His brain was fracturing, shattering, tearing. His trauma had become uncontainable and it was splitting his mind into shards much like the glass bottle. 

It had become too much, the body and the mind divorcing each other for a final time, causing Spencer to lose sight of who he was. 

He was Tobias Hankel. He was William Reid. He was Diane Turner. He was Cat Adams. He was Benjamin Merva. He was his trauma. 

Whoever he was, it was certainly not Doctor Spencer Reid any longer. Perhaps he never would be again. 

And so the consciousness of Spencer could only watch as the man he recognised as himself became multiple different people right in front of his very eyes. 

The muttering continued, flicking between different voices of the different personas his brain was breaking off into. The glass shard was hanging limply between two fingers, little red beads dripping from it onto the floor. 

When the stable door creaked open, the previously collapsed, zombie form went suddenly rigid, eyes wide yet unseeing. You took a few steps into the barn, taking in the broken glass, his ripped jeans and open cut and the bloody fragment in his hand. 

You also noticed the ways his eyes were unfocused as he looked at you, he was dissociating.

“Spencer?” You spoke quietly, hesitantly getting a little closer and ignoring the pleas of attention from Rusty and Willow.

“No,” he blinked once, other than that he was unmoving.

“What do you mean, no?” Your brow furrowed. “Spencer, you’re dissociating.” 

“No,” he repeated. “No, I’m not Spencer. You have me confused with someone.” 

Your blood ran cold suddenly. You’d seen him in these states before but usually he couldn’t say much of anything to you. 

This time his voice was clear and concise even if his eyes were still glazed over. But the voice wasn’t his, not one you recognised. 

He spoke in a thick, southern accent, eyebrow cocked at you as he took a few steps closer. You swallowed a lump in your throat, wanting to walk away, to run away but you were paralysed in fear. 

“You’re just as pretty as he said you were.” The voice coming out of Spencer’s mouth spoke. “He calls you princess, right?”

“S-Spencer…” you whimpered slightly. 

“My name isn’t Spencer. Spencer’s weak, he can’t can’t handle himself. So I’m here to help him.” He raised his hands to cup your arms, failing to notice the glass still sandwiched between his fingers. 

The shard cut into your bare bicep and you yelped, jumping back from him as it sliced your flesh. 

“Fuck, Spencer!” Your hand came up to hold your wound, blood seeped from between your fingers.

“I told you princess, that’s not my name.” He clucked, dropping the glass to the floor now. 

“W-what’s your name?” You decided to play along. Maybe you could talk him down from this. 

“Me?” He smirked wildly at you. “I’m Raphael.” 

“O-okay, Raphael, do you know how I can get to Spencer?” You tried to remain calm, the blood still seeping into your hand. 

“Don’t you worry about him.” Spencer, who was Raphael, took a step back and picked up the shotgun you hadn’t noticed was leaning against the cabinet. “You know what this is? It’s God's will.” 

You swallowed thickly as he raised the weapon, cocking it in your direction.

“Spenc - Raphael, what are you doing?” You choked out.

“Between you and me, I think Spencer would be better off with you, little lady.” He grinned, looking through the weapons sight right at you. 

“Please, Spencer, you have to listen to me. I know you’re in there.” Your voice quivered. 

“Spencer is gone!” Raphael yelled out of Spencer’s mouth, the sound reverberating around the stable. 

“Please, Spencer, come back. Come back to me.” You begged, tears springing to your eyes. 

“We’re going to play a game!” Spencer, who was not Spencer’s voice, suddenly changed to one much higher pitched, much more flirty than menacing. 

“A g-game?” You sucked in a breath. 

“Spencie and I always played games.” Spencer smiled sinfully, pouting his lips while holding the shotgun steady. 

“You aren’t Raphael?” You blinked back your tears.

“Of course I’m not.” The feminine voice coming from Spencer’s mouth clucked. “I’m Cat. Spencie and I loved playing games together, I even got him arrested as part of one. I think you’d like my games too.” 

“Spencer?” You begged desperately. “Spencer, you have to fight this!”

“He isn’t strong enough, sweetie. He needs us to protect him…he’s always been so weak.” 

For the second part of his sentence his voice changed again. It was deeper but not southern. You couldn’t keep up. But he spoke again, reverting back to the flirty female cadence.

“So as for our little game, the rules are simple. It’s a chase, and only one of us has a gun.” The smile belonging to Cat on Spencer’s face grew. 

Guess again, bitch, you thought as you registered your revolver hidden away in the back of your waistband. 

You hadn’t expected to need it when you came and confronted Spencer but now you were glad you’d had the forethought. 

“That’s it?” You shrugged. “Just a chase?”

“To the death.” Spencer-Cat-Raphael-whoever else he was spoke manically. 

“Spencer?” You tried again, looking deep into his glazed eyes. “Please, Spencer. Listen to me, I need you to-”

“He was the chosen one. Such a shame he couldn’t handle himself. We thought he was special. He was supposed to be our ultimate sacrifice. Perhaps you’ll fit the bill instead.” Yet another voice, male again but softer than ones that came before. 

“Spencer, I know you’re in there.” Your body was trembling, arm throbbing. 

“I’d run if I were you sweetheart.” Spencer, who was talking in another feminine voice different to the first, cocked the shotgun again. “He has a history of getting the women he loves killed.”

You took a breath, looked him dead in the eyes, searching for any small trace that Spencer was still in there somewhere. You saw none. 

He was well and truly gone, lost to multiple other people you could only assume were voices from his past. If you didn’t do as they said, if you didn’t run, one of these people living inside of Spencer was likely to kill you. 

And so that’s what you did. 

You spun quickly on your heels and you ran. You didn’t make it out of the barn before the trigger was pulled and a bullet whizzed past you and into the wall of the stable. 

You screeched at the sound, fear rattling your entire body. But you couldn’t stop. You could never stop. 

And so you ran for your life. 

@kalulakunundrum @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @babyspiderling

[eiks1997]

Back to drawing more Legend of Zelda Fanart! 🎉 It was only a matter of time before I was going to draw Fierce Deity Link. One of the best, most interesting, characters in all of Zelda. 🤍 Honestly, for a 'kids' game, Majorias Mask was a trip! It was creepy, it was hard, and it allowed this man to survive! He is a literal God! 🤩

Fangirling aside, I'm still practicing my dynamic poses and this man fits perfectly for it. I'm also tyring to work on my shading and fabric folds, hope you can all see it! 🤗

👇Click to see more Legend of Zelda Fanart! 👇

ModernZelda, LinkXMidna

But that’s all for this one! If you like my art and want to see more, stick around! 😊

I DO NOT OWN LEGEND OF ZELDA!!

All love goes to Eiji Aonuma, Yoshiaki Koizumi, and Shigeru Miyamoto, Nintendo, creators of Majora's Mask. ❤

Program used: Clip Studio Paint

Date: 2024

Find me on Instagram! : @EIKS1997

DO NOT REPOST

#EIKS1997

[callmewrinkles3]

Long Live - DR3 x fem!OC

Summary: An early morning phone call, a failed concussion exam, and an Instagram post lead to just one thing. A statement from Red Bull Racing released the Thursday morning before Silverstone. Oracle Red Bull Racing regret that Max Verstappen has failed his concussion assessment following his crash at the Red Bull Ring last week. Max is doing well, but as per the medical advice he will not drive in the event this weekend. In his place Third Driver Daniel Ricciardo will drive the RB19 for this weekend.

Warnings: Mentions of past crashes, Blake and Em scheming, mentions of cheating (not our loves!)

Words: 8.6k

A/N: Happy Danny Ric Race Week! This has been planned for…yeah so long. So, so long. Silverstone has been where so much of our stuff hinged and we’re so excited to get to share at last. Let us know what you think.

July 2023

Em glared at her suitcase. Dan’s was neatly packed - not that he needed much, his outfit for the weekend was jeans and Red Bull merch. But she needed a week and a bit of clothes for their time in Northamptonshire, plus changes. And with a limited supply thanks to the now prominent bump she was miserable about it. But they had to leave in the next few minutes or they might be late getting to Silverstone.

“You packed?” Dan asked, watching her shake her head. “Does the new stuff help?”

