#and maybe it was something that needed to happen for me to be okay

[bluewxrld07]

Soap (2)

Lando Norris X F!Reader

Summary: Y/N has always loved hard and shows that through affection. Especially lately. She's a touch-starved kind of lovergirl, and Lando has always been okay with it. At least she thought so.

Guess I better wash my mouth out with soap

Warning(s): angst, possessiveness, physical altercations

A/N: Tag list is completely full!! You guys are amazing wtf😭🩵 The keyboard got away from me, guys. Good luck getting through this🤧. Oops hehe. There's a poll at the bottom, so feel free to vote after reading. See u soon, friends

The world was quiet.

It was calm, especially after all the noise from the race weekend.

Y/N was tired. She couldn't keep her eyes open, her mental state just shutting down the more she stayed awake.

It felt as if she was feeling everything at once, and that brought her to the point of numbness. Feeling nothing at all. Just complete tiredness.

Max looked back from the front seat, seeing her state, fighting the exhaustion from all the crying and debriefs they had stuck around for. He could see her mind shutting down, her eyes lazily following the objects that they passed by.

She had told him she would come out with them, despite the way her eyes were puffy as she assured him.

At this point, he would put a chair in front of the door to prevent her from leaving. There would always be another opportunity for her to go out with them. He couldn't bear to see how she'd try to hold herself while being out at a loud restaurant. Not after what happened.

It was the way Max's heart broke as he heard her sob to herself in his arms.

The last time he had ever seen her cry, let alone cry like this, was when her childhood cat had to be put down. That was almost six years ago.

She's the strongest person he's ever met, ever seen. Especially with what she deals with on a daily basis.

The girl was now slowly letting her eyes close, barely fighting it. Her eyes felt too sore and heavy to put any more battle into keeping herself fully conscious.

When they arrived back at the hotel, Max couldn't help but jump out of the car and quickly open her door.

He didn't hesitate to wrap one arm under her legs, the other around her back, before lifting her into his arms. His security guard scurried over with his arms out to take her instead, Max shaking his head. "I've got her, don't," he sternly orders, the guard nodding slowly before backing away and guiding them inside.

Max felt her grip tighten on his black button-up, clenching and unclenching as she tried fighting her tiredness.

He reached his hotel room, letting his guard swipe the keycard as Max nodded at him. "I won't be long," he says to him, receiving a nod as he holds the door open for the pair.

His guard closes the door behind them, standing outside to give Max privacy, while the driver walks Y/N over to his bed. He sets her body down softly on the mattress, watching her stir slightly to look at him with a furrow.

"Max," she mutters, her eyes barely able to keep her eyes open. "What's-"

He shook his head with a hum, sitting by her side and caressing her cheek. "No," he says. "You need to rest."

Her puffed eyes tried to look up at him through her lashes, and Max rubbed a thumb over the dried tears that sat on her cheek. "What about dinner?"

He chuckles softly. "There'll be plenty more," he nods down at her. "You need to let your body and mind rest after today," he tells her. He watches her softly grab his wrist, only to hesitate before her fingers could wrap around his skin, deciding against it and putting her hand down.

Max frowns as she turns away from him. "Schat?" he asks in confusion.

She shook her head. "Please just don't," her voice sounding shaky. "You're doing enough. I don't want to suffocate you."

Max swears his chest tightens at her words. She had never pushed his touch away. Let alone anyone's. "Schat, you aren't."

"Maybe there is something wrong with me. Maybe I shouldn't be this way."

Oh, he was going to kill Lando.

Instead of saying anything else, knowing if she turned away, that she was truly done talking, he stood up and leaned over her with both of his hands caging her small figure in, holding him up from crushing her. He lets his lips press to her temple.

"You're never suffocating," he assures her. "Your love and affection with everyone is my favorite thing about you."

With that, he stands up slowly and turns around to walk towards the door to leave. He doesn't miss the way he hears her sobs quietly leave her lips, Max fighting with himself to just stay there and hold her the rest of the night.

Yet he knew that when she wanted space, which was a rare sighting, to give her the space she was creating.

Once he let the door shut softly behind him, he kept his head down while his mind raced a million miles a minute. His guard spoke up after a few moments. "Max?"

The Dutch driver clenches his jaw for a second, his head snapping up with a darker look in his eyes.

"Let's go, or we'll be late."

They were both off shortly after that, Max's pace faster with every step he took. He could feel his insides burning. Twisting.

The drive was quiet as they made their way to the restaurant, Max keeping his gaze out the window as he fidgeted with his bottom lip. His jaw was clenching and unclenching every other moment.

He didn't hesitate to whip his door open once they arrived, not giving the valet driver a chance to open it for him.

He was walking like he had a purpose, and in that moment, he did.

Once his eyes found the large table where the other drivers were sitting, he felt his face harden when he didn't see the familiar McLaren driver there.

The drivers all smile at Max when they see him, some of them soon frowning at his glare.

"Where's Norris?" his voice boomed out, not missing the flinches from a few of the guys that were close to him.

Oscar, being the only one who knew what was about to happen, answers first. "Max, don't."

Max scoffs and swats at him. "Geef me die onzin niet, where is he?" (Don't give me that shit, where is he?)

Everyone's demeanor had dropped immediately, knowing that when Max started speaking Dutch, he was not to be messed with. He was already pissed, and when a pissed off Max is near, nobody wanted to be in that damage path.

"Where?" his voice booms, getting some stares thrown his way. He didn't care.

"I think he went to the bathroom. Said something about needing to freshen up," Pierre announces, not failing to watch as Max makes his way over towards the direction of the restrooms.

Once Max found the hallway leading down to the men's room, he pushed the door open, seeing Lando in front of the sink, patting water over his face. His gaze slowly turned over when he heard the door slam open, his entire face falling and turning white.

"Max-"

"Jij verdomde klootzak," (You fucking bastard) he laughs bitterly, stalking closer to Lando, who was backing away slowly as the Dutch driver got closer.

"How dare you?" Max growls. "Hm? How fucking dare you?" his tone getting louder before he pushes Lando hard. Lando put his hands up in surrender, trying to sputter out apologies.

"I give you my fucking blessing for her, and this? This is how you treat her? Are you fucking serious, Norris?" his voice booms, echoing across the bathroom walls. He pushes Lando harshly with every word that leaves his mouth.

"Max, look. I was upset with the race, I didn't-"

"I don't give a fuck if it's about the DNF. I wouldn't give a fuck if you got a disqualification penalty! You don't fucking treat her like she's some fucking scum on the bottom of your shoe!" he screams, giving one final hard push to Lando's chest, the thump of his back meeting the marble walls behind him echoing loudly.

"I didn't mean it, I just was frustrated-"

"Jouw gevoelens kunnen mij niks schelen, Norris!" (I don't care about your fucking feelings, Norris!) Max yells back bitterly, his hands slamming against the wall right next to Lando's head. Lando clenched his jaw, holding himself back as he let Max scream at him. He deserved that. He deserved a lot worse if he were honest.

Before he can even put another hand on Lando, Lewis and Oscar scurry inside, grabbing Max by his shoulders to pull him away from Lando.

"Let's not do this," Lewis says to Max as the Dutch fights his hold. He points at Lando.

"You realize you made her cry, Lando? She rarely does, and you made tears fall from her eyes!"

Lando felt his heart clench, his stomach dropping as he remembered the tears glossing over her eyes. "I didn't mean-"

"I held her there, as she sobbed in my arms. Sobbed! Saying she felt like an inconvenience, like she suffocates people. What did you fucking say to her?"

Lando couldn't get the words out, but Max already knew in that moment. His eyes widened, seeing that just by Lando's face alone, it really was all true. He said she was suffocating. Clingy. Lando said her touch was too much. Max scoffs bitterly, rolling his eyes.

"You're fucking dead to me, Norris," he spat, letting Lewis guide him out of the bathroom. "Verdomd dood!" (Fucking dead!) he yells back once more before leaving with Lewis.

Oscar has his arms crossed, turning back to face Lando, who just stands there in shock. "Mate, what did you do?" he asks in a knowing tone, more so making it sound like a rhetorical question.

Lando lets out a strangled sob as he begins to rub his face, sliding down against the wall. "I fucked up is what I did."

"He's going to have your head," he tuts, walking over to his friend and extending a hand. "Literally and figuratively. He's going to kill you next race."

Lando shook his head, keeping his stare over at the door, waiting for Max to come barging back in. "He's gonna kill me before we even make it to practice day."

Once Oscar had helped Lando clean himself up, looking more presentable, they left the men's room.

They made it to the table, seeing Max's spot was still empty, Lando felt his insides churn. Waiting for Max to pop up behind him somehwere.

"Where's Max?" Oscar asked as they sat down.

Lewis answers this time. "He left," he admits. "He said he'd rather be taking care of Y/N than be here. Said if he stayed any longer, he was going to throw something at Lando or drag him out by his ear."

Lando let out a groan, letting his head fall onto the table with a thud.

"Mate, what the actual fuck did you do to piss him off so badly?" Charles asked across the table. Lando just shook his head.

"He made Y/N cry from my understanding," Lewis reveals, causing every single head at the table to turn to Lando.

"What did you do? She never cries," George spoke up, a frown on his face. Most of the guys agreeing, being just as confused as Russell was.

Oscar spoke up this time, pursing his lips. "He let his anger out on her. Said she's suffocating and clingy basically."

"Oscar!" Lando seethes, snapping his head over at his teammate, a glare on his face. Oscar shrugged while sipping his drink, all the guys exchanging whispers and groans at Lando.

"Mate, you fucked up. Bad," Oscar says, not backing down.

"You're absolute toast."

"Max is going to have your head on a stick."

"I'm shocked he didn't drag you out already."

"Mate, you're in deep shit. Max doesn't play when it comes to her."

Lando groans before raising his hands to stop them from commenting more.

"I know. Guys, I know!" he snaps, making them all go quiet. "I just- I let my anger get hold of my emotions at the wrong time. I regret it with everything in me. I do."

"You don't realize how bad that is. You're lucky he let you even get a chance to be with her. His possessive ass," Lewis scoffs more to himself as he shook his head, sipping on his drink. The entire table looks his way, Lando frowning at his words.

"What's supposed to mean?" Lando sputters, feeling offended by Hamilton's words.

Lewis set his drink down, crossing his arms over the table while leaning towards Lando's direction.

"It means he doesn't share," he admits. "Not Y/N at least."

Lando feels his heart drop to his ass.

No. There was no way. He would've known.

Lando tilts his head, eyes squinting knowingly. He shook his head. "No. He's not, there's no way."

George cuts in, eyebrows furrowing. "What am I missing?"

Lewis leans back in his chair. "Max has been in love with Y/N for years," He says, reaching for his drink once more. Everyone at the table stays silent. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

"When she told him she wanted to be with you, he wanted her to be happy. After everything she helped him through growing up, she was his escape. Especially when his dad was harsh on him. He vowed to always make sure she was happy. He knew you could give her that, but he fought himself a lot with going against it."

Lando feels his insides caving as Lewis reveals every word. "He saw how happy you made her. That's all he ever wants for her, even if it's not him," he chuckles, seeing Lando's face. "He did say if it didn't work out between you two, that he would make that move."

Lando leans back in his seat with a groan, head falling back while he rubs his face out of stress, curses leaving his lips.

"So, if you thought you had any chance to win her back, Max is going to try and beat you to it. You probably have lost your chance," Lewis points out, sipping on his drink.

"And if we know anything about Max." George trails off.

"He never loses. Especially when it's something he wants."

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It was the next morning. Clouds covered the sky as it cried.

Max sat with his back against the headboard of his bed, hearing the door open from the bathroom. Y/N just finishing up a shower.

She hadn't really slept. When she would finally hit a deeper level of slumber, she would jolt up crying.

She didn't even let Max get close to her, not wanting to be touched, which was a new thing she was doing. Max hated it. He hated that she felt as if her needing and wanting touch to calm down was too much.

So he would sit there, feeling helpless, as she just held herself.

He had snuck down the hallway earlier that morning while she was somewhat asleep, packing up all of her things that were in her hotel room, bringing them up to his own. Knowing full well she'd end up doing that in the morning anyway.

She hated being alone when she was hurting. It was rare, but when it happened, Max was always there. He could always pick up on it.

He straightens up slightly when she walks around the corner, donning a pair of her sweats and one of his Redbull t-shirts. Deciding to stick with comfier pair of clothes for the flight back home.

Max had declined going to the F1 premiere, wanting to focus on Y/N as well as just not liking the idea of being stuck in New York around the press. Or having to keep things professional with Lando when he wanted to run him over with his car.

"You all packed up?" he asks softly, watching her nod.

He doesn't miss the way her face was blotched and puffy again, signaling she had cried a bit more while in the bathroom.

"Schat," he trails off in a sadder tone, getting up from his bed to walk to her. Y/N backs away from Max, shaking her head. "Please," she croaks. "Just don't touch me. Not right now."

Max stops in his tracks, feeling his heart hurt at her words. He nods reluctantly, deciding instead to busy himself with gathering both of their bags. His gaze going to see outside by the entry, seeing some fans and paps already waiting by the cars.

"They're lining up outside," he says slowly, handing her a hoodie to throw over her head. She says nothing, only sniffling as she puts it on.

The pair don't say anything more as they finished grabbing their things, leaving the hotel room to head downstairs.

Max would usually stop to take a few photos with the fans that stood outside, but he was only keeping his mind on getting Y/N past the crowd.

The security guards held the front door open as they saw Max and Y/N making their way outside, another guard going over to open the car door.

Max makes his way in front of her to shield the other side from seeing her, keeping his gaze on her figure. Y/N didn't hesitate to scurry into the car, Max pressing a hand softly on her back to help her up into the car. The man ignored the calls and pleas of his name before stepping inside the car behind her.

The door shuts behind the guard who climbs in after Max, soon being driven off towards the airport.

It was quiet the entire way there, Max keeping a close but safe distance from her in the shared backseat. He doesn't miss how her phone buzzes, seeing her peer down at it only to double-click the home button to decline it.

Lando had been blowing up her phone since the night before. Especially after Max had left, her phone wouldn't stop buzzing.

Y/N declined every call, putting his messages on Do Not Disturb. The more she sat with what he had said to her, the more it made her think back to every time he made a face when she would touch him.