“Yeah. It feels ok.” The box had been sitting at reception waiting for them when they got back from the whistle stop trip to Perth, a gift from Lewis when he found out about her pregnancy. She’d mentioned once or twice that she hated the feel of some fabrics, and the clothes were soft and stretchy, comfortable for her and the baby. She was wearing one of them now, a lilac empire waist dress with black leggings that helped support her belly.

“Gimme a sec.” His phone started ringing almost too loudly for seven fifteen, Em zipping the case but leaving it for Dan to lift. Charlie had texted a photo of the brunch she and Blake had gone for that morning. He wasn’t back until the tyre test, and she missed having him there.

“Emmy?” Dan sounded dazed as he came into the room.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

It was quiet for a moment before he spoke. “I’m driving this weekend. I…I’m in the car this weekend. Max didn’t pass concussion protocol, the new rules are if you don’t pass it before Thursday morning you don’t pass for the weekend. I’m in his car. Fuck. I’m driving.”

He lifted her with a grin, spinning her around and holding as tightly as he could before Em kissed her husband, separating with a grin.

“You’re driving the RB19? For the race?”

“Yeah.”

“We need to tell everyone.”

It was a frantic phone call to Blake as they piled into the car, Dan putting the bags in the boot. The first two attempts went unanswered, but finally the third was answered.

“Dan I swear to God I used to leave you and Em alone when you were-“

“Blake it’s Em. I’m using his phone.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry. What’s up Timmy?”

“You and Charlie need to get on a plane. Dan’s driving this weekend. Max is out after the crash last week, he’s in.”

They’d watched the race the previous weekend from Perth, Checo crashing into Max at turn three and pushing them both off track. The two cars had been pushed into the barrier, Max losing consciousness for a moment. Em had watched terrified until she heard him over the radio, Dan gripping her hand tightly. It could have been so much worse, especially on a weekend already filled with tragedy.

“Fuck. Seriously? What time is it what can we get?” Blake’s voice came through the speakers in the car as Em was already searching flights. She turned the tablet to Dan, pointing at the direct Qantas one and the five tickets she had ready to go.

“I’m booking you on the Qantas direct, you get in here at five tomorrow morning. Give Callum a call, tell him to come too. I’ve business for Joe and Grace, the three of you are stuck in economy I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t matter, we’ll get there. Somehow. You sure about Cal?” It was Charlie speaking and Em smiled.

“Positive. He’ll love it, we’ve got the passes. He can watch the race from the garage.”

“Ok. I’m gonna get packed and call Cal. Want me to pick up your parents?”

“They’ll probably pick you up, you’re at Charlies?” The organisation decided, Charlie promised to text when the five of them were at the airport. While Dan drove Em got on the phone with Qantas, putting on her charm and using her surname liberally so she could try get seats organised. It wasn’t much, but Charlie and Blake had a row to themselves and Callum had extra leg room so it was a little more comfortable.

The last thing she could do before relaxing for the drive was stare at her instagram account. The original plan was she’d wait at the hotel for the night so the pregnancy news could die down. But now she had to be there in just two hours. The post was written, ready to go, the carefully staged photos of their vans and the baby ones Dan had bought the day after they found out she was pregnant but had hidden until things were safe. The tiny little scan photo showing their bean. This was real.

“Ready for the world to know you knocked me up?” It was crude and blunt and made Dan laugh so it was worth it, Em grinning as his laughter filled the car.

“Ready for the world to know you’re stuck with me forever?”

“Feels right.”

She hit post, waiting for the chaos. Red Bull were announcing that Max was out at 9.30, so hopefully that would start to overshadow everything. Carefully she read the caption again and smiled at it. Baby Ric. Half Brit, half Aussie, already the coolest kid in the world. We really can’t wait to meet you, sunshine.

This was a good thing. Everyone who needed to know was aware that she was announcing it this weekend. Limited comments made it easy, the people she’d met mostly through Dan commenting congratulations publicly. She could breathe. The world was always going to find out about the baby but this made being pregnant real to her. It was actually happening.

They were nearly to the track when Dan’s phone rang again, Em hitting answer on the car screen.

“Hey Grace, Dan’s driving. We’re almost there.”

“Emmy, how’re you feeling? We’re waiting at the gate, the plane’s here and we should be on soon.”

“I’m good. News about the baby is officially out now.”

“How do you feel?”

“Excited. I think. I’ll tell you tomorrow. Fly safe, tell everyone I love them.”

The roads around the track were closed to the public, Dan getting through when he showed his paddock pass and people recognised him. Finally they were in the car park, pulling into the Red Bull Driver spot. This was real.

“You ready for this?” Em asked, watching as her husband ran his fingers through his hair, the thick gold band glinting in the sun.

“Yeah. I think I am. I want this. I want to be there, I want to drive well. I want to be on that podium again. Do you think I can do it?” It was the most honest he’d been about driving, the most open he’d been apart from nights in bed where only the dark surrounded them.

“Yes. I know you can do this. This is the track where you had your first race, where you did your first test. You can do this, Danny. I believe in you.” His smile lit up at her words as he put his hand on her belly, leaning down to press a kiss to it.

“And for this little one. Can’t embarrass her at the first race people know about her.”

“I thought we agreed it was they until we know?”

“She’s a girl. I know it. Because Lulu isn’t going to make us argue over a boys name, are you sweetheart?” It was quiet for a moment before Dan squeezed her fingers. “Time to face the media.”

“Let’s go.”

The first person in a Red Bull shirt they spotted was Simon, a smile spreading across Em’s face as she saw him. He was sticking to hospitality for most of the weekend, but agreed to help out if needed. It didn’t take long for them to be at the paddock gates, Em staring at them with trepidation.

“Good luck. Lewis went in about five minutes ago with Roscoe, that might have pulled some photogs away. People are delighted for you, there’s gonna be good wishes.”

She nodded at Simon before stepping through the gate, scanning her pass and waiting for Dan. It felt so different to a usual race weekend with him. There was no Michael around, no Blake yet, no bags being carried with helmets or gear. That was all coming down, it’d be there. Right now they needed to make it to Red Bull. She’d sit in hospitality or walk down to Aston to say hi to Lawrence, depending on what was going on. It was fine.

“Daniel! Emma! Congratulations! How does it feel to be driving?” The news had filtered out and questions were being thrown around but Dan just smiled and waved as they made it through the paddock. Different kids and fans came up with hats and merch to sign and he signed it all, Em standing there and fiddling with the FEA bracelet that she rarely took off. A couple of parents made small talk with her while the kids got photos with Dan, running off grinning. But finally they were at the Energy Station.

The moment they arrived in there was rapturous applause, a banner across the seating area with “IT’S A RICCIARDO” and a stork on it. Em blushed and grinned while Dan put an arm around her waist to hold her close as he nodded.

“Thanks guys, thanks. Much appreciated. Any idea where I’m supposed to go?”

“Engineering in five.” Christian stepped up as most of the team went back to where they were supposed to be. “Congratulations on the pregnancy. I know I already said it, but I mean it. You deserve some happiness. Em if you want to stay here feel free, or if you want to go up to Dan’s driver room you can. Is Blake around?”

“On his way back from Perth.” Em pulled a notebook from her handbag, flipping it open with practiced ease. “I’m back to work at least until he’s here, he wasn’t going to come back until testing. What do you need?”

“Just wanted to check timings. I got an email from him for four paddock passes, is that right? Charlie Clarke, Callum Clarke, and Dan’s parents?”

“Yeah. Blake’s partner, her brother, and my in laws. Are they ok?”

“Of course, yeah. You know that. Just wanted to be sure, they’ll be ready for tomorrow. We’ve an engineering briefing, Dan’s in the TV pen. I was going to send someone from PR with him, if you want to put a Red Bull shirt on you can follow him recording Em if you like. Whatever suits. Here’s the list of interviewers”

“Thanks Christian. Give me an hour?”

“Of course. See you in a couple Dan.”

She kissed her husband as chastely as they ever could, smiling at him.

“You know this car inside out. You know it as well as you know me. You know how it behaves. They would be putting Yuki in it and putting you in the Alpha Tauri if they had any doubts about you. You can do this, Baby.” Dan smiled and squeezed her hand before he left.

She sat in the hospitality with tea in front of her, her tablet open tracking the flight from Perth as she drank her tea and ran down the list of interviewers. It’d be easy, and her bump was still small enough that a large tee would be wearable. A woman sat beside her and she smiled.

“Em? Right? I’m Carola.” Em smiled at the other woman, switching off the screen.

“Nice to meet you. You’re Checo’s wife? It’s so lovely to meet you, I’ve seen you at a couple of races.”

“You too. Congratulations. This is your first?”

“It’s our first baby, yeah.” It didn’t hurt as much to say that anymore. Admitting it was the their first baby was true.

“It’s pretty great. This is our fourth, I’m due in October.”

They chatted for a few moments, Dan returning a few minutes later with a shirt for her.

“Vicky said she’d do it with me, but if you want to feel free. Wanna do it?”

“Yeah, let’s.” Dan took her hand to help her up. “We’ll talk later? It’s lovely to meet you Carola, but work calls.”

“Oh?” She seemed confused and Em smiled.

“My day job is his assistant. And his manager’s, but Blake isn’t here today. Time to get going!”

She followed Dan to the pen, smiling and staying out of the cameras as he answered the questions. It was mostly about the car and getting into it, but Ted at Sky couldn’t resist it.

“And your wife is at the track with you today, how does it feel to be able to tell everyone you’re having a baby?”

“Well Em is doing the hard work! But yeah, we’re excited. Its been a really, really good week for us.”

“That’s great. Congratulations to both of you.”

Em ended up back in hospitality while Dan was doing more work, but this time making phone calls left, right, and centre. Every hotel had a call in if they had a spare room, and she finally managed to get a caravan delivered to beside where Dan’s motorhome was. They could put Grace and Joe in the motorhome, Callum on the motorhome couch, and the other four would fit in the caravan. It was tight but could do it. Carola sat beside her as she ended the final call.

“Busy?”

“Yeah. Dan’s parents are flying in from Perth, so getting a caravan for them. How’re you? Are the kids here?”

“No they’re at home. How long have you worked with Daniel?” She was quiet as she spoke, younger than Em.

“Nearly four years? Japan 2019 was my first official race, but we were friends and together for years before that. I was complaining about work, Blake needed an assistant, so here I am.”

“He wanted you to travel?”

“Definitely. Being apart hurt. We’re working out how next year will go if he gets a seat, it’s gonna be toughs with a baby. But it’s worth it.”

“You’ll travel with the baby?”

“Definitely. Dan wants to be hands on and around for everything. We’ll make it work.”

“Oh. Well, this is my first time at Silverstone. Can you tell me about it?”

They chatted until Checo came over and saw them talking, speaking to his wife in Spanish before Carola said goodbye and they went to their own motorhome. Dan was a bit longer, coming back and giving her a kiss.

“Have fun?”

“I have a caravan beside your motorhome, and I had a really good chat with Carola. She’s lovely.”

“Checo’s wife?”

“Yeah. She’s sweet.”

The night was filled with nerves for both of them, different to any other race that Dan had done. Nights before fp1 before were easier. He knew the car. This time it was a car he’d never driven in real life before, but she was determined to be positive. He deserved at least that.

The news that the flight had landed woke them up, Blake promising to make their way up after they showered and ate. It’d be fine, they’d arrive in time for fp2 so she could relax then.

The yells for Dan as they walked into the paddock that morning were overwhelming. There was fans wearing ancient Aston Martin Red Bull 3 hats to make them grin, Em following her husband and holding his hand the entire way through.

Usually she’d be working away but Dan had told her to enjoy it. So she was, sitting in the garage with headphones on, watching as GP gave Dan some last minute encouragement. There he was in his race suit, helmet under his arm as he came across.

“Go fast and be safe.” He grinned as she spoke, kissing her quickly.

“I can do this, right?”

“Of course you can. I’m gonna be right here when you come back.”

She stayed in that spot for the full sixty minutes, watching as they got him used to the car. He wasn’t setting the timing screen alight, but he was firmly in the top ten. And in a sick delight that she’d never admit he was above the McLarens. She’d had to keep her mouth shut around Brown at all times, beating Lando and Oscar gave her a joy.

Instead of hospitality for lunch she went over to Mercedes while Dan was in meetings. Susie had promised a chat, and the two women sat in the sunlight with Roscoe sitting on the bench beside them. Em ate her wrap while petting the dog, promising to stay there for a few minutes while Susie ran back in. Now that she was officially the enemy she couldn’t go in like before, but being with someone was fine.

“Emmy!” She turned and saw Grace a little bit away, her mother in law wrapping her in a hug. Em relaxed against her, nodding at everyone else.

“Hey, it’s so good to see you all. Blake, Dan’s in engineering meetings. P6 in practice, Checo was P1. They seem happy so far.” Blake nodded and she watched him kiss Charlie before jogging towards the Red Bull Energy Station. “Welcome to Silverstone. I’m just waiting for Susie to come back and take Roscoe, then I’ll show you around.”

“Em. That’s not…is it?” Callum asked, Em smiling.

“Want to pet Lewis’ dog? He’s so sweet.”

The way Callum lit up petting the dog was great, and it wasn’t long until Susie was back with his lead to take Roscoe inside with a wave. Em led everyone else back to the Energy Station and found a table for them all.

“It’s gonna be a tight squeeze, but we’ve made it work. Grace, Joe, you’ve got Dan’s motorhome-“

“But he needs his-“

“It’s Dan. Do you think he’d be ok if you weren’t being looked after? You’re in there. I managed to get a two bed caravan brought in. It’s tight, but Charlie, you and Blake have one room. Dan and I are in the other. Sorry Cal, you’re stuck on the couch.”

“That’s fine. Thanks, Em. Seriously. I never thought I’d be here.”

“Enjoy every minute of it. You can watch from the garage if you like, or I got you a grandstand ticket too. Whatever you want.”

“You’re amazing.” He reached around her shoulder for a hug, Em giving him one before taking a deep breath.

“I’m just really glad you’re all here. It’s been a whirlwind.”

“How’s the baby?”

“They’re fine. We’re good. Just tired. It’s gonna be a week with everything. But it’s ok.” Dan came by a few moments later with his race suit tied around his hips.

“Navy suits you,” Joe told him and Em could see the pride on her in-laws faces at their son. Dan put his hand on her stomach for a moment as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Good to see you. We can get dinner later? I’ve been in meetings all day when I’m not in the car, GP reckons they can let me go an hour or so after practice if nothing weird comes up. But practice in ten. Cal, you coming into the garage for it?”

“What?”

“C’mon.” Em went to stand up but Dan stopped her. “Stay there, you’ve been on your feet all day. I’ll be back in a little while.”

“Go fast and be safe.”

“Promise.”

The four who were left stayed in hospitality to watch practice, Em glad to be in the air conditioning. She relaxed with them to watch, greeting Dan as he came back. Their group was just back at the caravans when her phone rang.

“Is that Emma Ricciardo?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Hi, I’m calling from Hilton Silverstone. We have a room available, you said you wanted it?”

“I’ll be there in ten. Thank you!” She hung up and went into the one they were sharing, Callum on the couch looking at his phone.

“Grab your stuff.”

“Huh?”

“I got you a hotel room, c’mon. We’re going. I’m gonna tell Dan, maybe we can give Blake and your sister some privacy.”

“They’re in that new love touchy feely mode. It’s not fun.”

“It is for them.”

She filled Dan in on what she was doing, her husband grinning and kissing her quickly. Grace was making dinner for them all, they’d eat in the motor home and give Blake and Charlie a bit of privacy. When he went into the second bedroom to say it she heard a yell, followed by Dan’s “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

By the time they were outside Callum had his stuff in the boot of Em’s little Fiat, Em sitting in to bring him. Security was strict, showing her pass nearly not enough to get her to the hotel car park. Finally they were in and Callum got out, waving and promising to meet them in hospitality in the morning. He was a grown adult, he could do what he wanted to.

Saturday morning Em was exhausted. Her stomach was filled with butterflies for the last couple of days thanks to stress and nerves, and she was terrified watching Dan go out in the car. But she had to trust everyone on that pit wall had her husband’s best interests at heart. If they didn’t then Dan wouldn’t get in the car.

She’d forgotten what it felt like to arrive at a race as the partner of a driver. It was different compared to Thursday and Friday, now it was the business end of the weekend. It felt like every photo was of her bump, of how she kept one hand on top of it when she was speaking. The hugs her friends gave her were photographed and carefully checked. Chloe had texted her one of her and Lance with a grin and a it’s unfair my brother sees you before I do that Em had sent a selfie back to. Chloe’s fault for being in Colorado with Scotty.