She didn't know how long he felt that way with her, Y/N letting her mind overthink to the point it made her feel sick.

It wasn't good for her, and she knew that. She couldn't help it. Not when she had given herself fully to Lando in every way. Thinking he was it for her. That he was all she wanted. She was all he wanted. So she thought.

Max watched as she began to pinch at the skin on her wrists, something she did when her mind wouldn't stop running.

"Genoeg lieverd. Je zult je huid weer beschadigen," (Enough, darling. You'll damage the skin again) he says softly to her. She doesn't acknowledge his words, only pinching harder to try and stop her mind.

Max didn't hesitate in the next few moments, not caring if she yelled or glared at him as he touched her. He reached over to grab her hands, holding onto them. She snaps her gaze away from the window with a frown.

He looks at her. "If you're going to pinch skin, pinch mine. Not yours," he instructs. Y/N doesn't see anything but assurance in his eyes, Max nodding slowly with a hum. "You can't hurt me. You never could."

Y/N bites her lip before nodding. Max has her lean into his body as she begins to fidget again. But this time, with his own hands.

Max lets his head fall onto her own, watching her whole body, for the first time in the last day, soften. The more she fidgeted, seeing how it didn't hurt or affect him in any way, the more it relaxed her mind. She didn't know why.

It brought her a calming sensation, feeling Max's touch against her own body, and it made her whole body begin to relax.

Once they had arrived at the airport, Max didn't release her hands once. He kept his hands laced with her own. He only removed them once to adjust his hold, having her walk behind him as he made her lace her hands with his behind his back. They stayed that way as they walked up into the jet.

Max helped her set her backpack down on one of the cushioned chairs, and that was the time he released her hands.

He thanked the flight attendant crew as they loaded their things onto the jet, then exchanged a few words with his security guard and publicist.

Y/N stood there with an exhausted look in her eyes, just wanting to finally sleep. Let her mind and her body rest.

Once Max was done talking to them, he made his way over towards her figure. He didn't say anything, only guiding her to the back of the private jet. Y/N followed him slowly, Max opening the door to the small bedroom.

A bed in the corner, a TV sitting in front of it, while there was a recliner chair embedded into the floor on the other side of the room with a table in front of it.

This was usually where Max disappeared to when they had long flights, knowing he tried sleeping whenever he could get the chance.

He shut the door behind her softly before crawling into bed and getting comfy. Max turns back to her, seeing her stand there looking absolutely defeated.

"Come on," he assures, motioning for her to come lie down. Y/N shrugs. "I don't want to take up your space."

Max gives her a knowing look, clenching his jaw. "You could never. You know that," he says, his tone more stern. "Lay down."

Instead of her prying and arguing more, knowing she wouldn't win it, she doesn't fight it, not having anything left in that moment. Y/N cautiously goes to climb in, keeping her distance as best as she can. Giving him his space.

Max notices her actions, immediately ignoring the eyeroll he wanted to do, and wraps his arms around her waist to pull her back towards his figure.

She lets out a low squeak at his actions, and Max turns her to lie against him. He doesn't miss the way her body instantly caves into his side, him helping her lie her head on his chest as he laces their hands together in case she begins to pinch and pick at her skin again.

"Je hoeft je geen zorgen te maken, ik heb je lieverd," (You don't have to worry, I got you darling) he mumbles against her temple. He hears her sigh, the way he knows she is fighting with her body in her head. The way she tries to tense, but her body craves every touch that's being given to her. "Sleep."

That's all he has to mutter to her before her eyes finally begin to close, the closeness of another one's body heat lulling her into a deeper slumber.

Max kisses her head, letting his thumb caress the top of her hand as he feels the tenseness in her body falter away. He kisses her head once more.

"I've got you."

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N: Me after pressing "Post now"

Sooooooo hehe.... That got away from me, and I'm not sorry. Lando is a dumbass as we know. Are we loving a protective Max? How're we feeling overall, friends? Vote below. I love you guys <3, I'll see you soon ;)

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[malsmind]

vampire!chris 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 bsf!reader 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘥

🕸 - content warnings: ★ munch!chris ★ biting ★ breaking skin/drawing blood ★ 'drinking' blood ★ overstimulation ★ mentions of period blood ★ multiple orgasms ★ chris creaming his pants ★

you didn’t mean to fall asleep on the couch. but the cramps had been hell all day, the heat pack long since gone cold, and the only thing making it bearable was the weight of chris’s arm draped lazily across your waist, warm and grounding. he was scrolling through something on his phone when you stirred, groaning softly as another ache twisted through your lower stomach.

“still hurting?” he asked, voice quiet, fingers already brushing your side.

you nodded, curling in on yourself slightly. “worse now.”

he didn’t hesitate. just set his phone down and turned toward you, sliding his hand over your hip, slow, comforting. his touch was warm. familiar.

“want me to help?” he asked, already dipping lower, lips brushing against your temple.

you didn’t need to think about it. “yeah. please.”

because chris was good at it. too good. every time he did this for you, it left you shaking, breathless, skin on fire and heart cracked wide open. and yeah—maybe it wasn’t just about helping with cramps. not really. not for him. you saw the shift in him as soon as he knelt between your legs, gently guiding your thighs apart. there was something in his eyes—half-hunger, half-reverence. and god, the way his hands touched you, even now, like you were something holy.

“you’re so warm,” he muttered against your inner thigh, breath hot. “always sweeter like this…”

his words made you shiver.

it started slow. it always did. soft kisses, his fingers stroking your hips while he worked you open with his mouth, careful and unhurried. you buried your hand in his hair, hips lifting slightly, already melting under him. but then—like every other time—he lost himself.

he groaned low into your pussy, grip tightening on your thighs as his pace changed, mouth hungrier now, more desperate. his fangs had already slipped out, grazing your skin harmlessly, like usual, like always.

except this time… he didn’t stop.

not when your breath hitched. not when your legs shook around him. not even after you came the first time, crying out, body arching off the couch. he didn’t pull away. not after the second one either. and that’s when the pain hit. your whole body jerked, sudden and sharp.

“ow—ow, ow, chris, chris!” you gasped, fingers yanking at his hair.

he froze.

pulled back instantly. his face was flushed, lips slick with your blood, fangs still out—but the panic in his eyes hit you first.

“shit—baby—fuck, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to—did i—?” his eyes dropped to where he’d been between your legs. “i didn’t think i bit—I didn’t mean to—”

you looked down. two small dots of blood, not much. but enough to sting. enough to scare him.

“it’s okay, chris,” you said, still breathless, reaching down to cup his cheek. “i’m okay. really.”

he looked like he didn’t believe you. like he was ready to fall apart.

“do you wanna stop?” he asked quietly, voice rough, fangs slowly retreating.

you shook your head. “no. just… be gentle.”

he swallowed, nodding once. “yeah. yeah, i can do that.”

and he did.

this time his hands were softer, his mouth reverent again, like he was making up for what happened, like every kiss was an apology. you moaned softly, your hips rocking against his tounge, and he whispered your name like it was the only word he knew.

you didn’t expect the third orgasm to hit so hard. didn’t expect to cry out and claw at the couch cushion with how it tore through you. but what really caught you off guard was him.

the way he groaned into you, the way his hips jerked slightly against the couch, grinding down, breath stuttering into something raw and broken. and then—

a sound. low and shaky. a chain of muffled whimpers as he pressed his face deeper into you, whole body trembling. you barely managed to lift your head before you saw it. his jeans. darkened. soaked through. his eyes were squeezed shut. lips still pressed to your skin. completely undone.

he didn’t say anything at first. just exhaled shakily, head resting against your thigh now, like he couldn’t bring himself to move. you blinked at him, heart thudding.

“…did you just—?”

his jaw clenched. and you could feel the embarrassment radiating off him, even as he nodded once, face buried in your leg like he wanted to disappear. a long beat of silence. then you reached down and ran your fingers through his hair gently, your voice soft.

“…that’s hot.”

he peeked up at you, just barely.

“hot? didn’t find it weird or nothin’?”

you smiled, still dazed, still floating. “no. made you cream ya pants.”

he scoffed, shaking his head, resting it back against your thigh. “yeah…first ‘n last…”

you stayed there for a while, coming down from the multiple orgasms his tongue worked you trough. usually, he’d clean you up with the same care he always had.

but for now—you just laid there. like nothing else mattered. because it really didn’t in that moment.

a/n: ik i done a lot of these, but it's his fav meal... c'mon..

[flowergirl1243]

soft launch season - [part four]

SUMMARY: when Lando Norris' notorious party boy reputation may be too far out of control to save, you step in to save his image (and maybe his heart).

PAIRING: lando norris x fem!reader

part one part two part three part four part five part six

ACT 4: GRID SHOW

Liked by lando, oscarpiastri and others ynusername first grand prix, kinda nervy

lando didn’t know spectators could make the drivers more nervous than the track tbh

user22 her debut. their debut. our debut.

user23 what is life. i may have passed away

They found a corner.

Not a glamorous one. Just a sliver of shade behind the motorhome, out of sight from cameras and engineers and the constant hum of nerves. The sun was already high, bouncing off the asphalt, casting sharp lines across the ground. The sound of zippers, tools clinking, voices through radios, all of it was beginning to rise around them like pressure.

But here?

Here it was still quiet.

Lando stood in front of her, half-dressed in his fireproofs, race suit peeled down to his waist. He smelled like sunblock and heat. His hair was still damp from the ice towel they’d thrown at him earlier. She reached out and fixed the collar of his base layer, even though it didn’t need fixing.

“You good?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. You?”

He gave her a look, boyish, crooked, transparent. “Lying.”

She smiled. “Okay, a little nervy.”

He leaned in, pressed his forehead against hers.

“I’m the one strapping into a car that could turn me into a crumpled soda can,” he whispered. “You don’t get to be more nervous than me.”

Her hands stayed by her sides, like she didn’t want to make a scene, even here. But he didn’t care.

He brushed his nose against hers. Breathed her in.

This close, she smelled like summer and and that hotel shampoo she always complained about and everything right in life. He didn’t want to step away. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

“Be safe, okay?”

“I always am.”

“You’re not, though.”

He smiled, a real one this time. Tired and a little fragile.

“I will be today,” he said. “You’re here.”

She didn’t kiss him. Didn’t need to.

Just held his gaze for a second longer than anyone else ever did. And then let him go.

He turned away first, but only after she squeezed his hand.

Then let go, slowly, like it hurt, and walked away.

But he didn’t stop feeling her, not for the rest of the day.

She didn’t scream when he crossed the finish line.

Everyone else did, the garage erupted, people grabbing each other, radios blaring, team gear flying into the air, but she just stood there, hands to her mouth, eyes wide, frozen like her heart couldn’t catch up with what just happened.

He won.

He actually won.

The final lap had felt like a dream. Like something too fragile to touch. The way he held off the Ferrari, the precision of every corner, every braking zone, she’d never seen him like that. Sharp. Focused. Ruthless. Untouchable.

And then the radio crackled in the background, Lando’s voice hoarse and disbelieving:

“Monaco, baby!”

“P1, mate. That’s a win. That’s a win.”

It hit her all at once. The noise, the relief, the tears she hadn’t even realised were welling up in her eyes. Her fingers were shaking. Her throat ached.

People were yelling, hugging, climbing the pit wall.

And then, through it all, she saw him, helmet in one hand, suit half unzipped, running.

Not walking.

Not smiling for the cameras.

Running. Straight past every mic and mechanic, eyes scanning the crowd like he couldn’t breathe until he found her.

And then he did.

He didn’t slow down. Just pulled her into his arms with a desperate kind of urgency, like he was trying to hold onto something real before it slipped away.

His body was warm against hers, solid and steady, grounding him. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart, thudding like a drum beneath her hand.

His forehead dropped to her temple, breath ragged and uneven.

“You’re my luck,” he whispered, voice thick. “I needed you here."

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice low and trembling just a little.

She looked up, searching his eyes as if she was measuring the truth behind the question.

“Yes,” she breathed.

His hands moved gently, one slid from her waist up to cup the back of her neck, fingers threading into the loose strands of hair there. The other settled on her hip, steady and grounding.

He leaned in slowly, letting the moment stretch between them, the noise of the crowd fading to a dull hum.

Their lips met, soft, tentative at first, before the quiet urgency beneath it pulled them closer. His touch was careful but certain, his hands holding her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

When they finally parted, his forehead stayed pressed against hers, breath mingling.

No words were needed. Everything they hadn’t said was there, in the lingering warmth of his hands, the steady beat of their hearts, and the way they fit together like something real finally taking shape.

Liked by mclaren, maxverstappen1 and others lando monaco 📷

ynusername there's no peace like you 🤍

user24 they're GONE. they are in LOVE.

user25 i need what they have desperately

The city outside was quiet now. Monaco’s usual hum of traffic and distant laughter had faded into soft whispers carried by the cool night breeze. Inside his apartment, the low light cast golden pools across the room, softening the edges of everything.

She was curled up on the couch, wrapped in one of his oversized hoodies, the one with the faint smell of leather and motor oil that somehow smelled like home. The sleeves swallowed her hands, and she kept pulling them tighter around her fingers, like holding onto the fabric might hold back all the noise and chaos of the day.

He stood in the kitchen, absently stirring his tea, but his eyes never left her. The way she sat there, small and a little vulnerable, made his chest tighten with something he wasn’t ready to name.

He took a slow, deliberate step toward the couch, the quiet creak of his shoes barely noticeable, but in this stillness, it felt like thunder.

Sitting down beside her, he let his shoulder brush against hers. The contact was small, but it made her still. His fingers twitched, almost like they wanted to reach out but were waiting for permission.

When he finally did, his hand slid over hers, thumb brushing her knuckles softly. She didn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers curled around his, tentative at first, then firmer, as if she was afraid to let go.

“You were incredible today,” she said, voice soft, almost a whisper, like she was telling a secret just to him.

He chuckled quietly, the sound low and warm. “I only raced hard because I wanted you to see it.”

Her eyes met his, wide and shimmering in the soft light. “I saw everything. You were...unstoppable.”

The way she looked at him, like he was the only thing she’d been waiting for, made his throat tighten. He shifted just enough to wrap an arm around her, pulling her a little closer without breaking the fragile calm.

She leaned into him, her head resting lightly against his chest, breath warm and steady. He could feel the rise and fall of her breathing, a quiet rhythm that somehow slowed the pounding of his own heart.

For a while, they sat like that, wrapped in the kind of silence that didn’t need filling. The soft glow of the lamp, the faint scent of her shampoo mixed with the leather on his jacket, the comforting weight of her body against his, all of it made everything else fade away.

She lifted her head just enough to look up at him, eyes full of something that made his heart catch.

“Stay with me,” she whispered.

He didn’t hesitate. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb tracing the line of her jaw with infinite care.

“Always,” he said, voice low and sure.

He leaned down slowly, brushing his forehead against hers, savoring the small heat between them. His fingers tangled in her hair, gentle and possessive, holding her close as their lips met in a kiss that was soft but full of everything they hadn’t said yet, hope, fear, promise, and something dangerously like love.

When they finally parted, they stayed close, foreheads touching, breaths mingling in the quiet night.

And in that stillness, surrounded by the calm after the storm, they found a kind of peace neither had been expecting, but both desperately needed.

I actually can't, I had to redo this at least ten times. But anything for the grind. Essentially, I never sleep! Anyways, as always, let me know if you have suggestions or requests for anything else! Also, if you want to join the taglist, as well!!

taglist

@sol3chu, @charlesgirl16, @motorsp0rt, @imdyinghelpplease, @vampgege, @angeltroian, @ceekokocee15, @esw1012, @charlottes-ngvot, @janonymus0

[itsnesss]

Hi Ness! Could you possibly do a imagine where Charles leclerc and reader go to the new "f1 the movie" premier (that just happend) and they are having a fun time, maybe a couple of their friends tease them a bit for being to "couple like" tyy

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 | charles leclerc × fem!reader

summary | you and charles attend the f1: the movie premiere, sweet moments, and your friends can’t help teasing you for acting like a totally smitten couple

warnings | fluff, romance, light teasing from friends, public affection

word count | 1.3 k

🖇 more cl16 🖇 f1 masterlist

The red carpet smells like a mix of expensive perfume, freshly unpacked cameras, and barely contained nerves. You're not used to all this glamour. Still, your hand stays firm in Charles’ grasp, as if that’s enough to remind you you're still on Earth.

Although, with that perfectly tailored suit, his charming-boy smile, and the way he looks at you every time you turn his way… you're not so sure.

"Are you okay?" he asks, leaning down a bit so you can hear him over the noise. The cameras keep flashing with every step.

You nod with a nervous smile.

"I'm okay. Just… a little overwhelmed."

Charles gently squeezes your hand and whispers,

"Don’t let the show scare you. At the end of the day, it’s just you and me. And a movie. And… maybe 200 journalists," he jokes with a raised eyebrow.

You can’t help but laugh. Your laughter relaxes him too.

You walk down the carpet together, stopping for a few photos. He never lets go of your hand. Some people definitely notice. You hear a couple of voices shout his name, then yours, and a French journalist throws out a comment:

"Charles, vous êtes adorablement assortis ce soir!"

("Charles, you two are adorably matched tonight!")

You lower your gaze, trying to hide the smile threatening to give you away. Charles just grins wider.

Inside the venue, the lights dim a bit, but not enough to hide a few familiar faces. Lando is there, dressed like it’s an award show, with that “I’m here because I had to be but I’m kinda enjoying it” vibe. He shoots you a knowing look as you and Charles walk past.

"Oh my God," he says dramatically in a low voice. "Could you two be any more clich�� couple? What’s next, a kiss under fireworks?"

"Don’t tempt them, Charles might actually do it," Pierre replies from the other side, taking a glass of champagne from a tray like it’s his birthday.

You roll your eyes, laughing, but your cheeks are definitely getting warmer. Charles doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you again with that expression that isn’t quite a smile… but definitely not indifferent. Something else.

"We’re just happy," you reply, raising an eyebrow at Lando.

"Uh-huh. ‘Happy’. Is that what they’re calling it these days?" he retorts, sipping with a teasing grin.

Charles wraps an arm around your shoulders and whispers close to your ear,

"We could be happier if you want. You know. Just to annoy them more."

You don’t even answer. You just rest your head on his shoulder, ignoring the soft chuckles around you.

When the lights go fully out, the chatter in the room quiets immediately, like everyone instinctively knows the world needs to be left outside for the next two hours. The opening credits of F1: The Movie flood the screen with epic music and close-ups of engines roaring over asphalt.

But you barely watch the first few minutes.

Because Charles hasn’t let go of your hand.

You don’t notice at first. At the beginning, it’s just your pinkies brushing, like he’s making sure you’re still there. But now, with the darkness covering any too-intimate gesture, his fingers are fully laced with yours, tracing slow circles on your thumb that make you forget what’s happening on screen.

You turn your head just slightly, enough to glance at him without drawing attention. He seems focused on the movie, but there’s a slight curve to his lips. A silent smile, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

"You’re more into my hand than the cars," you whisper, barely audible.

"Your hand doesn’t need special effects to captivate me," he replies, still not looking your way.

And there it goes again: that warmth rising in your chest, the soft knot in your throat. Sometimes, when Charles talks like that, you feel like you’re not sitting in a theater seat but walking a tightrope of emotions you can’t quite name.

A few seats down, you hear a stifled giggle. Someone, probably Alex or Pierre, mutters a soft "so cute, please" that triggers more quiet laughs from the group. Charles hides his face with one hand, amused, and you sink a little lower in your seat.

"This wouldn’t happen if you weren’t so adorable," he murmurs, finally turning his head to look at you. So close, so calm, so him.

"And you?" you reply, raising an eyebrow. "Who told your smile it could act like that without my permission?"

Charles smiles wider now and lowers his voice even more.

"Believe me, if this were a movie, you would’ve stolen the scene the moment you walked in."

You’re speechless for a moment. You kind of hate him for that. But just a little. Because mostly, you want to hug him for saying it so easily, so naturally.

On screen, engines roar, there’s a tense scene between drivers… but between you two, there’s only this comfortable, shared silence. Like you’ve already lived through many scenes together. Like you’re writing a new one now, unscripted, in this cinema row.

And just when you're about to cuddle into him, not caring what anyone says, Charles leans in a little and whispers:

"After this, you owe me ice cream. Because I officially survived the stares of half the press knowing you're by my side."

You laugh. Because that’s not something you survive.

The movie ends to applause. The kind that lasts a bit too long and feels almost ceremonial… but when you turn and see the proud looks on everyone’s faces, you find yourself clapping with a smile too.

Charles doesn’t stop looking at you.

"What did you think?" he asks once you’re standing, exiting with the group through a more private side door.

"I loved it. Though if it were up to me, I’d have added more Leclerc scenes. Especially without the helmet," you say, crossing your arms in fake seriousness.

He laughs, slightly surprised. Steps a bit closer, lowering his voice.

"That can be arranged. But in private."

You nudge him gently with your shoulder, just as Lando and Pierre jump at the chance.

"Did you see how they walked out holding hands the whole time?" Lando says, like you’re not right behind him.

"They’re not a couple. They’re a Valentine’s Day campaign on legs," Pierre adds, sipping from a water bottle that’s very clearly disguised champagne.

"Enough already!" you say with a laugh you can’t hold back.

But Charles replies with a calmness that catches everyone off guard.

"And what if we are?"

They go silent. Not awkwardly. More like… surprised. Like no one expected him to say it so plainly.

You look at him, raising a brow.

"That casual, huh?"

He shrugs, but his fingers brush against yours again, like he’s searching for more than just contact.

"I’m with the person I want to be with. Why would I hide that?"

You don’t know if it’s the warm hallway lights or the way the night already smells like summer, but that comment leaves you floating a little.

"Well, well… couple confirmed," Lando murmurs like a breaking news headline. "So what’s next, rings or ice cream?"

"Ice cream," you reply without hesitation.

"Definitely ice cream," Charles adds, now holding your hand with zero shame.

Minutes later, you've escaped the flashbulbs and designer suits. You’re walking down a quiet street, far from the theater, with a couple of discreet bodyguards in the background and ice cream in hand. Charles chose vanilla with chocolate chips. You picked something different just to mess with him, though you ended up stealing from his anyway.

"You know what the best part of the movie was?" you ask, sitting on a bench facing an empty park.

"The sound of the Ferrari engine?"

"No. This moment. Right now."

Charles looks at you for a long second. The kind of look that lingers. Full of intention.

"You always make the ‘afters’ worth it," he says softly.

And just when you’re about to say something equally cheesy, someone in the distance yells:

"Kiiiss! Come on, you’re right there!"

You turn. Lando again. With Pierre next to him, raising his ice cream like he’s toasting in your honor.

Charles just sighs. Leans in slowly, brushes your nose with his, and says, against your lips:

"Should we give them what they want?"

"For them or for you?"

"For us."

[jude457]

OKAY i have finally decided on the premise for the jude fix-it fic™

- the officer betrays inho. like he’s just shot jung-bae, he’s on his way back to his rooms for a much needed shower, probably already replaying gihun’s face in his head, thinking about getting blackout drunk on whiskey—and then he gets ambushed. rifle to the skull. goes down hard. he doesn’t even get the chance to fight.

- inho is brought into the dorm room in a coffin alongside gihun. he wakes up stripped of everything—his rank, his immunity, his power. and when he sits up, gihun is already there. kneeling beside him, stunned. “young-il?” he says, and there’s this flicker of hope on his face, like he’s just been given something back. and then—relief. real relief. he pulls inho into a hug before he can protest. tells him he thought he was dead. says he prayed he was alive. inho can’t even speak. he just nods and lies and lets gihun believe it.

- and the worst part? the ptsd comes back like a curse. there’s no mask to hide behind now. no control room. no black mask to keep him untouchable. he’s just another number in a green tracksuit, helpless and terrified. every gunshot makes him flinch. every announcement triggers something deep and ugly. he forgets how to breathe sometimes. he also has to grapple with the fact that he is powerless to ensure gihun’s safety. gihun doesn’t get it at first—he remembers young-il as composed. cool. not warm, exactly, but always calm. and now he’s watching that same man fold in on himself. something is deeply wrong, and gihun can’t figure out what.

key things you will see in this fic:

- inho in a blue bib. gihun in a red one, full protective boyfriend mode. says he’s gonna keep inho safe no matter what. and inho’s just sitting there like 🙂🔫 because he’s the last person worth protecting. the guilt is chewing through his stomach lining. because he doesn’t deserve gihun’s care. but god, does inho want it.

- inho gets hurt. his leg gives out (yes i am putting inho in a position to have a fracture set without pain relief)—maybe he takes a bad fall, maybe he hesitates for one second too long—and suddenly it’s gihun yelling at him to get on—but not onto his back. no, gi-hun drops down and scoops him up, arms under his knees, one hand gripping his back. carrying him through jump rope like he weighs nothing. swearing the whole time while holding inho tight. and inho’s shaking with pain and shame and something deeper, his face pressed into gihun’s neck, trying not to sob. it’s humiliating. it’s tender. it’s the closest he’s felt to safe in years. (side note: in my ideal version of canon, junhee survives and gives birth at the end. i do not care. it’s what she deserves.)

- identity reveal happens after jump rope. they make it through. just barely. and then: the finalist suits. the dagger. champagne flutes clinking somewhere far away. it all hits inho like a truck. he completely spirals. panic, disassociation, hands shaking. gihun’s trying to calm him down and inho—he just breaks. tells him everything. confesses in the most pathetic way possible. “i’m the frontman. you should kill me” and gihun goes silent. their beds end up being pressed together. their backs against the wall. they don’t sleep. an ideological war is waged between them in whispers and glances and the brutal quiet of “you let this happen” vs “i didn’t know how to stop it.” (they may or may not fuck)

- inho and gihun stop the final game and reunite with junho. they live happily ever after. THE END. (junhee and hyunju are finalists too and they jump myung-gi’s ass and survive).

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝 — 𝐟𝐭; 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫

michael kaiser’s greatest desire in life was to be loved.

you knew that. you’ve known that ever since you were just a child, when you had first met him on the swings, the cold december air dusting your cheeks with scarlet. you’ve known since the moment you saw him, his body scarcely protected from the relentless cold, silently eating bread scraps from the garbage from the bakery.

he needed to be protected.

that was the only thought running through your head as you approached him, giving him the extra coat from your backpack that your parents had packed you for school in case something ever happened to your current one. you were both the same age, and yet the difference in weight and hygiene was painfully apparent.

he looked up at you, sapphire eyes almost like voids. “what the fuck are you doing?” his vulgarity took your aback; your parents always told you to never use those words with anyone, so maybe his parents didn’t care very much.

“do you like eating those?” you asked, sitting next to him on the snow covered wood chips. you gestured to the bread rusks in his hands. “aren’t those from the bakery?”

“the trash there. i added seasonings. they’re shit good.” he muttered. he scooted just a little away from you, clearly not willing to share his beloved bread rusks. “what the fuck do you want?”

“no, nothing. it’s just really cold here and i got worried.” you said. he stayed silent for a while, just continuing to eat his bread rusks. “do your parents…are your parents not worried that you’re out here alone?”

his eyes hardened. “why do you care?” you blinked, slightly taken aback. maybe his parents weren’t very nice to him. “plus, you’re one to talk. you’re out here alone too. you look ready to die with your runny ass nose.”

“hey! that’s mean!” you exclaimed. “i’m seven already! that’s plenty old enough to stay out here alone!” he gave you a side eye.

“it’s really not.”

you sighed. “what’s your name?” you asked, kicking a few wood chips. for a moment, he blanked out, his body completely freezing. “you okay? hello?”

“i don’t remember.”

“huh?”

“my name. i don’t remember it.”

your jaw went slack. “really?! did you lose your memories or something or maybe did you hit your head and—ooh ooh or maybe you come from another dimension—!”

“my father doesn’t really call me by my name. mother’s not in my life.” he murmured. finally, after a few more moments of scanning through his memories, he finally found it. “it’s michael.” he had seen his birth certificate once on accident, although he didn’t think too much of it at the time.