That morning while Charlie and Dan were getting ready Em and Blake had a conversation about what this weekend could lead to. The ultimate goal was a seat for Dan with Red Bull. But Em’s photos with people around the paddock would help with the media game and that was what she had to do. See her friends and people she liked, smile widely and get photos taken. It sucked that she had to, but the more it seemed like other teams were interested the more it would help.

Lawrence had known immediately what was happening, laughing with her and staring around at a photographer.

“Making it seem like we’ll sign Daniel? You know that it was never any of our-“

“Lawrence it wasn’t your fault. Or Seb’s. He apologised to Dan so many times last season. It all started from Monaco. I know for a fact there were discussions with people from Baku. You were at our wedding, you know we don’t blame Aston for anything.”

“I know. But still.”

“But nothing. How’re you doing? How’s Lance, I haven’t really talked to him much.”

They separated with the older man promising that the baby was receiving a bag of Aston Martin merch, Em laughing that Dan wouldn’t let it in the house as she said goodbye.

Practice was spent in the Energy Station, sipping a smoothie while she watched the screen. Joe sat beside her, Grace in the garage to watch for a while.

“Are you doing ok? I know Dan says he is, and I know you’ll pretend to the world you are, but are you really? You didn’t expect this.”

“Nobody expected it. It’s kind of insane.” She ran through the timeline with him, how Dan had come home from filming and in the sim the night before with no idea and then they were running so he’d make meetings and media. As she talked Max came into the room and sat at their table.

“Em. Joe. Sorry for putting Dan out like this, but he’s enjoying being in the car of course?”

“He is. Are you ok?”

In a different world Em thought they could have been close. Dan loved Max like a brother, and Em liked him as a person. But it was the people around him who she couldn’t stand. From the first time they’d met his father tried to make her feel less than, and Dan had told her the story of Kelly trying to ask him out shortly after she and Daniil had split up. She knew better than almost anyone how hard it was to cut those ties, but she couldn’t let herself be close to people who couldn’t cut them themselves.

“Getting there. I’m allowed look at screens now. Of course the crash was not my fault but that’s not something I can say outside. I spoke to Christian and he said we’d talk about it later. But this cannot continue.”

“I’m really glad you’re ok. We were watching, it was scary.”

“Thank you. You will tell Daniel that I was asking about him? They want to film something with the three of us later. He can be the padding.”

“We will. Look after yourself.”

He left and Joe looked at her with a small smile. “If I didn’t know about walls here and ears I’d say something.”

“It’s been bad. That’s all I’ll say.”

Red Bull had done well to hide how awful the relationship between the drivers was, but it was ice cold. Max barely acknowledged Checo when the cameras weren’t watching. There was a reason Dan was the one who was in all the videos with them. Max had only just left when Carola came over, taking a seat.

“Joe, have you met Carola? She’s Checo’s wife, she was so nice to me on Thursday when it was just us here. Carola, my father in law, Joe Ricciardo. I promise he’s not actually scary.” The younger woman smiled, holding out her hand for Joe to shake.

“You all came for the race?”

“Of course. Seeing Dan in a car again? With a team that supports him? The second we got the call we were looking for flights. Emmy had it organised, she was booking them already.”

“It was easier booking all five of you than everyone booking separately. I’m just glad we could.” It was quiet conversation between the three of them until Joe stood up.

“I‘ll stretch my legs. Em, text me if either of you ladies want anything. You don’t need to stand and get it, that’s what we’re for.” He left and Carola looked at Em confused.

“He’s Daniel’s dad, right? He acts like he’s yours.”

“We’re family. I’ve known him since before Dan and I started dating. It’s part of how I know Dan’s going to be such a good dad when the baby arrives. Plus, we’ve got a hard stop on when he’s driving.”

“Why?” The question was tinged with something more than just politeness, but Em kept going.

“He doesn’t want to miss the big events. The baby’s going to start school in 2027, so 2026 will be his last year if he gets a seat. We’ll be in Australia, it’s too far. It’s different for Louise, she’s in Europe. It’s even different for you, you’re in Mexico, right? How long is the flight?”

“Eleven hours to London. It’s ok.”

“Not bad. It’s seventeen from Perth if you get the direct one.”

“So Daniel will retire?”

“Yeah. I do most of the parenting till then, and then we swap. I get to decide what I want to do and he’ll be the main parent. It won’t be easy for us, but it’s what we want. Do you have photos of your kids? I think I saw them in Mexico last year but I wasn’t too well.”

“I remember! Daniel drove well. Here’s the three of them.”

It was oohing and awwing at the kids, Grace coming back and joining in. She pulled out the photos of Isaac and Isabella, Em feeling like she’d joined some secret club of parents who were so proud of their kids and their accomplishments. Carola was quiet, but she was nice to chat to. They’d never really be friends, they were too different, but having someone who knew the fear watching each race was something she could appreciate.

Finally it was time for qualifying. Em watched as Dan brought the car smoothly out of the pits, the car reacting just how he wanted it to. She hadn’t seen it like this since the Renault days, the car moving how he wanted it to. That smile as he put his helmet on, her and Callum standing listening to the radio. It was jarring hearing GP talk to Dan, but it fit somehow. She watched as he did his runs, not even the red flag stopping him from safely making it into Q2.

Em had nearly forgotten what it felt like to not worry about Dan going out in Q1. But she didn’t realise until the car was wheeled back in fully that Checo had been knocked out, the other driver’s face like thunder as he hopped out of the car and started the walk down to be weighed.

“That makes five in a row,” Callum whispered to her and Em shaking her head in response.

“Later. But I know.”

Q2 was tighter. Dan had told her that the only thing that Christian had said to him was he was expected to make it into Q3. Doing that was a good day for him with so little time in the car before now. She held her breath as Logan Sargeant had yet another lap time deleted, Daniel P10 and scraping through. Blake took her hand at the end of the round, squeezing once.

“He’s fine. He’s improving every lap, and he’s got a new set of softs for this. It’s Dan.”

“I know. I know.”

The last round was almost painful. Em held her breath as the chequered flag came out, Dan last to go across the line. He’d been in p10 until that lap, pushing him up into p5 and starting just behind the Ferraris.

“P5 Daniel. Great job, good spot for tomorrow.”

“Ah I’m sorry. It should have been higher.” She could hear the annoyance in himself as he spoke, wanting to hug her husband.

“Dan you did great. Little bit of traffic compromised the lap slightly and you still brought it home. This is a good base to go from tomorrow. Well done.”

The one thing that truly annoyed Em was that this was the first race McLaren had showed true promise in. A tractor of a car last year, unreliable and temperamental the year before, but now it was a front row lockout. Her annoyance at that team would always be there, but this was the time for her to smooth her face and grin because Dan had put in a hell of a performance. And beaten his teammate by eleven grid places. No big deal.

Dan was sent out early that night for an early arrival to the track the next morning. Everyone piled into the weird little golf cart to bring them back to the drivers campsites to relax. They were on the couch when Blake and Charlie stood up and grabbed their jackets.

“Blake’s bringing me on the ferris wheel and for food. There’s some of the nutritionist approved driver meals in the fridge, and I made sure there’s a bag of peach rings for you there too Em. We’ll be gone for oh, I dunno, three or four hours? Have fun!” Em laughed as the two of them left the exact same way she and Dan had the night before, leaning against her husband for a kiss.

“Does it make us old if I say I want food before anything else?” She asked, watching the grin spread on Dan’s face.

“Considering you’re growing a whole extra human no, no it doesn’t. You’re 18 weeks yesterday, right?”

“Yup. Almost halfway to meeting them.”

“Her.” She pushed against Dan to stand up, smiling as he got up.

“Them. We don’t find out for another three weeks. What if they’re a boy? What then?”

“Then I’ll love him all the same. But I just know. This baby is a girl, and she’s gonna be our Luna. Aren’t you, Lulu?”

“You need some food. C‘Mon. It’s an early night for race car drivers.”

Sunday morning dawned too early for both of them, staring at the clock until it was time to get up. It was real. Dan was driving in Silverstone again, and he was going to be in a good car. Em had so much faith in him.

“Promise me something?” She asked as he held her before they got out of bed.

“Anything.”