“mic…mich…uh, i can’t pronounce it.” you complained. a lightbulb suddenly turned on in your head. “mihya! i’ll call you mihya from now on!”

mihya. not piece of shit. not subhuman. just mihya.

kaiser’s—now mihya’s—eyes lit up. “o-okay.” he muttered, the cause for the reddening of his cheeks certainly not the cold.

“and from now on, you’re my friend!”

friend. a word that would haunt kaiser forever.

“i love you.”

“i love you, alright?”

“see ya later. i love you.”

“bye! i love you!”

“mihya, i love you. you know that, right?”

it was suffocating.

“i’ll be going now. i love you.”

kaiser glanced at you from his doorway, morning hair messy and eyes nearly glaring at you. “it’s seven in the morning. where the hell are you going this early?”

“work. not everyone is a professional millionaire soccer player. plus, you’re the one who decided to crash at my apartment randomly.”

“it’s bothersome to live with pieces of shit.”

“don’t say that. they’re your teammates.”

“i don’t care.”

you sighed. “breakfast is in the fridge. make sure to heat it before you eat it. oh, and the shower is broken, so you’ll have to take a bath.”

“uh huh.”

“alright, bye. i love—“

“you really don’t.”

you froze midway through the door, turning around. “what?” kaiser’s eyes narrowed. your words felt more like a throwaway line rather than an expression of genuine love. at this point, your greetings were more emotional and expressive than your “i love you”s. “mihya, we’re literally dating.”

“since when did that guarantee love?” he hissed. “your words are emptier than my asshole after taking a dump.”

you almost wanted to laugh at his vulgarity, but you sighed instead. “mihya…” you bit the inside of your cheek. “let’s talk about this when i get home.” knowing his impatience, you expected him to object with a snappy comment or a yell. but instead, his just clenched his fists in silence. “don’t do anything reckless while i’m gone.”

finally, you stepped out of the door, yet kaiser continued to stand against the doorframe, his eyes fixated on the front door. you stood outside, your hand on the door handle. finally, a small whisper escaped your throat.

“i’m sorry i couldn’t love you the way you wanted me to.”

you sighed as you ran down the stairs of your apartment complex. did he find you out? you didn’t want to see him choking himself again. you had got in a relationship with him in the first place solely because you didn’t want him to hurt himself anymore after all.

and you knew. you knew that you kept on repeating your false claims of love like a prayer, like a broken record. but how could you help it? it was the only way to prevent mihya from harming himself, even if it’s just by a little.

you turned back around. you should go back; clear your name and the situation while you still can. pushing the confrontation back won’t help you in any way. you ran back up the stairs, hoping to end this argument as soon as you can.

but when you had entered your apartment again, mihya wasn’t there leaning against the doorframe anymore.

“mihya…?”

instead, he laid on the prickling marble floor of the bathroom, five pairs of angry finger imprints around his neck, and saliva dripping down his chin, along with empty eyes and a nearly unbreathing body.

[andy-15-07]

Hi love. Can I ask for some old Joel smut. Maybe after they get to Jackson safe, grumpy old Joel asks for something back since he basically saved her life and now they live together. He wants to release tensiin and stress. He wants to have free use of her, get to touch her and ask for things like that whenever he wants. He is nice and loving eith her, except when it comes to that, he is pervert, likes it rough, etc.

Something lime that. Thank you

What You Owe Me

PAIRING:Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 886| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

You owed Joel Miller your life.

And he never let you forget it.

It wasn’t like he held it over your head every day,not out loud, anyway. He’d just glance at you sometimes, sharp and unreadable, the way a wolf eyes something it’s already claimed.

You still remembered that night. The scream. The clicker lunging at you in the dark. The blood splatter. And Joel standing over the body, chest heaving, bloodied crowbar in hand.

He didn’t even look at the corpse,just looked at you. “You okay?”

You’d nodded, trembling. “I owe you.”

And he’d said: “Damn right you do.”

Now you lived with him. Shared food. Shared warmth. Jackson was safer than anywhere you’d ever been,but Joel? He wasn’t safe at all.

He was brooding, gruff, territorial. He didn’t talk much. But when he looked at you, it was with heat. Hunger. Frustration.

He wanted you.

And he was tired of pretending he didn’t.

It started with a knock on your door.

It was late,after midnight. You were in bed, half asleep when the heavy knock startled you upright.

You cracked the door open.

Joel stood there in a worn shirt, boots still on, eyes shadowed. Jaw tight.

“Joel?” you asked, voice hoarse. “Is everything okay?”

“Need you to come with me.”

Your heart jumped. “What,what happened?”

He didn’t answer. Just turned and walked down the hall.

You followed, pulse thumping.

He led you into his room. Shut the door. Locked it.

Turned to face you.

"You remember what you said?” he asked. “That you owed me?”

Your stomach twisted. “Yeah.”

His voice was low. Rough. “Time to collect.”

You froze.

His gaze dropped to your body,bare legs, old shirt hanging off one shoulder. He stepped closer, tilting his head.

“I saved your life,” he said. “Put my ass on the line. Nearly got bit.”

“I know,” you breathed.

“And you been sleepin’ in my house. Eatin’ my food. My bed, when you get nightmares.”

You swallowed hard. “What do you want, Joel?”

His eyes burned.

“You.”

A pause.

“I want to be able to touch you,” he said. “Whenever I need to. Take what I want. Use you when this world gets too fuckin’ heavy.”

Your thighs clenched. You hated how much you felt that in your gut.

“And if I say no?”

He didn’t move. “You can. Always. Ain’t gonna hurt you.”

Your voice shook. “You want… free use?”

He stepped in, voice dropping to a growl. “I want that tight little body on your knees when I come home angry. I want your mouth when I wake up hard. I want you bendin’ over when I say now, no questions.”

His hand cupped your cheek,gentle, almost sweet.

“But only if you want it too, baby.”

You didn’t answer with words.

You dropped to your knees.

Joel groaned.

“Good girl.”

Your shirt was gone in seconds. Joel gripped your chin, thumb sliding along your bottom lip.

"Open."

You obeyed.

He unzipped himself, cock already hard, leaking.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Mouth’s too fuckin’ pretty not to use.”

He shoved in slowly,groaning as your lips stretched around him, hand curling into your hair.

“Take it. All of it. C’mon, baby, let me fuck that sweet mouth.”

You moaned around him. He started to thrust, shallow at first, then deeper,grunting with every stroke.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growled. “Been thinkin’ about this since you moved in. Knew that mouth’d feel like heaven.”

You gagged as he pushed deeper.

“Good girl. You let me do this when I need to, yeah?”

You nodded around him.

He pulled out suddenly, grabbing your arm and hauling you to your feet.

“Get on the bed.”

You scrambled up, chest heaving, and lay back. He yanked your panties off, pushed your knees apart, and stared.

“Fuckin’ soaked.”

His thumb slid through your folds. You whimpered.

He leaned in, voice hot against your thigh. “You like bein’ used, huh?”

You gasped. “Yes.”

“You like knowin’ you belong to me?”

You nodded frantically. “Yes, Joel,please.”

He growled. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Then he was inside you.

No teasing. No patience.

Just thick, hard cock splitting you open as he groaned into your throat.

“Shit, you’re tight.”

You cried out, nails digging into his back.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow.

He fucked you hard, rough, like you were a pressure valve for everything he’d ever felt and never said. His hips slapped against yours, his hand gripping your throat,not choking, just holding. Possessive.

“Gonna fill you up,” he snarled. “Gonna use this pussy whenever I fuckin’ want.”

You arched under him. “Joel,please,”

“Please what?”

“Please come inside me. Use me. I’m yours.”

He came with a low, broken growl,burying himself deep, pumping you full.

You moaned as his seed spilled into you, thick and hot, your own orgasm pulsing through your body seconds later.

He collapsed over you, breath ragged against your ear.

For a long moment, there was only silence.

Then,

“You did good,” he murmured. “Took me real well, sweetheart.”

You blinked up at him.

His face softened.

“You still okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “Yeah. I… liked it.”

He smiled, small and rare. “I know.”

Then he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Sleep now,” he whispered. “You’re mine. I’ll take care of you.”

[nostalgiaforplacesweneverknew]

LOVE UR WORK ❤ wondering how lews characters would react when u squirt for the first time while having sex!

Aww thank you so much! Alexa, play “Adore You” by Harry Styles.

Lewis Pullman characters x fem!Reader | 1.2k | Some fluff, smut (18+/MDNI).

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ▹ What happens right after your boyfriend gives you pleasure like you’ve never known before.

Okay, so Rhett Abbott goes absolutely feral. You’re riding cowgirl (because, obviously, I had to), lifting off him with a shout to soak his abs and pelvis. He lets out the most animalistic growl you’ve ever heard come out of a man and places his hands on your hips, yanking you back down onto his dick to make you keep riding him. He wants to make you cum again before he finishes, but he’s so damn close, so he reaches down to rub at your clit where everything’s so damn wet and slippery, and you both cum at the same time. 

I’m calling it now, Calvin Evans is a certified munch™ (not that the others aren’t, but there’s something about Calvin that just screams it for me). He’s kneeling in front of you with your skirt hiked up, his lips latched onto your clit with two thick fingers curled inside you juuust right when you’re squirting on his face. You’re initially mortified, because Calvin just stares wide-eyed for a few seconds, literally just blinking in stunned silence, but then he gets this wicked glint in his eye… “Sweetheart, for research purposes, I’m gonna need you to do that again.” 

I don’t think anyone would disagree when I say Bob Reynolds is a moaner in bed, but he gets even louder and more desperate with it when you squirt for him for the first time. He’ll be so mortified come morning, but right now he doesn’t care who hears him. Bob also loves it messy, so he’s reaching down to smear all that wetness over your puffy folds, spread it all over your throbbing clit. “Fuck, it’s so messy… so fuckin’ wet…” and he lets out the loudest, filthiest groan when he sinks back into you. 

Major Major has no idea what just happened. At first he thinks he did something wrong, what with the way you’re arching your back so damn high off the bed, so he pulls out and watches with wide eyes as you make a mess all over the sheets. He loooooses his goddamn mind after that: “Did I do it right? Did that feel good?” He groans as he strokes himself above you, using your release as a lubricant, whimpering as he smears it all over his rock hard shaft and waits for you to be ready again. “Need it one more time, please? Please, can I have it?” 

Todd Stevens is so. damn. smug. He smirks down at you, practically puffing out his chest with that arrogant, masculine pride. Maybe he taunts you a little, not downright mean, but enough that it has you squirming a little under him— “You can’t help yourself, can you? All I have to do is…” he gives another thrust of his hips, the ridge of his cock sliding over the spot that has you gasping and panting, “…and you’re squirting all over me? Oh, baby, you’re a little hopeless, aren’t you? It’s alright, I like it when you get all sloppy.” 

Honestly? I think Rocco Gauthier has secretly been trying to get you to squirt, just to see if you could. So when you finally do, he’s raining praises down on you until you’re whining and whimpering. “Fuck… that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. You did so good f’me, sweetheart, can you do it one more time? Yeah, I know you can. One more, and then I’ll fill you up.” Oh, and of course, his breeding kink goes insane. Needs to put a baby in you, like, immediately.

On the other hand, Bob Floyd slows it waaaay down because *sighs dreamily* he is the king of aftercare. You’re overstimulated and oversensitive, so Bob kisses at your hairline, your temples, down your cheeks, and along your jawline, asking if you’re okay. When you confirm with a sleepy, smiley “yes”, he continues but is so gentle—rocks carefully into you, telling you over and over again how much he loves you. After, he’s making you drink water while he massages your body and lets you wind down a bit before he’s grinning and lifting you into his arms to carry you into the bathroom to clean you up. You fall asleep with him spooning you from behind, his arms around your waist. 

Harrison Knott just can’t help it. He comes, like, right away when he realizes what’s happened. You squirt all over his stomach and his pelvis, and his back just arches so hard it looks almost painful. He’s been holding himself above you with a hand on either side of your head on the bed, but his arms start to tremble and his hips keep bucking, driving himself further into you before he’s spurting his load with a whimpering moan. When he can talk again, he’s breathless, eyes wide, as he’s telling you, “Shit, I think I saw god.” 

Ben Mears whispers a litany of curses when he’s got you sitting on the edge of his desk, two fingers shoved so far up your cunt you can hardly breathe, and then you’re soaking his hand, all the way down his arm and drenching his sleeve. He is shameless as he insists on working like that, your slick still shining on his fingers as he types away on his laptop or smearing all over his favourite pen when he writes by hand. He licks his fingers and smirks when he tastes you there, as he’s proofreading and flipping through the pages of his new manuscript. 

I think Jordan Weaver would tell you to clean the mess you made all over him… using only your tongue. Obviously, that just gets him going again so he has to fuck you one more time… which then begins a vicious cycle?? 👀🫠 

Thomas Keefer seems neutral at first. He doesn’t address it, doesn’t say a word about it before he’s continuing like it never happened, until you’ve come again and he’s finishing inside you. But then he lifts his head and you see his pupils are blown wide, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. Suddenly, he’s all in, totally invested, and every time you have sex after that, he’s trying to make you squirt again—like, with military-precision obsession. 

And finally: 

Hear me out. We all know Miles Miller has seen some shit during his stint as manager of the El Royale, so I don’t think he’d be fazed at all. He’s fucking you vigorously from behind when he feels it, pulls out quickly while you make a mess all over his hard cock and the floor beneath you. 

You’re trembling and shaking, barely able to stand, but Miles only gives you a few seconds before he sinks back into your cunt with a groan and just keeps going. 

“Shh, you’re okay,” he murmurs into your hair, fucking you so damn hard you think you’ll feel him inside you for days. “You’re okay, aren’t you?” You can’t find your voice so you just nod eagerly. 

He then swipes his fingers through the wetness dripping down his own thighs and then shoves them into your mouth, all the while he continues pounding the ever loving daylights out of you, your little cries of pleasure and overstimulation only spurring him on.  

(Who else thinks Miles would secretly be the biggest goddamn freak?)

𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐕𝐈𝐕 ༊*·˚

[bueckersworld]

remind me

───୨ৎ.. synopsis trapped in a messy, off-the-record situationship, you and paige keep coming back to each other — through drunken arguments, accusations of cheating, and nights that feel like love but end in silence. she’s possessive, you’re fed up, but somehow, you’re both addicted to the chaos. maybe it’s toxic. maybe it’s love. maybe it’s both.

───୨ৎ.. content warnings toxic relationship dynamics, emotional manipulation, cheating accusations, mutual jealousy, alcohol use, unhealthy attachment, implied casual sex

───୨ৎ.. a/n the song ‘remind me’ by givēon has been stuck in my head help.

word count: 3k info. masterlist. taglist.

you don’t even remember how it started. not really.

one minute you were just her friend — the next, you were waking up in her bed with your shirt inside out and her fingers still wrapped around your wrist like she was scared you’d vanish.

paige was never good at saying how she felt. but she was great at pulling you in, better at holding on, and damn near perfect at pretending none of it meant anything afterward.

except it did.

it always did.

you’re at a house party when it happens again — that thing you swore you were both done doing.

you’re tipsy, laughing with someone she doesn’t know. someone tall. someone with dimples. he touches your arm, and suddenly she’s there, drink in hand, jaw locked tight.

“having fun?” she mutters, voice low enough to be a threat.

you glance up, cheeks warm, heart sinking. “paige…”

“i’m just asking,” she shrugs, but her eyes don’t match the calm. “looked like you were ready to go home with him.”

“he’s literally just talking—”

“right,” she snaps, stepping closer. “that’s what you always say before you fuck someone else.”

your mouth falls open. “excuse me?”

“you heard me.”

it’s not even the first time she’s accused you of cheating. it never matters that you haven’t. the moment someone else looks at you, she sees red.

you storm off, out the back door, into the cold night. the music is still thumping behind you, muffled by the walls, and your pulse is just as loud.

she follows, of course.

“you gonna deny it again?” she scoffs.

“there’s nothing to deny,” you bark, turning to face her. “why do you always do this?”

paige throws her hands up, frustration pouring out of her like smoke from a fire. “because i know what this is, okay? you talk to other people like i don’t exist. you kiss me, fuck me, and then pretend you don’t know what we are. i’m tired of it.”

“you’re tired?” you laugh bitterly. “you’re the one who told me this wasn’t serious.”

“yeah, well,” she says, voice cracking. “i lied.”

the air stills. you blink.

she’s drunk — you both are. that’s the only reason this is happening. she’ll take it back tomorrow. just like she always does.

“you don’t get to be possessive and careless,” you whisper. “pick one.”

her jaw clenches. “i’m not careless.”

“then what are we, paige?” you ask. “tell me right now, because i’m done being whatever you want in the dark and nothing in the light.”

silence.

you should leave. go home. end this for real this time.

but you don’t. because the truth is, she reminds you of everything you hate about yourself. every selfish decision, every reckless night. she’s the mirror you keep smashing and taping back together.

and somehow, when she looks at you, you feel whole.

later, you’re in her apartment again. same old scene: you sitting on her counter, her standing between your legs, lips on your neck, hands under your shirt like she needs to memorize your skin before it disappears.

“don’t leave,” she whispers against your throat. “not tonight.”

you don’t say anything. you just nod.

the morning is cold and quiet.

you wake up tangled in her sheets, mascara smudged, breath stale. paige is already up, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at her phone like she’s reading something she shouldn’t be.

you sit up. “what’s wrong?”

she doesn’t answer right away.

“paige.”

she looks over, eyes hard. “who’s noah?”

you freeze. “what?”

“your texts,” she says. “from last week.”

your stomach flips. “you went through my phone?”

“you left it open. don’t act like i hacked it.”

you sigh, fingers pressing into your temple. “he’s nobody. i vented to him about you one night. that’s it.”

“he said, ‘you deserve someone who actually gives a damn about you.’”

your heart drops. “it wasn’t like that.”

paige gets up, starts pacing.

“i do give a damn,” she says quietly. “you just don’t let me.”

you stand, slowly. “because when i do, you crush it. you pull me in, then shut me out. you get jealous of people i don’t even care about, and then you act like i’m the problem.”

she laughs bitterly. “maybe we both are.”

and she’s right.

you’re just as toxic as she is. you poke where it hurts. you kiss her when you know you should walk away. you let her take your clothes off and call it nothing, then pretend it didn’t ruin you the next day.

you both confuse love with possession, and loyalty with obsession.

but still — she reminds you.

of how it felt the first time. of how easy it was to fall. of how impossible it’s been to stop.

two nights later, she shows up at your apartment, drunk again. hoodie too big, hair messy, that broken look in her eyes like she’s trying to apologize without speaking.

you let her in.

of course you do.

“i saw you with him again,” she says.

you don’t answer. you’re too tired to fight.

“he looks at you like he wants something he doesn’t deserve.”

you turn to her, voice sharp. “and what do you think you deserve, paige?”

“i don’t know,” she admits, and her voice is so small it almost kills you. “but i know i want you anyway.”

there’s a beat of silence before she adds:

“i don’t want to share you.”

you should hate her for that. you should tell her you’re not a thing to be had. but instead, you whisper, “then stop treating me like a secret.”

she nods, like she finally understands what it’s going to take. like she knows it’s not enough to just want you — she has to choose you, even when it’s hard. especially when it’s hard.

she walks over, cradles your face in her hands, and kisses you like it’s the last time — but it never is.

because somehow, even after everything, you keep coming back.

maybe it’s the way she touches you like you’re home.

maybe it’s the way you ruin each other perfectly.

maybe it’s because deep down, you’re the same — all messy emotion and sharp edges and soft apologies whispered too late.

whatever it is, it’s yours.

and she reminds you.

of who you were.

of who you are.

of why you’ll never really let her go.

even when you should.

© bueckersworld

𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝘩𝑢𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠, 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑟

taglist: @elswhore @private-but-not-a-secret @paigebaby5 @raimund00 @bravemode @d1paigebueckersglazer @evanpeterstoe @zi0nnnn @jadasogay @fuddaround @jaylie-bee @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @mrsarnold @lol-12n @sayurireidotcom @slt4kavanagh @kl0verk @agnesblight @scarlett177 @syraxsbigfanfr @asapeveryday @avvwritesstufff @rand0mmmgg

[girly-girlk]

Can you write rafe cameron x reader where she has a bad home life and she goes to rafe for comfort after something happens with her parents. Sending my love pookie ❤️

come here

rafe cameron x reader

summary: you go to rafe’s house after a bad fight with your parents

a/n: this one was so fun to write and (in my opinion) super cute! enjoy!!💕

you didn’t plan on ending up at his place. not tonight.

you were just supposed to come home from work, grab dinner, and avoid your parents like usual. but for once, they didn’t let you slip by. instead, your dad was waiting in the kitchen — the scowl already painted across his face, disappointment practically dripping from his words before he even opened his mouth.

and then it started again.

the yelling.

the blame.

everything being your fault — the bills, the mess, their misery.

by the time you slammed the door behind you and took off down the street barefoot, you didn’t even realize your cheeks were soaked. or that your breathing was shaking. or that you only had one place in mind.

rafe cameron.

the boy everyone warned you about. but the one who, in quiet, unguarded moments, had only ever treated you gently. and right now, you needed gentle more than anything.

⸻

you don’t knock. just pound once on the front door of tannyhill and pray someone’s awake. it’s past midnight, but the porch light flicks on fast, and within seconds, the door swings open.

rafe stands there, shirtless, sleep-heavy eyes blinking in confusion — until he sees your face.

“shit, baby…”

he doesn’t ask. doesn’t even hesitate.

arms around you. instantly. like instinct. like he’s done it a thousand times. one hand presses to the back of your head, the other wraps tightly around your waist, pulling you in until your whole body melts against his chest.

you break. fully. no holding back. sobs wrack your frame and his hold only tightens.

“i—i didn’t know where else to go,” you manage between gasps.

“you don’t need anywhere else,” rafe murmurs against your hair. “you come to me, always.”

you feel him pull you inside and close the door behind you, guiding you wordlessly to his room. his touch never leaves — not when you sit on the edge of his bed, not when he grabs a blanket and wraps it around your shoulders, not even when he kneels in front of you like he’s trying to anchor you back to earth.

“what happened?” he finally asks, voice low, calm — but there’s something dangerous burning under it. he’s trying not to lose it.

you stare at him, lip trembling. “they… said i was ruining everything. that i’m worthless. that if i left, no one would even care.”

rafe goes completely still.

his jaw clenches. eyes narrow. and for a terrifying second, you think he might explode.

but instead, he stands. he doesn’t yell. doesn’t punch a wall. he just sits beside you and pulls you into his lap like you weigh nothing.

“you listen to me right now,” he says, voice husky but firm. “they don’t get to treat you like that. ever. that’s not love. that’s not family.”

you lean into him, soaking in his warmth, his scent — safety.

“i care,” he whispers against your forehead. “i fucking care, okay? i’d lose my mind if you disappeared.”

you nod into his chest, words escaping you.

“i’m not letting them hurt you again,” he continues. “you stay here tonight. stay as long as you need. forever, if that’s what it takes.”

a pause. then quieter, more vulnerable:

“i want you here. with me.”

you look up into his eyes, raw and sincere.

“i feel safe with you,” you whisper.

rafe softens — visibly — and cups your cheek with both hands.

“you are. always.”

and for the first time in what feels like forever, your heartbeat starts to steady.

because maybe everything’s falling apart —

but in his arms, you finally feel like you’re home.

[st4rlvr]

skater boys || hjs

When your mutual friend Felix introduces you to sweet, stoner skater Jisung, you expect chaos—not butterflies.

The smell of weed hit you before Jisung even came around the corner. You were standing outside the skate park, hands stuffed in your hoodie, nervously shifting on your feet as your eyes scanned the scene. Mostly guys, mostly loud, mostly high. Your phone buzzed.

🐹 Jisung:

yo im pulling up on the red board

don’t laugh if i fall i’m fragile rn 😔

You smiled. He’d been making you laugh like this over text for weeks now—sweet, chaotic, always just the right amount of bold. You knew him through Felix, who vouched for him with a simple:

“He’s stupid in the best way. You’ll love him.”

When he finally skated into view—lazily, wobbly but somehow still cool—your heart stuttered a little. Baggy jeans, black hoodie, curls peeking out from under a beanie, blunt barely tucked between his lips. His eyes were squinty, cheeks flushed, and when he spotted you, he nearly fell off the board grinning.

“Yooo, you’re real!” he said like it was the most surprising thing that had ever happened to him. His voice was raspy, smooth with a little croak of laughter. “Dude, Felix wasn’t lying. You’re, like… crazy pretty.”

You blinked, trying not to smile too hard. “You’re, like… kinda high.”

He snorted, dragging a hand through his hair as he came to a stop in front of you. “That too. But I mean it. You look exactly like your stories but also better?”

You laughed, finally relaxing a little. “Thanks, I think?”

Jisung shrugged, tucking the blunt behind his ear before holding out a small baggie. “I brought some if you’re into it. No pressure. I just figured first hangs shouldn’t be too sober. Unless you’re, like, pure and innocent. You give off that vibe a little.”

You took the bag from him, brushing your fingers over his accidentally, and he looked a little dazed for a second before shaking it off with a sheepish grin.

“So,” he started, biting his lip, “you down to get a little stupid with me? Then maybe I’ll teach you how to fall off a board real gracefully.”

You smirked. “Only if you hold my hand.”

“Deal,” he said, eyes twinkling. “But fair warning—I’ll probably never let go.”

You hadn’t expected to like him this much.

Guys like Jisung—loud, goofy, with skater-boy swagger and weed-slowed speech—usually weren’t your thing. Not even close. But something about him was disarming. Not in the way most stoners are laid-back and detached, but in this warm, attentive kind of way that made you feel like you were the only person in the world he was tuned into.

You were sitting on the edge of a ramp now, legs dangling, lungs pleasantly foggy and your cheeks sore from laughing. Jisung had taken exactly two puffs before handing you the rest and then focused entirely on making sure you didn’t fall trying to skate for the first time.

“Okay, but if you fall, fall into me, yeah?” he’d said earlier, catching your arm like muscle memory the second you wobbled.

He kept doing stuff like that��hovering just enough to catch you but never crowd you. His fingers would brush your arm like he wanted to hold it but didn’t want to assume. He offered water between fits of giggles. Fixed your hoodie when the wind caught it. Every single thing was gentle and lowkey, but it made your chest feel too full.

Now, he sat beside you, pulling his beanie off and fluffing out his curls like he needed to cool down. He turned his head, his profile glowing orange in the setting sun. When he looked at you, he looked at you, not through you.

“You okay?” he asked, like he meant it.

You nodded. “Yeah. This is… actually really fun.”

His lips tugged into the softest grin. “Told you. Dumb fun’s the best kind. But if you wanna go, or sit, or just vibe—I’m down for whatever makes you feel good.”

That part kept catching you off guard. The way he’d joke about your thighs one second and then gently ask if you were dizzy the next. The way he didn’t push, didn’t flex. Just wanted to hang with you.

“You’re really sweet,” you blurted out before your brain could catch up.

He blinked. “Me?”

You laughed, nudging his knee with yours. “Yeah, you. You’re not what I expected.”

“Damn. What did you expect?” he smirked, though his cheeks pinked a little.

“Someone kind of… cocky? Distracted? Most guys like you don’t really check in, y’know?”

He leaned back on his elbows, looking thoughtful for a moment before glancing over at you again. “Yeah… but you’re not most people. So I gotta act right.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just stared at him for a second too long, watching the way his lips twitched like he was holding back something flirty.

“Wanna try skating again?” he finally asked, standing up and offering his hand to you.

You were both way too high.

Like, limbs-light, cheeks-hurting, can’t-stop-laughing high. Jisung wasn’t much better. He was laying flat on the cool concrete next to you, legs sprawled out like a starfish, one hand on his chest like he was grounding himself and the other lazily reaching for yours every few minutes like he had to check you were still real.

At some point—somewhere between failing to ollie and collapsing in a tangled heap of laughter—he’d kissed you.

It wasn’t planned. You’d just looked at him, eyes glassy and lips curled in that dopey little smile.

And he blinked once, laughed softly, then leaned in and kissed you. Not fast or hard or cocky. Just sweet. Warm. His hand cupped the side of your face like he’d been thinking about it all night and finally let himself do it.