“Don’t leave anything out there. We don’t know what’s going to happen. But I don’t want you to have any regrets about this race or driving this car. Go out there and focus on driving as well as you can and as fast as you can. I’ve got faith in you, Danny.”

“I love you so much. I’m gonna do it. Alex bet me a hundred pounds that he’ll finish ahead of me. I’ve got to at least beat him.” Em giggled, laughing as Dan turned them over to kiss her before getting out of bed.

Getting ready to go to the paddock felt normal, and when they got into the main area of the caravan everyone was there with breakfast. Grace was cooking bacon and eggs, there were fresh rolls someone had gone out to get, and a big fruit salad in the middle of the table. The five others who were there clapped as Dan came out in an Enchante hoodie, Joe pointing to one of the seats.

“Your mother has food now, cmon and sit down. She texted Michael, he gave her a list of what to make.”

Em was missing the fourth member of their quartet. She’d hugged him briefly on Thursday, but there was so little time to see him. He had a week off in London and had promised to at least get lunch with her which was something. But she ate and laughed and walked into the paddock holding Dan’s hand for the fourth day in a row. They could do this. It’d be fine.

The mornings of races were usually chaotic, and this was no exception. She brought Callum upstairs to watch the F3 and F2 races from the roof of the garages, watching his face light up as he saw the cars battle it out.

“Would you do something like this? Charlie said you want to be a mechanic.”

“Not F1. The travel would kill me. I dunno how you and Dan and Blake do it. But a karting circuit or something, I’d like to help out there. My mates and I go most weeks, I usually help out with the mechanics there.” She nodded at him. All she’d known about him before the trip was he was Charlie’s brother, a massive F1 fan, and he recognised Blake the moment he walked into Charlie’s parents house. But he was smart and polite, and he didn’t let being starstruck stop him from chatting to other drivers. Watching him joke around with Esteban and Lance for a few moments when Lance had come over to say hi to her was a highlight.

Finally it was time for Dan to start going out. The cheer from the grandstand as his vintage car went past made Em grin broadly. No matter what she was going to enjoy this day. If this was the final race it was with people who cared about Dan, who wanted him to do well and loved him. That was more important than anything else.

“Your husband’s popular today.” Christian stood beside her and Em nodded.

“Isn’t it why you hired him? He’s always popular. I just want today to go well for him.”

“It will.” The certainty in his voice nearly startled her. “This is the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him before a race. Ever. I’ve got a good feeling about today.”

Dan came back in and changed before coming down, kissing Em and bending down to kiss her bump. She smiled with watery proud eyes before kissing his cheek.

“Remember what I said this morning. But more importantly, go fast and be safe. I love you.”

“I love you too, Wrinkles. See you on the other side.”

Waiting for the race to begin was an age. There was the trip to the grid, the grid walk playing on the telly beside her, and then the formation lap began. As it did Charlie stepped beside her, holding her hand tightly.

“You ok?” She asked, Em nodding.

“There’s a decent chance a camera will be on my face at some point. But yeah. I will be. I just want to watch Dan and make sure he’s ok.”

One ear on her headphones was Dan’s radio, the other was the commentary from Sky. The cars were lined up and she watched the lights blink off.

“And it’s lights out and away we go! Carlos Sainz had a slow getaway, letting Daniel Ricciardo in the Red Bull get the better of him. The two McLarens are still first and second, but they’ve got a Ferrari less than a second back, and a driver with something to prove currently in fourth.”

“Good work getting away, Daniel. Currently P4, P4, with-“

“I don’t want to know who’s ahead. Let me know if anyone behind me is coming close, but otherwise if I need to know I’ll ask, ok?”

“Understood.”

Fifty two laps went past quicker than Em could have thought. It was terrifying. She watched the screen on lap three as DRS was enabled and Dan slid on the inside of Charles around a corner.

“And I think the last of the late brakers is definitely back with us, that was classic Ricciardo right there.”

“Look at him, it’s such a difference to last year. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. He’s got his replacement in his sights and I don’t know if this McLaren can hold up much of a fight.”

“He’s not going to make it two overtakes in four corners is oh wait he is! That was skill and talent and trusting the car you’re in. I dare say that rivals a Lewis Hamilton in 2014 or 2015 overtake.”

“I think you’re right Crofty, he’s really making this count. Up to P2 now and we’re three laps in. Meanwhile his teammate lost a position at the start and is currently battling Tsunoda!”

Em stared at the timer, the gap between Dan and Lando dropping from three seconds to two, and finally he was inside DRS range. The rear wing opened and she watched her husband do the overtake on the McLaren car, pulling ahead and going around the corner in a sweeping motion.

The garage erupted in cheers from the pit crew watching the screens, “c’mon Danny boy!” heard from a couple of them. Em kept a hold of Charlie’s hand, breathing deeply with her other one kept steady on her bump. He could do this. He could do it. This was Monaco, but a fully working engine. This was the proof that Dan hadn’t lost everything. That the trust Red Bull had put in him wasn’t misplaced.

As the pit stops happened she rolled her shoulders to get some tension out, but he was still out there. Finally he was called back in, a nearly thirty second gap to Lewis behind him. It was tight, so tight that Em held her breath while he was in the pits, watching as he came out just ahead of Lewis. This was it.

“That’s Lewis one point three behind, try to open a gap so he doesn’t get into DRS. They’ve got some good race pace.”

“What about the McLarens?”

“Behind Lewis.”

“Copy. Clear to push to the end?”

“Clear to push.”

Dan’s soft tyres did what they were supposed to, pushing him forward and propelling him to a gap. Em watched everyone in the garage stand as the chequered flag was waved, her husband in P1 as tears fell down her face. He’d done it. He’d won at Silverstone and he’d won a race and he had nothing left to prove. Nothing.

“I’m sorry. I thought I’d get Carlos at the end. Sorry for not winning it for you.”

“Dan what are you talking about?”

“I’m P2, right?”

“Daniel it’s Christian. You were about to lap Carlos, he got a puncture and had to pit. You did it. You won the race.”

“I won?”

The shock in his voice was clear, Blake holding Em up as she listened. He didn’t even know.

“You won, mate. You’re a British Grand Prix winner and a nine time Grand Prix winner. Come on back in and pull up at the big number one.”

It felt like an instant that Em was pulled down to Parc Ferme, half walking, half running down the pit lane. Blake had one hand and Charlie had the other, and she knew she was on camera but she couldn’t care how she looked because she needed to see her husband right that moment.

The mechanics let her through to the barrier, standing beside GP and Christian. She knew Dr Marko was somewhere nearby but she ignored, focusing on the navy car pulling in and the roar of the crowd as Dan stopped the car. His head tilted forward against the steering wheel before he pulled it out and unbuckled his seatbelt. He got out and stood on the halo for a moment, thumping his chest three times. Em covered her mouth, the memories of Monaco and Monza hitting her full force. That was her husband. He’d won in Silverstone.

She watched him get weighed and then he ran straight across to grab her, leaning across the barrier to kiss her.

“You went fast.”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

“I’m so fucking proud of you right now, Baby. So proud. Go do a shoey for us?”

“Of course.”

She watched him get enveloped by the team, Christian grabbing him for a hug before Dan was brought over for his interview. Lewis and Lando both hijacked it, the younger driver’s “I mean his missus is British so technically this is also his home race, right?” Making the crowd cheer even louder. Finally they were led up to the drivers cooldown room and the podium.

His grin was impossible to miss. Dan stood on that top step, GP on the constructor’s podium as Advance Australia Fair rang out across Northamptonshire. She watched the champagne be sprayed in slow motion, Lewis and Lando taking full opportunity to spray him before Dan pulled his racing boot off and poured into it. The crowd was chanting “shoey” as he drank, holding the boot aloft like a goblet. The other drivers followed suit, even GP taking a sip before pouring the rest of it out. Em felt like she’d burst with pride as her entire family was there with them to celebrate Dan’s success.

It took an age for Dan to be free from press but Em didn’t mind. She walked the paddock to see friends, giving hugs to the drivers she knew well enough. Charles stopped her to specifically congratulate her on the pregnancy, giving a hug and promising to give her Italian baby books so the baby wouldn’t just speak English. He was disappointed after his race so she just hugged him and promised to cheer him on in the next one.