You both froze the second it happened. Then—giggles. “Oh my god,” he mumbled through his hands, face bright red. “I just kissed you. I just kissed you, bro.” He peeked at you through his fingers, smiling so wide it looked painful. “You let me do that?”

You were laughing so hard you could barely breathe. “Why are you acting like I wasn’t literally just looking at your mouth for ten minutes straight?”

Jisung gasped, sitting up dramatically. “Wait—were you?! I thought I was imagining that! I hoped that! Bro, I need to call Felix. I’m losing my mind.”

“Nooo,” you groaned, slapping his arm gently. “Do not involve Felix in this.” But he was already fumbling with his phone, trying not to drop it as he squinted through the blur of his high. “I have to. I can’t drive you, and you’re, like…so pretty. I’d get distracted and crash us into a tree or something.”

You hid your face in his hoodie while he called. Jisung tried so hard to sound normal, but the second Felix picked up, he cracked.

“Bro,” he said, barely holding it together, “can you come get us? I accidentally kissed your friend and now we’re both giggling like dumbasses in the parking lot. I think I’m in love, man.”

Felix’s groan echoed from the phone: “Jesus Christ, I’ll be there in ten.”

You and Jisung locked eyes after the call ended and immediately fell back into giggles. He flopped beside you again, cheeks still red, hand finding yours again.

“Best night ever,” he whispered.

[midnight-onyx]

haiii pretty

wondering if you’re okay writing some smut for spencer??? maybe like reader being used after he has a bad day??? consensually obviously..

hope it’s not a bother ily sweets

A/N: Not a bother at all!! Sorry this took ages to get out motivation has been in the dumps lately but I hope you like it!!! Also not proofread cuz I’m too lazy for that so sorry if there’s any mistakes.

CW: 18+ MDNI, dom!postprison!Reid, sub reader, no use of name or y/n, slight praise, slight bondage, raw sex, rough sex, aftercare, lmk if I missed anything!

You and Spencer had made an agreement awhile into your relationship. You both were switches and you had talked about free use, everything was obviously consensual and safewords were put in place to ensure both your happiness and enjoyment. It worked perfectly considering you both work high stress careers. Spencer working in the BAU and you working as a therapist.

You had been texting Spencer a few hours ago, he said he would be home in about an hour; that was almost two hours ago. It was getting late so you decided to start getting ready for bed, hoping that he’d be home soon. You change into more comfortable clothes and head to bed. You grab a book you’ve been reading lately, the soft glow of the lamp on your nightstand illuminating the words just enough so that you can read them.

Around 30 minutes go by and you’re just about to fully lay down when you hear the jingle of the keys in the front door, it opens quickly and there’s a loud thud as it shuts hard. You get up, going to check on Spencer, knowing it’s him, maybe something happened at work.

You walk out to see him quickly shedding his dress shoes and his sweater vest before roughly loosening his tie and throwing it on the couch with the vest. “Hey baby, something happen at work?” Your voice is slightly hesitant, not fully knowing how to approach the situation.

He glances over to you, attempting to force a smile but you can tell it’s not genuine, although he relaxes ever so slightly. There’s a slightly familiar look in his eyes that you’ve seen before, just never to this extent. Spencer wants you.

He unbuttons the first two buttons on his dress shirt before fully turning to you, “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” His voice is soft but has a certain rasp to it as he speaks.

You know about the case he’s been working on lately. It’s been a particularly stress inducing couple of weeks for Spencer and his team and his actions have been reflecting that.

He walks over to you, your eyes raking over his tense frame, maybe prison really had changed him more than you thought it did. He looks down at you, his hands moving to pull you in by the waist gently as if you’ll break. Spencer leans down, placing a gentle peck to you lips before moving to your neck, placing small kisses and nipping at the skin.

“You haven’t caught him yet, have you?” You ask in a slightly defeated tone, knowing how much this had been bothering everyone involved.

You feel him just shake his head a little, whenever he didn’t talk much was a sign he was particularly ticked off. An idea pops into your head as you move your head so your lips are level with his ear. “I’m here if you need me.” Your words carrying something deeper than just a little support.

Next thing you know he’s picking you up, hands under your thighs to support you. “You shouldn’t have said that.” His voice even more raspy than before paired with a hint of desperation.

His lips are on yours, struggling to keep up with the sheer hunger of his kiss. It’s needy, like he’s been holding back for weeks just for this one moment. Like a starved man finally given a meal. Your back hits the couch cushions but he never breaks the kiss.

His hands move from beneath your thighs to the hem of your shirt, slowly pushing it up, ripping his lips away from yours just enough to discard it somewhere on the floor of the living room. Your fingers move to undo the rest of the buttons of his shirt while he’s already pulling your shorts and panties off in one go.

You get the last button undone and he quickly shrugs it off, discarding it along with the other clothes thrown carelessly around the room.

His lips are on yours again as you wrap your arms around his neck. He moves lower, placing hurried kisses on your jawline, then your neck, moving down to your bare chest. He spends a little more time there before moving down to your stomach. He places a soft kiss above where you need him the most, dangerously close but skips it, moving to places bites and soft kisses on your thighs instead.

Your hands tangle in his curly locks, tugging gently at them in an attempt to get him to move to where you need him. Instead he reaches behind him, grabbing his loosened tie from the arm of the couch. He slips them over your wrists, tightening it just enough to keep them in place before moving them above your head, “Keep them there.” His voice leaving no room for argument. A jolt of arousal flowing through you at the action.

His hands grab your inner thighs, roughly moving them apart, your back arching off the couch as you feel his tongue on your clit. Flat at first then using the tip to swirl around it. Moans fall from your lips as you struggle to keep your hands above your head. His lips close around the bud as he gently pushes two fingers into you. Your moans growing louder with the combination of his mouth and fingers hitting the perfect place over and over.

You feel your high bubbling up quickly, you’re teetering on the edge, hands balled into fists and your chest is heaving with heavy breathes and moans. Before you know it every ounce of pleasure disappears. You let out a whine and look down at Spencer who’s already looking at you, his pupils dilated as he watches you squirm beneath him. “What the hell, I was so close Spence.” you protest.

Spencer shakes his head a little, “Good thing this isn’t about you then.” His voice is sickly sweet as he flips you over, resting on your elbows as he lifts your hips. You can hear the buckle on his belt then the zipper on his dress pants.

He moves behind you, teasing the tip through your folds before pushing only the tip into you, both of you letting out a soft groan at the feeling. His hands move to your hips, holding tightly as he pushes all the way in with one go. He gives you just enough time to adjust, you can feel him struggling to hold back as he does. A few moments go by before he’s roughly thrusting into you, hitting all the perfect spots that make you see stars, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the room.

He lets out low groans and heavy breathes as you let out moans muffled by the couch cushions that your face is pressed into. “God you feel good, needed this so bad.” Spencer grunts out, his pace bruising as your back arches a little more, his words making you clench around him.

He slides a hand up your spine, tangling it in your hair and tugging gently, the other hand still holding your hip hard enough to leave bruises that you’ll see in the morning.

You feel your high bubbling up again, moans growing louder as Spencer’s hand tangled in your hair pulls a little harder. He moves his hand from your hip to your clit, rubbing it in circles forcing you over the edge, your body shaking as bliss fills your veins. Spencer’s high comes not long after yours, feeling the warmth fill you as your body falls limply on the couch.

He gently pulls out, panting a little but instantly going to grab a towel to clean both of you up with. He comes back a few moments later with the towel, slipping the tie off your wrists and cleaning you up with a gentleness that contrasts vastly with the roughness just minutes ago. “I hope I wasn’t too rough.” He says softly, his warm tone bringing you back down from the intense high.

You shake your head a little, flipping back over onto your back to look at him, “No, you should do that more often.” You say with a small smile.

He hums in response, “I’ll keep that in mind.” He says as he grabs a blanket off the back of the couch, laying behind you and throwing the blanket over you two. Both of you end up dozing off, some random movie playing softly on the tv in the background.

[rafeslvbug]

CHAPTER 7 - maybank blues series

you’d never been inside tannyhill before, sat on their leather couch, or experienced the cameron’s little bubble of luxury. in a way, you couldn’t imagine ever loving john b enough to leave this, like sarah had. she was as loyal as anyone you’d ever met to have done that. abandoned her room, which though you hadn’t seen, you could assume was bigger than your standard box room.

“i just wanted to ask about my car..” you began, following rafe’s movements with your eyes as he sat down in front of you, having disappeared for a brief moment after opening the doors.

“oh yeah,” he murmurs, tapping his fingers against the table. “it’s– uhm– at a mechanics…” he says, although he sounds uncertain, unable to make direct eye contact with you.

“are you sure..? you don’t sound it..” you were afraid to be overly blunt, in case he decided to retract his offer of taking care of your car. although, he did say it wasn’t an offer, more something he would do anyways. nonetheless, these were minor details people tended to go back on.

“yeah i’m sure.” rafe looked agitated, staring at his phone every few seconds, intently. knee bouncing up and down, impatience emanating from him.

“are you expecting something..?” he looks up at you, and you gesture to the phone. he shakes his head, turning it screen down.

“no, sorry, just got a business deal closing today,” he explains, and you nod along. “i’ll tell you when the car’s ready, maybe i’ll just drop it off or…”

he trails off when panic flashes across your eyes. if he dropped it off, jj would see. if jj saw, he’d get angry again. “or..i’ll tell you where to go get it, so you can get it yourself.”

“yes, that’s good,” you nod, and rafe lets out a brief chuckle.

“alright then, i’ll text you..just need your number.”

“oh right, yeah.” you rummage through your bag to find your phone, handing it over to him. it’s small in his hands, still with the home screen button, front camera cracked, corners chipped. he doesn’t judge, doesn’t say anything, types his number into your phone.

“hm..sarah had to convince you to talk to me, huh?” he muses, a soft smile across his face. you flush red. he’d seen the messages when adding his number.

“no! i uhm— are you going through my phone?” you reach forward to snatch it back, only for him to pull it out of your reach.

“not going through it! it was already open..” he defends himself, scrolling down the chat, beginning to read out text after text. “ ‘could you try and tolerate him?’” rafe pouts, looking down at you in mock sadness when he asks, “you can’t even tolerate me?��

“rafe!” you scold, lunging from your spot on the couch, forwards to try and grab your phone.

“‘pretty please..with a cherry on top!’ awwwh i see why you’ve been bothering with me, sarah added a cherry,” he snickers, just before you finally give up on trying to get your phone. legs folded underneath you on the couch, unimpressed until he hands your phone back.

“ ‘m just teasing,” he chuckles.

“you shouldn’t go through people’s phones,” you grumble, tucking it back into your bag.

rafe bites his cheek, looking at you with an obscure look before he asks, “d’you really only tolerate me because of sarah?”

you shrug, “well sure, i wouldn’t really speak to you otherwise– no offence! it’s just..how it is.”

he nods, tight, “no, yeah, i figured as much.” though he doesn’t sound as you thought it would. his earlier playfulness has died down, almost uncomfortable.

“you tell your boyfriend ‘bout this?” rafe points at the little plaster over your wrist, “y’know, the tripping incident.” he brought your attention to the small cut and now your mind is stuck, drifting back to cole. in the moment you’d forgotten about it, now he came flooding back. a sharp, unwanted feeling. or maybe..how he said everyone knew what luke was like. did rafe know? is that why he was so skeptical?

“why’d you say tripping like that?”

“hm?”

“you don’t think i fell, okay, so what’d you think happened?” you question, almost interrogatory, watching the subtle raise of rafe’s eyebrows.

“i think..you got into a fight with someone, you just won’t say who,” he admits.

“who would i get in a fight with?” you probe.

“i don’t know..girl at the country club? maybe some idiot guy, shattered a glass because he thought you weren’t doin’ your job properly,” rafe reasons, and you let out a soft sigh. he doesn’t know. he’s being sincere in his suggestions, he doesn’t even suspect it.

“oh..”

“so?” rafe inquires. you give him a blank look, head empty.

“well who was it? guy or girl?”

“neither. floorboards,” you state, sticking firm to your lie.

rafe tuts, shaking his head, “sure..anyways, you dodged my question.”

“what question?” you furrow your brows, so stuck in thinking about the probability of others..besides shoupe and the pogues, and potentially cole…finding out about luke, that you’d forgotten what he’d asked originally.

“did you tell cole about this?” he repeats.

“oh…” your sound fades, tapping your hands rhythmically against your thighs.

“oh?” rafe inquires, the implication in your lack of words clear. his eyes dart down to your moving hands, repetitive, distracting for you.

“no. i didn’t..he uhm he’s not my boyfriend, anymore,” you revealed, noting how rafe was the first person you told this to– probably not ideal, considering the reason for your breakup. hell, being here wasn’t a good idea at all.

“why not?” rafe asks, but you’re already shifting off the couch, noticing just how close to rafe you are.

“oh just didn’t work out..i’m gonna go, but text me for the car, okay?” you rest your bag strap on your shoulder, making your way to the door.

“was it him?” rafe calls out. still on the couch. unmoving. not even looking at you when he asks.

you pause. shuffle into the doorframe again. “was what him?”

“that cut, the tears,” he gestures to it again. “did he do that to you?” his voice is low, surprisingly concerned.

“no,” you breathe. “no, he didn’t.”

“okay..just checkin’,” rafe nods. you spare him a glance over your shoulder before you leave, softly clicking the door behind you. the whole interaction strikes you as weird, flittering topics, and at it’s core, the amount of questions rafe asked, the genuine interest and curiosity he showed. you brushed it off. just his attempt to get you to like him, tolerate him just that little bit more.

taglist: @starkeyjoseph @rafesbabygirlx @slut-4-rafey @lanaslushworld @littlelamy @rain-likes-purple @sunny1616 @csturnioloswifey @silkylovey @supasolaa @octoberbxbyy @rafeobx @jamesbeaufortismylife @vanessa-rafesgirl @bambigirl10 @f4sh10n-m4v3n @amelialovesrafe @letstryagaintomorrow @athenabarnes @sapphichotmess @dumbbandpoetic @emma12345sworld @samwinchesterisawhore @arigoldsblog

[e1e4n0r5]

Their Little Plaything: Bonus Scene 7

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue, Bonus Scene 1, Bonus Scene 2, Bonus Scene 3, Bonus Scene 4, Bonus Scene 5, Bonus Scene 6

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing: Former Bullies Cait & Vi x Loner Nerd Reader

Words: 2880

Synopsis: The three of you make a bet, one you didn't think they could win

Warnings: Reader's a bit cocky/bratty, overstimulation/multiple orgasms, oral sex (r! receiving), marker pen on body, fingering (r! receiving), vibrator usage (r! receiving)

Note: This is for @zaunite-516, you saucy minx 🥰

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes, we can.”