Finally Dan was free, and the hug he gave her was everything. The seven of them went for dinner together nearby, a private room that someone from Red Bull managed to get them. There was a party in his honour from Red Bull, Em insisting Dan at least showed his face at it. By nine he was back in the caravan they were sharing with Blake and Charlie, food on the table for the four of them as they curled up on the couches. Blake was the first one to break the silence.

“Christian asked me for a meeting tomorrow. Me and him while Dan’s prepping for the tyre test. The paddock rumour is Checo and his wife had a fight on Saturday night in his motorhome. She threatened to leave him.”

“Oh shit. Saturday was when we were talking and I told her our plans.” Em explained the entire conversation she had with Carola about Dan being an involved parent and the travel plans they had for the baby. Charlie started giggling as she spoke.

“You psyched her out! You showed her what her life could be like if he wasn’t a cheating cunt - do not shush me Blake Friend I didn’t care about F1 then and I saw the videos - and actually cared about his family. She’s setting her boundaries. Good for her!”

“Which means his seat is empty next season. Nyck’s gone from the summer. Alex Palou in Indycar is Marko’s preferred driver for that seat, but he can only take it after Monza because of the Indy season. He doesn’t know if Lawson can make the step up, and he doesn’t want Iwasa. Plus with the Yuki stuff I dunno.”

“Yuki stuff?” Dan asked as he speared a piece of chicken from the platter.

“Sauber want him. They think he could bring that car into the points regularly and learn from Bottas. So that could be two Alpha Tauri seats open for next year at least. Would you take one?”

“I mean I want Red Bull. But I know even with today it’s not guaranteed. I’d take it if the contract says I’m first driver and have first dibs on a Red Bull seat. But who would take that seat?”

“Max wants you.” Em was the one who spoke, making herself comfortable on Dan’s lap. She and Charlie were each on their partner’s laps, Dan’s hand protectively around her stomach. “We were talking for a few minutes on Saturday. If he got Nyck that seat - unproven Nyck De Vries who’d never been involved in Red Bull - him lobbying for you can get you the seat. We know Christian would be happy to have you back. I say go for the Red Bull. Checo was completely shown up this weekend. I love you Baby and you know I believe in you, but in any other team those results should have been reversed. He shouldn’t be beaten by the reserve.”

“Are you sure you’re ok with that?”

“I’m gonna head over to Grace and Joe, let you guys talk.” Charlie went to get up but Blake kept her still, Em turning to face her.

“You’re involved in this. You get a say. This only happens if it’s four yes votes.”

“I’m not involved in Dan’s career. I don’t need a say.”

“You’re Blake’s girlfriend. The two of you live together even if you don’t admit it. He’s going to be gone for weeks or months at a time and it’s hard. So yeah, you do have a say in this. As someone who was in your position before you definitely have a say.”

It was quiet between them for a few moments as they all thought. Em was the first to break the silence.

“I say yes. It’s going to be hell travelling with a baby, but if you want it then it’s a yes.”

“Yes.” Charlie looked at Blake as she spoke, her head resting on her boyfriend’s shoulder. “I just…yes. Today made me realise why Callum has loved racing for so many years. And yeah it’s gonna be hard and it’s gonna hurt and Blake and I will be moping around when we’re apart. But you’ve got a deadline, right?”

“End of 2026. The baby’s in pre-kindy from 2027, proper school the year after. We want to be well settled before that happens.” His hand rubbed Em’s bump as he spoke, Charlie nodding.

“I can do that. It’s a yes from me.” She faced Blake fully and Em felt like she was intruding watching them as Charlie’s voice got thick. “I love you. And this is going to be so hard. But we know it’ll be hard and that’s how we’ll make it through. We’ll figure it out somehow. But if they’re travelling the world with a baby then that child’s uncle Blake needs to be right there too, yeah? So we’re doing this.”

Blake pushed a kiss to his girlfriend’s forehead. “If Chuck says yes then I say yes. It’s all her.”

Em looked up at Dan, at the determination on his face. Her sunshine boy who’d won nine races, all of them at different tracks. Who deserved the world and who people finally realised was as talented as he’d always said he was.

“Yeah. I really want this. Thanks for letting me try for it.”

“Ooof.” The butterflies in her stomach solidified for a moment, a weird feeling against Em. “Oh my god. The baby agrees. They just kicked I think.”

“What? Seriously?” Dan pushed his hand on her belly and Em could feel the movement properly. Their baby was there and safe and was going to be fine.

“Yeah. They did it again when you pushed. So we’re doing this? Three more years of chaos?”

“Three more years of chaos.”

Em sat against her husband, their best friends on the other couch. Charlie had quickly become someone she trusted more than almost anyone else. She’d kept their secrets, and in return Em was going to do everything in her power to make sure that Blake and Charlie got their happy ending.

The good mood from the win stayed that way the entire night. It was a lazy, lazy night with them watching a movie. Callum texted Charlie that he was down at main stage before going back to his hotel, Joe and Grace stayed in their own motorhome. Everything was hitting Em all at once. Dan won Silverstone. He won her home race. As she went to bed that night it was all that she could think about.

The next morning was chaos. They had hotel rooms booked because of the tyre test, and the caravan and motor home were being taken back by the rental agency. Instead they were packing to move to the hotel, and Em handed Callum her Oyster card before he headed back to London with Grace and Joe. The three of them were staying in Dan and Em’s apartment for the tyre test before they spent time together after it. It was hugs goodbye until Dan and Blake dropped their respective partners off at the same hotel Callum had been staying in. The rooms weren’t ready, but Em and Charlie could sit in the restaurant until they were.

Em hugged Dan goodbye, kissing his cheek.

“Whatever happens this week, you won Silverstone. You have nothing to prove them. Don’t think you do.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Dimples.”

Beside her Charlie was doing the same goodbye, slipping her favourite necklace into Blake’s hand.

“What’s this for? You never take this off, you said it’s a family one.”

“Yeah well it’s for the next couple of hours to give you good luck. Not that you need it, but every little helps.”

“Thanks, Chuck. I love you.”

“Love you too. Go get him that seat, yeah?”

Em watched the two drive off before sitting with Charlie to wait. Now they actually knew what might happen she was ready but terrified.

Taglist: @dr3lover @sabrinaselina55 @majx00 @tall-tanned-tattoo @lovingdennishauger @lauehr @msolbesg @f1medlife @idkwtfimdoing2 @leclercsbae @hiphopdancer101universe @mehrmonga @lewispool @saintandrea-droidsmuggler @coldheartedmar @sugarbabygirlofdaddy @nonsensical-nonce @a-distantdreamer @tita010 @leslizzle @javen @mloyer @magical-imagination-kgp @danarysstormborn @kakorrhaphiphobia @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e @elizanav @neiich @luckyladycreator2 @scotlynaurora @belledawnidk

[jolalibrary]

iii. build me furniture

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter three of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

chapter warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. illusions to smut. frankie builds you furniture, and like that deffo needs a warning.

an: thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for letting me bother you countless times about this.

wordcount: 3.7k

He knows he should check the calendar, but he doesn't.

Frankie, instead, throws his hat on the seat, phone into the cup holder, and shoves the key into the ignition before sparking his vehicle to life. Waiting, and waiting, until he hears the distinct beep of his phone connecting before his finger is seeking your name on the dash, pulling out of the car park.

The dial tone echoes through the bed of his vehicle. The silence between each allowing the sound of tyres crunching the road to fill his ears until your voice soon plugs the quiet.

It’s heavenly, all sweet, layered ever so slightly by an edge of sarcasm—What do you want, Morales?

After some back and forth, a slight deviation in his journey, you’re buckling yourself in beside him. His hat in your lap, your perfume filling the car as he pulls away from the front of your house.

He hopes it soaks into the fabric—clings to the interior of his car. A thought, he suspects he shouldn’t have, but allows to swirl and twirl in his mind all the same.

“Bit spontaneous of you, Mr Calendar.”

Shifting in his seat, he checks the mirrors, watching from the corner of his eye as you did your usual. It starts with checking his glovebox, for what—he’s never quite sure—to closing the vents, to fiddling with the station or volume of his radio.

If it were anyone else, he’d kick up a fuss. But, not you—never you.

“I can’t believe you was gonna ask someone else to take you to IKEA.”

Rolling your eyes, you lean back in your seat—eyes doing that thing. Where they warm him, sizzle his skin under his clothes. “I wasn’t asking anyone, I was asking Will.”