“No. You can’t!”

“Yes. We can!”

“Vi, it’s physically impossible.”

“No, it’s not, baby.”

“The human body can’t do that! Not that many times.”

Cait eventually rolled her eyes, putting her phone down. “What are you two arguing about?”

The three of you were hanging out in the bedroom on a Friday night. You and Vi lay on the floor on your stomachs, Vi showing you something on her phone; Cait reclined on the bed, her head at the foot, looking at you both in intrigue.

“We’re not arguing-”

“Because I’m right,” you interrupted. “It’s not possible, Vi. It’s not real.”

She raised an eyebrow at you. “We’ve done it!”

“But not that many times,” you argued back, pointing to the picture on Vi’s phone. “That many isn’t possible.”

“Once again,” Cait called firmly, stopping your bickering, “I’m waiting for you to explain what you’re arguing about.”

Vi handed you her phone. “Go show her, baby,” she ordered with a smack to your butt.

You rolled your eyes, standing up. When you walked over to Cait, you showed her the picture on Vi’s phone.

She raised an aroused eyebrow, tossing her own phone aside. You had her attention. “What makes you say that’s not possible, darling?”

You scoffed in disbelief. “Seriously? That number isn’t possible!”

You looked back at the picture on the phone, shaking your head. The woman in the black-and-white photo lay almost passed out on a bed, the sheets soaked between her legs, a tally counter in her hand reading the number ‘89’.

“It could be,” Cait promised.

“No-one can orgasm 89 times in one session!” you cried. “It’s physically impossible! Your body wouldn’t allow it! Our highest is only fourteen.”

“Only because you wouldn’t let us keep going,” Vi pouted, rolling onto her side, propping her head on one hand.

You blushed a little. “Even so. Fourteen is a big difference to 89. Which I still don’t believe, this photo could easily just be fake.”

“So, what number do you think is realistic for you, darling?” Cait asked, gently stroking a hand on your thigh.

“Honestly, I couldn’t imagine going past fourteen, it was so intense.”

“Not even fifteen?” Cait raised an eyebrow.

You contemplated. “Maybe fifteen. That would just be one more than we’ve already done.”

Vi asked, “What about twenty?”

You laughed. “Twenty? Seriously?”

“Twenty-five.”

You rolled your eyes again at her antics.

“Thirty, thanks to that eye roll, sweetheart,” Vi threatened.

“Vi,” you said, somewhat patronisingly, “You really think you could make me cum thirty times? I’m not doubting you two. My body just wouldn’t do it, it physically wouldn’t happen.”

Vi slowly stood up, cricking her neck to the side, rolling her shoulders back. “Wanna bet, sweetheart?”

You tilted your head in amusement. “What’s the bet?”

“If we can make you cum – by any means at our disposal – in one session-”

“Which allows for breaks,” Cait amended. “We all need to stay hydrated, you especially.”

“Yeah, one session – with breaks – thirty orgasms. If we win: we get to do whatever we want with you for the whole weekend. If you win: name it. You can boss us around for the whole weekend; we could go on a trip; Cait’ll buy you whatever you want…Name it, baby.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes. “Okay, I’ll get back to you on what I want when I win – because there’s no way this gonna happen,” you said, absolutely certain.

Vi held her hand out for you to shake.

“Okay, let’s be clear,” you started counting on your fingers, “One session. With breaks. Thirty orgasms. You two can use toys.”

“You can tap out whenever you’d like, if it gets too much,” Cait added.

“I mean, my body’ll tap out before I do,” you chuckled, making them smirk knowingly at each other. “And we have to put a limit on what we’re calling ‘one session’. So it’s…” you looked at the time on Vi’s phone, “just after 8pm now. Should we say cut-off is 2am? Six hours, is that fair?”

Cait smirked. “We won’t need that long. But sure, 2am cut-off.”

“Okay, thirty orgasms by 2am,” you nodded with finality. “Are you guys sure about this? I haven’t decided what my prize will be yet; might be a costly mistake for you,” you teased Cait.

Vi’s raised eyebrow, tilted head, and amused smirk should all have been your warning signs.

They were not.

“Oh yeah, baby, we’re sure.”

You sighed, pitying them for whatever prize you would win by the end of the night.

You looked to Cait as you shook Vi's hand. “Those Chappell Roan tickets better be VIP All-Access passes.” You looked back at Vi. “May the best team win.”

You regretted everything.

This was awful.

Fucking awful.

Absolutely fantastic, the best pleasure you’d ever received…

But also fucking awful.

Your whole body trembled, slick with sweat and oversensitive from the relentless attention. Your throat was raw from soft cries and bitten-off moans, your legs shaking uncontrollably where Cait held them open, spread wide and pinned down at the edge of the bed as she knelt at the foot of the bed, feasting on your cunt.

Vi was kneeling next to your hips, also holding your legs open for Cait, gently murmuring encouragements, but her grin gave away just how smug she felt.

"How many?" Vi asked, tapping your knees a few times, drawing you back from the daze you’d fallen into.

You swallowed hard, blinking up at her with glassy, tear-lined eyes. “...Nine.”

“Attagirl.” Vi picked up the marker pen off the bed. Keeping the lid between her teeth, she added a line to your growing collection on your tummy. You didn’t have a tally counter, so they’d started writing check marks on your skin. It was so fucking hot.

Vi put the lid back on the pen, leaning down to kiss your forehead, soft and full of affection, but there was a dangerous glint in her eyes as she pulled back. “Told you we were serious.”

You whimpered as Cait’s fingers pressed deeper again, working you with slow, relentless precision, just enough pressure to make you cry out, just enough to keep you right at that breaking point between pain and pleasure.

"Colour?" Cait asked, voice low, controlled, steady.

You took a shaky breath. “Green.” The word tumbled out soft but sure. Even now – especially now –  you wanted it. Every second of it.

Cait smiled, still moving her fingers inside you. "Good girl."

Vi gestured over her shoulder to the small wand they’d left charging on the nightstand. “We haven’t even touched that yet, have we, baby?” she teased, trailing her nails lazily along the inside of your thigh.

Your hips jolted, your body betraying you as you instinctively sought out her touch. “Vi,” you gasped.

Cait only chuckled, curling her fingers just right again, dragging another cry from your throat. "You agreed to the bet," Cait reminded you, voice silken and merciless. "And we're only a quarter of the way there."

Vi kissed your cheek again, shifting to whisper at your ear, voice low and electric. "You’re doing so fucking good, baby. But we’re not even close to done with you."

You sobbed out a laugh; helpless, wrung-out, but still burning underneath it all. And as Cait pressed her fingertips against the spongy spot inside you, your whole body arched off the bed, pleasure crashing over you again like a wave you couldn’t stop.

Your whole body was wrecked, blotchy from exertion, flushed everywhere Cait and Vi had kissed, bitten, and touched you. Your breath came in ragged pulls, sweat dampening your hairline and sticking you to the sheets.

When Vi finally pulled back after number fifteen, you lay trembling, your thighs quivering violently where they rested over her shoulders. She gave a low, satisfied chuckle from between your legs, idly stroking your thighs, her palms warm and heavy against your skin.

“Fifteen,” she said smugly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Halfway.”

“You’ve beaten your record,” Cait added with a mock-sweet smile from her spot lying next to you. “A new personal best. Congratulations, sweetheart.”

You let out a broken little sound, turning your face into Cait’s neck like you could hide from them.

Cait laughed, soft and breathy but wicked. “Aw, poor baby. Look at you,” she teased, tilting your chin up with two fingers. “So sensitive already. All shaky. Do you want to tap out now, darling? Let us claim victory early?”

“...Never,” you mumbled, voice hoarse but stubborn. You blinked up at them, eyes glassy but still burning with defiance. “Thirty’s impossible anyway.”

Cait’s slow smile was devastating. “You keep saying that…”

Vi crawled over you as she marked off another tally on your skin, nuzzling behind you ear, voice low and sinful. “But you’re already halfway there, sweetheart. And we’ve still not used any toys.”

“Shall we change that?” Cait asked teasingly. She unplugged the now fully charged wand from the bedside table, moving down the bed and taking Vi’s place between your legs. She switched it on with a low, ominous hum. “We’re going to ruin you,” she murmured fondly.

You whimpered, but you didn’t back down. Even as your body trembled in anticipation, you lifted your hips toward them, a clear answer in the only language you had left.

Vi chuckled against your skin. “God, you’re perfect.”

And then they started again.

You didn’t know how much time had passed. Minutes, hours, maybe even days. The room was hot, the air thick with the scent of sweat and skin and arousal. You couldn’t stop shaking, your body hypersensitive to every touch, every breath that ghosted over your skin.

They’d kept you pinned beautifully between them: Cait focused and relentless between your legs, Vi whispering awful, perfect encouragements in your ear, her hands everywhere: stroking, teasing, holding you down when you started to thrash.

Somewhere around nineteen, you had started making desperate little gasping sobs with each release, unable to stop them. Your hands clung to the sheets, to Cait’s hair, to Vi’s legs, anything you could anchor yourself to.

Then came twenty.

It crashed over you hard and fast, shaking you down to the bone, leaving you gasping, your throat raw from the noises you didn’t have the energy to hold back anymore.

“Fuck, there she goes again,” Vi laughed, almost disbelieving as she watched you break apart.

Cait didn’t even pause, just shifted to use her fingers and the wand in tandem, pushing you right into twenty-one before you’d even fully come down.

You cried out, hips jerking involuntarily. “Cait…Vi…Please, I-” you couldn’t even finish the sentence. Words dissolved the second they formed, your mind going fuzzy and light.

“Please what, baby?” Vi asked mockingly sweet, her hands holding your thighs wide open for Cait. “You wanna stop?”

You shook your head violently, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overstimulation but your hips still lifting, still begging for more.

“That’s what I thought,” Vi murmured proudly, kissing the side of your neck. “You’re doing so good, baby.”

Twenty-two followed fast. Too fast. You barely felt the buildup before you were coming again, your whole body locking up tight. Cait’s voice was low and satisfied from between your legs. “Such a good girl. Look at you, giving us everything we want.”

You were sobbing now, not from sadness but sheer overwhelmed sensation. Every nerve ending felt frayed, everything too much, but in the most delicious, dizzying way.

Vi’s fingers slipped lower, cupping and squeezing your breasts as you panted and whined. “One more, baby. Just one more for now, then we’ll take a break.”

You barely had time to catch a breath before twenty-three tore through you like a lightning strike. Your vision whited out at the edges, your mouth open on a silent scream.

When you finally sagged back onto the bed, chest heaving, you blinked up at them, dazed and red-faced, tears slipping down your cheeks as you coughed. Cait gently eased her fingers out of you, turning off the wand.

“You need a drink, baby,” Vi said, moving off the bed and heading over to a mini-fridge they’d put in a few months ago. She pulled out a cold bottle of water and an electrolyte drink. She handed the water to Cait, who sipped it gratefully. Kneeling next to you, she helped you to sit up, letting you rest back against her. As she cracked the seal on the drink, she asked, “Do you want to drink it yourself, baby?”

You tiredly shook your head.

“Okay, hold on.”

She took a sip of the cool blue drink, then tipped your head back by your hair. You immediately opened your mouth, moaning in delight when she trickled the drink from her mouth to yours. You swallowed it appreciatively, opening your mouth for more. She gave you another drink, then pressed the cool bottle to your neck, making you shiver and moan.

“Hey, that’s a good idea,” Cait mused, before pressing the water bottle against your slit. You jumped, but moaned again at the cooling feeling in your oversensitive core.

“Oh, do you need some ice, sweetheart?” Vi teased. “You can have some when we’re done. We’ll make your pussy a little ice pack.”

You blushed at the idea, but also sighed happily.

As the three of you took a little break, finishing the water and electrolyte drink between you, it suddenly hit you:

They might actually make thirty.

Vi caught your expression and grinned wide, wolfish and adoring. “Just starting to believe us now, baby?”

Cait crawled up your body, kissing the tears from your cheeks. “Don’t worry, darling. We’ll take you the rest of the way.”

By the time you hit twenty-eight, you were gone.

Your body trembled constantly, every muscle loose and weak from how thoroughly they’d used you. Your skin was flushed and sweaty all over – neck, chest, stomach, thighs – a soft glow of overstimulation and exhaustion. Every breath came out shaky, every small touch made you whimper and cry.

Cait was sitting against the headboard now, holding you cradled against her chest, letting you rest in the small moments between. Vi knelt between your legs, gently running her fingers up and down your trembling thighs as she fucked you with your favourite vibrator; soothing and wicked all at once.

“Two more,” Cait murmured, glancing at the check marks on your tummy, as casual as running through a to-do list. “You’re almost there, darling.”

Vi grinned, pressing a kiss to your knee. “She’s doing so good. Knew she could take it.”

You barely had the strength to lift your head, but you made a small, wrecked noise of protest: half plea, half pride. Even now, after everything, you refused to tap out.

Cait smiled gently, kissing your neck. “Shhh. Almost done.”

“Well, you say ‘almost done’…” Vi taunted, her arm never faltering in her thrusts.

You whimpered.

What did she mean?! You were at twenty-eight out of thirty, you were almost done!

“What are you thinking, Vi?” Cait asked, lightly pulling on your nipples.

“Well, do we need to stop at thirty?” she puzzled. “The bet was only to get to a minimum of thirty, we never said we couldn’t go over.”

“Oh, you’re absolutely right,” Cait mused playfully, ignoring your growing whimpers.

Twenty-nine came on slower, but no less intense. You sobbed through it, too overwhelmed to know if you wanted to moan or cry. The pressure built unbearably, and when it finally broke, you wept and went limp against Cait like your body just couldn’t hold you up anymore.

Vi picked up the pen and awkwardly used her left hand to make the 29th mark on your tummy; her right hand still never wavering in her thrusts.