“Still.”

“I thought you were busy. Your calendar was blocked out.”

“So, you’d have asked me first if I was free?”

It leaves his tongue teasingly, and a part of him means it as such. But another, a darker-tinged part—one forever covered in shade, where things fester, and happiness has wilted—means for it to be tainted with bitterness. The embers of jealousy brimming, licking, nipping at the words as they filter out into the air.

“You’re my best friend, Frank. Of course, I’d rather go pick out an entryway table with you.”

“Good job my day opened up then, isn’t it?”

You only hum. It being followed by a smooth, almost comforting silence that falls across the vehicle as he drives. His elbow leaning on the door, fingernails tapping against the window to the beat of a song which thrums through him.

He can’t help it, but his eyes flit back to you—finding you staring out the window, lips moving, whispering along to the words of whatever song filled the truck.

And he shouldn’t think it—shouldn’t even entertain the thought—but fuck you are something.

His hand gripping the steering wheel as the thought undoes itself, it opening itself up within his chest, releasing butterflies and confetti that, in time, will fall absently to the base of his stomach. Because—

“I don’t want anything too big,” you announce suddenly. Your head turns, rolling on the seat as you lift your leg up, present, but eyes unfocusing as you think. “Just near the wall, where the chest currently is—think it’ll look nice.”

Swallowing, he nods. “It will.”

He’s not sure what to do with the way you smile. The way you beam. Illuminating the world on what is already a nice sunny day, adding something extra to it. So, he does nothing. Letting the vehicle fall into silence again. Your foot occasionally taps the floor, muttering lyrics as he lightly thuds his fingers against the roof until he enters the parking lot, hunting for a space.

Frankie has been here countless times.

For his place, for yours—for ex-partners who over-romanticised a trip here. But, it was furniture. A warehouse full of pre-arranged rooms and ideas, accessories flowing out of bins and plants swirling around light fixtures in a zone they try to make look close to a jungle.

“You know what you’re looking for?” he asks, walking in step with you.

Shaking your head, you nudge him with your elbow. “Good job your day opened up, right?”

Nudging you back, he turns on the spot—facing you, walking backwards. “Shotgun pushing the trolley.”

“You’re such a big fucking kid, Morales.”

And, he’d let his cheeks burn under your words, but he sees the look on your face. The unfiltered delight, how it glides from you and lands straight in the centre of his chest.

He’d scribbled the aisle number on the piece of paper three zones previous.

Your fingers had been running over the display table—a little smile etching itself across your cheek as he flicked up the paper, writing the information he needed.

“The pencil looks tiny in your hand.”

Smirking, he stuck it behind his ear before poking your side. “It’s a tiny pencil.”

When you look at him, you’re smirking—a thought running, all restless in your mind. He can tell. Can practically hear your mischievous wheels turning in your brain.

“We done?”

“Nope.”

The ‘P’ pops intentionally, your body turning to face him, hand on the base of the cart—walking backwards, an unreadable smile spreading out over the place your smirk had just lived.

“Need candles, plants—and I would really love your opinion on a new throw cushion.”

“Fuck. Maybe I should have let Will bring you,” he grins, nudging the cart into your side as you laugh sarcastically.

If he was honest with himself, Frankie knows he’d spend all day in here with you. Get to play house in your two’s weird, twisted way.

Because he'd liked it earlier when you called him to come and look at a display kitchen, hand pretending to fry the plastic eggs in the pan as you tell him to check the fridge for OJ. From the twinkle in your eye, you liked it when he called you honey and asked if you wanted to watch the sports channel with him—you hovering in the doorway of the display living area, shaking your head.

If anything, though, it made the knot in his stomach tighten.

The one that’s been loosening and binding since the moment in your kitchen, the moment in his, the bedroom and your sofa.

“Frankie, c’mere.”

Pushing the trolley, he finds you—of course—in a sea of shelves filled with candles. Various shades, an array of scents, some more overwhelming than others, as you lift a left and then a right to your nose, before jutting your head.

“Smell this.”

Lifting the candle to his nose, he inhales, watching you—before his face scrunches, yanking his head back as you burst into laughter. It flows out from your throat to your eyes, nose scrunching, hand clasping his forearm as you lean into him, muttering in half-breaths and laughing that it’s awful, right?

The scent is, but the moment isn’t.

Composure sets in, wiping the joy from your face gradually as you place another back. His hand finding one, a white pot—simple, plain, glass. Lifting it to his nose, he’s immediately transported to your place. A candle he smells so often, it unlocks a host of memories that suddenly balloon inside of him—pulling a smile across his lips, before he tilts it to your face, watching your fingers wrap around his wrist, gently, softly.

“This is the one you usually buy, right?”

Flicking from the candle to him, he almost loses his breath. More so when you let a different smile grace your lips, one that makes his heart skip a beat.

“Y-yeah. It’s my favourite.”

Nodding, he forces a swallow, before he puts it in the bag inside the trolley—your brow arching, smile fading. “It’s mine too.”

“You burn candles?”

Smirking, he tilts his head, he grabs another, and another. “What? I don’t strike you as someone who burns candles?”

“No, Morales. You seem like someone who’d accidentally burn their house down.”

“Yeah, maybe. But, maybe I can buy these and keep them at yours.”

If you’re conflicted, you don’t show it. Staring for a second, and another, until you shrug. Something there, desperate to glide over your cheeks, but he knows whatever it is, it’s forced back. He can tell.

It’s a thing he’s about to point out and poke fun at you for—especially when the two of you haven’t stopped staring. Focused. Entirely too much, if the next second is anything to go by. Because you clear your throat, avert your eyes, turning—rather quickly—not seeing it, the other shopper’s trolley full of poorly stacked packages.

And it’s instinct, he thinks. Tells himself.

The way his mouth curls around your name, but his arm is already reaching out. Fingers first, then palm, until he’s wrapping his forearm around your waist and pulling, twisting you into him. His other hand all quick to follow his movements, grasping your shoulder with the other until your body is flush with his—head, avoiding the other person’s trolley full of long boxes.

Your gasp hits his ears, as your eyes land on him.

They’re wide, wild—painted in surprise, fright and amazement. Your pupils having swallowed all the colour—until you blink, and he realises his chest is falling and rising in tandem with yours.

“Should look where you’re going, querida.”

If at all possible, your eyes widen. His fingers release your shoulder, hovering, half-tempted to brush his knuckles against your cheek—but he drops them to his side.

Even if all he thinks is: this is nice—holding you this close.

It pulsating within him, until he lets go. Watching you step back—eyes still on him, all unreadable and surprised.

“We should…”

“Yeah. Let’s,” he replies, quickly.

Pushing the trolley in the direction you’re heading, feeling his cheeks burn, his ears following not that long behind.

Fuck he looks good.

Your mouth goes dry for the billionth time in the last five minutes. Having already found yourself needing the reminder that you have a glass in your hand—even more so when he looks up at you from his place knelt on the floor.

The two of you had chosen to also buy a set of drawers to match—ones that would fit in the corner, and store the six thousand candles you own. As though he hadn’t played a part in why that amount had grown.

“You listenin’ to me?”

Not at all. “Hmm?”

“Where’s the toolbox I made up for you?”

It’s easy to let your face fall into a two-step. For your brow to arch as his question pulls it, and your lips slide into your cheek. “Wherever you left it when you made it me.”

Your name falls from his lips—satiny, yet laced with disappointment—as he slowly gets up, leaving his spread-out instructions, many screws, and bits and bobs he’d laid out before he could even attempt to build it.

Frankie has always been more sensible—more structured. You’d witnessed him build things before, always following the same pattern, the same checks he’d do—to the point you wonder if he has an order when he flies. Whether he has a to-do list in his head he has to run through, one that doesn’t beat to the same drum as what is needed, but rather a curated one by him, just for him.

By the time he’s back, you’ve downed half your glass, finding—like the last—it does nothing to quench you. Not in the way you’d hoped, least of all when he removes his hat, throws it to the sofa, and you see the dampened edges of his curls.

Your brain betrays you. Reminding you—in vivid shades and high-definition, how you’d liked the feel of them in your hand. How he’d like them tugged, pulled when he was deep, his thumbs digging bruises into the back of your thighs—your hand all desperate for leverage, for something. You’d liked the home they found in his head, earning yourself the trophy of a groan that shot sparks through your already overstimulated body.

Blinking, you shake your head.

Trying to think of something, anything—

“I need to ask you something.”

His eyes lift, fixing on you as he kneels back down—all vast brown landing on you, coating you, smothering you in warmth that only he ever can.

“I’m starving, Frankie. Please, can I order us food?”

It takes a second, two at most. His face shifts into a frown before it smooths out, realisation dawning, crashing out over him.

“To say thank you,” you add, fluttering your eyelashes, face smooth.

Sighing, he licks his lips. “I’ll let you order, if you can keep your hands to yourself.”

Rolling your eyes, you move from the floor. “Yes, Morales. Because cheese dripping down your chin really does it for me.”

Grinning, he wipes the back of his hand against his forehead. “I don’t know your kinks.”

Competency, you quickly think—almost hum it. Especially when he slides another wooden leg into place—not even glancing at the instructions this time. You, your brain follows up with, immediately banishing, forcing it away, storing it in some box marked do not ever fucking open.

His grunts as he builds being added to the same box as you order the food. They’re all punchy, low—and it sparks memories which shouldn’t be present when you’re ordering food.

Not if you want to keep a level head, because you’re not entirely sure what playing field the two of you are on tonight. Prior to today, it’s all been planned—blocked out in both calendars, clear, rooted in the rules the two of you had laid.

The boundaries all spelt out.

But this, today and tonight, is now two people—two friends—who are moving to the beat of their own drum. The same two who hung out like this before the entanglement had begun, and while you know this, something else whispers around the logic.

It isn’t drowned out when you’ve ordered, or when you’re hanging in the open doorway—watching him, ogling him, basking in how normal it is that he’s here.

“Can I build something?”

Smirking, he leans back on his knees. “You can build a drawer.”

“Because they’re the most important part?”

He smirks wider, more teeth—a flicker in his eyes.

Because you know why he’s left you with drawers. Your earlier mishaps with furniture building had set a rule that you should be nowhere near a hammer, nails or flat-pack furniture—especially if you wanted it to be usable.

“Or, you can pass me the bits I need,” he offers.

Simpler, you swear you hear him think.

So you do. You pass each tool, each fixing. Watching in awe as he slowly ignores the paper, not even bothering to turn the pages as the thing slowly becomes an entryway table—a thing which you can store and put things on.

In the time he builds, your face aches from smiling, and your stomach hurts from lack of food and laughter. So much so, you don’t realise the time until the pizza arrives—him standing, all but trying to force money into your hand until you kick him in the shin.

By the time the two of you are back on the floor, the box open, scent immediately filling your home, he’s still complaining.

“Bet I have a bruise.”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo. Eat ya damn pizza, Morales.”

Grinning, he takes a messy bite.

And you know what you said earlier. Are distinctly aware that the thoughts you’re having are crossing all sorts of lines, even if the two of you never specified rules. Because, you want to trace your tongue over his chin, catch the sauce that’s sat there, climb into his lap, grind your lap into his—

“You’re staring.”

Blinking, you swallow. “Forgot what an animal you are when you eat.”

“You’re rude, y’know that?”

Grinning back, you take another bite. Aware of the way he’s staring now. Feeling the way it runs up and down your body, your fingers brushing against your thumb to remove the dust.

Clearing his throat, he averts his eyes. Focusing on a spot on the floor, toying with taking another bite. You’re so close to asking him why, when his mouth opens, and something falls out you don’t expect:

“You think friends build each other furniture?”

You pause because it’s unexpected. A warmth floods your cheeks when he lifts his stare back to you. Waiting—for what, you’re not sure.

Clearing your throat, you lean back, palm pressing into the floor—rooting you, keeping you stable. “Well. I was gonna ask Will, remember?”

He says nothing. Doesn’t even move to eat the last two bites of pizza in his hand.

“I think friends as good as us,” you say, needing to fill it—the silence, “can do lots of things together, and still be able to…”

“Reap the awards of unlocked benefits?”

“Exactly,” you manage to croak.

Feeling it again. The way the air thickens. Something charging, all electric, lightning and thunder.

“I meant it earlier—about asking me.”

“Your calendar is rather full, Frankie.”

Wiping his hand on the box, he shoots a smile. “Nunca estoy ocupada para ti.”

Your smile pulls itself across your face, chin dipping, ears warming. It settling, the meaning of his words, sweltering in the tension that seems to double until you ask if he’s done. Excusing yourself, mumbling about tubbing up the rest. Letting him continue, not much left anyway, he’d said. It’s why you take longer, tidying—putting things away that have lived on your counters forever.

Because this is new and foreign. All of it.

The way things are flowing inside of you, bubbles of feelings you want to ignore but find them rising up in the sea that’s suddenly ever-present and just fucking there.

“I’m done.”

Your hands spread over your kitchen counter, taking in the cold of them—the feel of them—as you let a big breath fill your chest. Whether for courage or strength, you weren’t sure. But it fuelled you to turn to face him, but not quite enough to settle the fluttering in your stomach as you walk back to him in the living room—finding him standing, admiring it.

Just like you should be.

But your eyes are on something else—someone else.

Lingering up and down. Seeing him differently, things all mixed up inside, jumbled, out of sorts.

“It looks good,” you whisper, aware your voice has dropped an octave.

Even more aware that your shoulder is close to his, a gap barely there between the two of you. And it’s hard not to stare at him. To not marvel at him. How he’s soft and muscular, firm and strong—how you’ve seen his arms flex when he’s between your thighs and when he’s building your furniture.

Licking your lips, you don’t blink when his head turns, and he meets your stare.

You don’t fight the way your eyes drop to his mouth.

Instead, you just move into it. Slanting your mouth over his, tongue brushing over his bottom lip as your fingers slide around his neck, burying themselves in his curls as you become aware that his arms are around your waist. Then, you’re kissing him hard, dizzying.

Heat, all bubbling and ferocious, grows inside of you—spreading, beginning at the base of your spine, until it’s curling up and around everything it can to lick at your throat. Every sense, nerve and thought orienteering and honed in on him. How his body feels pressed against yours, how his mouth feels on yours.

“Frankie,” you moan.

It escapes, his name passing your lips as he buries the sound with a groan of his own. But, you've opened the gate—it flung open now, more escaped syllables and letters following it.

Want you.

Wanted you all fucking day.

Think about you all the time.

Your fingers slide up the front of his t-shirt, darting the tips of them over his stomach, resting your palm against his hip as he walks you back to the wall—stability needed as his hips find yours.

Dios mío, eres tan sexy.

The words have barely washed over you, when you feel his fingers under your chin, lifting your chin, forcing you to hold his stare. Proving a chance to back out. A momentary break.

A get-out to keep the night friendly, rather than whatever the two of you now call the thing you do. But, if anything, you want—

“Bet that pencil would look real small next to your—”

“Shh,” he whispers, cutting you off.

His grin spreading, all large and not easily contained or bit back—ghosting it over yours, the tip of his nose tracing yours.

His fingers sliding further up your neck, his thumb catching your chin and the fire in his eyes almost makes you forget how to think, never mind breathe.

“Really want to fuck you on your new table.”

“You think IKEA build furniture to support how we do it?”

He ponders, you can see it. Sweeping his eyes up and down your frame. The maths running, there suddenly an array of equations in the blown pupils of his eyes as his fingers circle and swirl on your neck and hip. “If I break it, I’ll replace it.”

“You’ll be doing that forever, Morales.”

You see it bloom, his cockiness. It swallowing whatever remainders there were of the shy friend you used to know, replacing him with the cock-sure person who regularly makes your thighs shake and your brain empty.

“Building furniture gets you going, does it?”

The hand on your hip drops, finding a place along the tops of your thighs—and even through your jeans, you can already feel him. The strokes of lightening up and down your body, the way he makes you become putty.

The point is proven when he slides his hand between your thighs, a gasp escaping, easily kissed from your tongue by his lips.

“Not usually,” you whimper, his ministrations halting. “Just you building it. Apparently.”

And fuck, you swear you’re swallowed by lava, from both the look he shoots you and the way his mouth crashes back to yours.

chapter three ->

[liberalsarecool]

#TyreNichols was treated as subhuman by police. Police report was fabricated, written to dehumanize Tyre in death.

You can't reform that hatred for the public.