Cait stroked your hair, looking down at you with soft, fond eyes. “One more, darling. Just one more.”

Vi leaned over you, kissing you slow, deep, and sweet. “We’ll take care of you.”

The thirtieth release tore through you, fast and brutal. You let out a long, broken cry as your body seized under their touch. You clawed at Vi’s arms without meaning to, desperate to hold onto something as your whole world came apart again.

When it was over, Cait gently eased you back, carefully stroking along your stomach to help you come down. Vi kissed your temple, your jaw, your cheeks, whispering soft praises.

Then Cait, voice soft but teasing, said with a sly smile, “So…Should we stop at thirty like we promised…?”

Vi huffed out a low, breathless laugh. “Mmm, I dunno. She’s so cute like this. Kinda wanna see how far she’ll really go.”

You barely managed a whimper of protest, no words, just a low, soft sound.

“What was that, baby?” Vi teased.

You mumbled something.

“Still can’t hear you.”

You mumbled again.

“One more time, sweetheart.”

“Mark!” you groaned, pointing weakly to your tummy.

Cait laughed, then picked up the pen and gave you your final check mark, you barely able to keep your head up as you watched her do it.

Satisfied with your prize, you let your head drop back down.

“Okay, you win.”

“Next time, we’re not stopping, sweetheart.”

Taglist: @sevikas-whore, @djstinkyfartz, @jinririz, @abbyandcaitlover, @ayuxiru, @bebeluvvv, @youdoyou-andiwilldome, @kittymrtnezz69, @wyprettylilone, @jlb20416, @autisticratbagtm, @theoreticalfreak, @riotstemple29, @zaunite-516, @zmbieeee, @godhatesgoodgirls, @yoyo-w, @milanyas, @unknownomgg, @bella-but-not-hadid444, @marvelwomenarehot0, @nenoino, @opalundercover, @beggingonmykneesforher, @qlelwow, @loneliestafterparty, @flowersareup

[mia-can-yap-too]

synopsis :- A fake dating scheme with Nanami Kento was supposed to be strategic, not sweet. But falling in love? That wasn’t part of the plan.

pairing :- Nanami Kento x Reader

warnings :- fluff, crack, light angst, professor x student but not in any weird way, uh im not sure what else

🌺:- based on 'The Love Hypothesis'. longest fic ive ever written, and since i dont write nanami much, i apologize if its ooc.

dividers by @/uzmacchiato, header by me

ACT I :- THE LIE

You hadn't planned to lie. It just… happened.

It had been a week of emotional ruin — one failed experiment, two emotional breakdowns, and a highly unfortunate sighting of your ex with their new, aggressively symmetrical partner.

So when your best friend, Shoko, cornered you in the university's grossly under-funded cafeteria and asked you if you were “still stuck on that sentient barbell of an ex”, you panicked.

“I–uh… I'm seeing someone,” you blurted, halfway through your forkful of undercooked pasta.

Shoko blinked. “Oh?”

You nodded like your life depended on it. “Yeah. Totally. We're, um… keeping it quiet.”

“Who?”

You should've said literally anyone else. Anyone.

A visiting postdoc. A guy from your gym. Even Gojo. Especially not Gojo.

But, no.

Your crisis-ridden brain scanned the room and made a decision so bold, so catastrophically impulsive, it deserved its own thesis defense.

Your eyes landed, unfortunately, on the tall, crisp figure walking past your table, holding a coffee in one hand and a stack of color-coded folders in the other.

He didn't even glance your way. He didn't need to.

The mere presence of Nanami Kento carried more weight than a mountain.

“Professor Nanami,” you said, with the shaky confidence of a liar about to combust.

Shoko dropped her fork. “Kento Nanami? The Hot Professor? The man who looks like he was grown in a Danish research lab just to ruin lives with a single glance? Him?”

You shrugged weakly. “He's…nice.”

Shoko leaned in. “Nice? Babe, he walks around like every hallway personally offended him. Are you telling me you've been dating him? In secret?”

“Yup.”

“Since when?”

“Uh. About… a month?”

“A month?” she hissed. “You kept it a secret for a month?!”

“Look, I didn't want to make it a big deal—”

“Girl, it's Nanami. It IS a big deal.”

And just like that, your fake relationship became cafeteria canon.

You spent the rest of the lunch break internally calculating the probability of spontaneous combustion. Unfortunately, the odds remained low.

Worse, Shoko had already pulled out her phone and typed something furiously into the group chat titled “The Sci-Wives and The Two Gay Lovers” (consisting of you both, and Gojo and Geto being the gay lovers).

You watched in horror as her screen lit up with rapid-fire messages.

Shoko

NO FUCKING WAY SHE'S DATING NANAMI

Geto

pics or it didn't happen GOJO IS GONNA LOSE IT

You were so screwed.

That night, you lay awake in your tiny grad student apartment, wrapped in three blankets and an academic guilt spiral.

You've done a lot of reckless things in your career— eating expired snacks, sleeping in the break room, letting Gojo convince you that caffeine patches were a ‘great alternative’.

But this?

This was nuclear.

You couldn't just say you were dating Professor Nanami Kento.

That man had standards. Structure. A tie for every mood.

You were an over-caffeinated entity of a human being who once cried in a fume hood.

The two of you weren't even in the same reality, let alone the same relationship.

Still… Shoko had bought it. The others were already gossiping. There was now a side chat labeled “Nanami's Secret Bride”.

You had two options:-

Confess everything and live in eternal humiliation

Double down and pray for a miracle.

Spoiler alert: you picked the dumb one.

The next day, you marched into the campus determined to do one thing.

Find Nanami and explain the situation. Sort of. Maybe.

…Okay, you hadn't figured out that part yet. But you were thinking about it. That counted.

You spotted him just past the Chemistry building.

He was standing under the awning, reading a small leather notebook, brows slightly furrowed, like he was contemplating the moral failures of academia.

The man looked like he could quote Kafka and then bench press your entire thesis.

You hesitated.

Then, he looked up.

Your brain short-circuited.

What happened next was not a conscious decision. It was a full-body meltdown.

You marched right up to him, ignored the way he blinked in surprise, and before your better judgment could stage an intervention, you grabbed his lapels, yanked him down, and kissed him.

It wasn't even a short kiss.

No, no.

Your lips pressed against his with the desperation of a woman trying to delete her entire social life.

It was awkward. Too fast. Too hard.

A tragic combination of panic and cherry lip balm.

You felt his stunned inhale, the briefest flicker of tension in his frame.

His hands remained bg his sides, perfectly still, as if he couldn't believe he was being publicly assaulted by a grad student. Which probably was the case.

You pulled back in horror.

Your first thought?

He smells like cedar and good judgement.

Your second?

I have ruined everything.

Nanami blinked. Once. Slowly.

Then a second time, like he needed time to process this.

Then completely composed, he said, “I assume this is part of something I am unaware of.”

You wanted the ground to open and swallow you whole. Ideally before the disciplinary committee heard about this.

“I—” you flailed. “It's a long story. There was a lie. You were nearby. I panicked.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“So that wasn't a neurological episode?”

“Nope. Just… grad school.”

He exhaled slowly, like he was rethinking his whole life.

“I'll buy you coffee. You can explain.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You assaulted me in public. The least you can do is explain over caffeine.”

You nodded frantically. “Okay. Yes. Great. I can do that. Absolutely. Coffee. Talking. Normal things.”

He looked at you for a long, long moment.

“Do you always talk this much?”

“Only when my career is actively imploding.”

He sighed again. “That explains it.”

And that was, regrettably, how your fake relationship began.

ACT II :- THE COFFEE

The coffee shop near campus was aggressively beige.

Beige walls, beige chairs, even beige music. It was the kind of place that marketed itself as ‘minimalist’ but felt more like a crime against colors.

The barista had the personality of a chalkboard eraser and pronounced your name wrong with such raw confidence that even Nanami looked mildly offended.

You took your drink with trembling hands and shuffled toward a corner table like you were being escorted to your own public execution.

Nanami followed close behind.

He sat across from you like he was conducting a performance review. No smile. Just quiet judgment and long-suffering aura.

He set down his plain black coffee like it was a loaded weapon, and then reached into his coat and pulled out a pen.

A fountain pen, to be exact. With a gold trim.

Because, of course he had that.

“So,” he started, rolling up his sleeves with surgical precision. “Would you like to explain why you kissed me like I was your returning soldier at the end of a film about war?”

You tried to melt into your chair. It didn't work.

“Okay. So. Short version:- I panicked. My best friend was asking invasive questions about my love life, or rather, my tragic lack of one. And I kind of… may have said I was dating someone.”

He stared. “And that someone was me.”

You nodded miserably.

“You were walking by. You looked safe.”

“I am not a fire exit.”

“You looked emotionally safe. Like your vibes give… responsible, you know?”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose like he was reconsidering every life decision that led him here.

“So let me clarify,” he said slowly. “You pretended to be in a relationship with me, a faculty member, without my knowledge. Then proceeded to kiss me in public, to support the lie you told your friend— who, if I'm not mistaken, is already planning our hypothetical wedding.”

You sipped your drink like it might erase your existence. “That's… technically correct.”

He took a long sip of his own coffee. “You are a danger to yourself and others.”

“Thank you?” you whispered.

He sighed. “I will assist.”

You looked up, surprised. “Wait what?”

“I said I'll help?”

“Help how?”

“Participate.”

“Participate?”

“In the charade. The relationship. The illusion of courtship.”

Your brain had the decency to crash. “You want to…fake date me?”

“It appears we are already halfway there. It would be more damaging to reverse course now, considering the speed at which gossip spreads at this campus.”

He said it like he was filing a report. Like it was the most rational conclusion to the most absurd problem in the world.”

You squinted. “Are you sure you don't have brain damage?”

“Not currently, no.”

“You don't even like me.”

“That's irrelevant.”

“I remember you glared at me for seven minutes once because I borrowed the last lab thermometer!”

“You used it to stir oatmeal.”

“It was steel-cut! That stuff clumps!”

He ignored you, pulling out a leather notebook. “We'll need rules. Clear ones. And a shared calendar.”

“A calendar?”

“I prefer scheduled intimacy.”

You choked. “Scheduled what now—”

“Interactions,” he corrected, not a hint of shame. “We'll start with weekly outings. Public, believed and minimal risk.”

“This is starting to sound like a business deal.”

“Think of it as a joint venture in public performance art.”

You sat there, stunned as he began drafting what looked like an actual relationship contract.

Faux Courtship Agreement

Rule One :- No real feelings

Rule Two :- One date per week minimum

Rule Three :- Kisses only with advance notice (and preferably not in public hallways)

Rule Four :- Gojo shall not interfere

You furrowed your brows. “Don't you think this is a bit…weird? Also, you know Gojo? He's a good friend of mine.”

“I work alongside him. He has altered and evolved my definition of weird.”

You watch him finish the list, bullet points immaculately spaced. “What happens if someone calls our bluff?”

“I'll kiss you on the mouth and invalidate their theory.”

You immediately forgot every word you knew.

ACT III :- THE DATE(S)

Your first fake date with Nanami Kento was scheduled like a dental procedure.

He sent you an actual Google Calendar invite titled:- Wednesday, 6:30 PM – Public Date Simulation (Botanical Gardens – Wear Jacket).

The description read, ‘Meeting point: west gate. Punctuality appreciated. Snacks optional but encouraged’.

Snacks. Optional. But encouraged.

You sat on your bed for ten minutes just staring at it, wondering how you'd end up here. Fake dating your hot professor with the seemingly emotional range of a brick wall and the scheduling habits of a supercomputer.

You wore a jacket. And brought snacks.

Because God help you, you were encouraged.

He was already waiting when you arrived, naturally, leaning against the garden gate like a brooding literature protagonist with a superiority complex.

He had a scarf (perfectly knotted), a thermos, and, of course, perfect posture.

“Good evening,” he said, with so much enthusiasm you couldn't even see it.

“Hey,” you replied, holding up your offering. “I brought popcorn. It's cinnamon.”

He blinked. “Acceptable.”

“High praise.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, just barely. “You'll live.”

You were thirty minutes into the date before you realized, it was actually… kind of nice?

You walked through the winding garden paths.

He made sarcastic comments and dry jokes about underfunded landscaping.

You started to explain the scientific purposes of seasonal pollen rotation and accidentally started ranting about the bioethics of flower breeding.

He didn't interrupt you once.

Not even when you began a three minute long Ted Talk on the tragedy of insect extinction.

When you finally noticed and trailed off with an awkward laugh, he simply nodded and said, “You're very passionate. It's admirable.”

You almost dropped your popcorn.

You sat on a wooden bench under a flowering dogwood tree, your knees barely brushing.

Nanami poured you tea from his thermos like it was a very natural thing for him to do.

It was lavender.

“You drink lavender tea?” you asked, watching the steam curl.

“It lowers cortisol,” he answered, not missing a beat. “And it pairs well with cinnamon.”

You blinked.

“You researched what tea goes well with the snack I might bring?”

He didn't look at you. “It was… a possibility.”

Your heart did a little flip.

Which was fine. Probably.

Back on campus, the rumors were blooming faster than cherry blossoms.

Shoko was now 90% convinced you were secretly engaged. Geto jokingly asked if he could be the flower boy.

You didn't have the heart to tell them you were only fake-engaged in a fake-universe you accidentally hallucinated into existence.

And then came Gojo.

You should've known.

There was no hiding from Satoru Gojo, human migraine and department cryptid.

He cornered you after lab, grinning like a feral cat with a PhD.

“So!” he chirped. “Nanami, huh?”

You froze. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I'm talking about the way he opened a door for you yesterday and blushed.”

“He did not blush.”

Gojo gasped. “You admit he opened the door!”

You facepalmed. Hard.

“He didn't blush,” you muttered. “He squinted. It was sunny.”

“It was overcast, you absolute coward.”

But Gojo wasn't the only one. People around campus started talking too.

A freshman asked if you two met on a dating app for STEM majors.

Your thesis advisor awkwardly congratulated you and offered couples’ grant opportunities.

Someone even addressed you as ‘Nanami's Girl’.

Meanwhile, Nanami responded to all the with the emotional fervor of a statue.

“They'll grow bored eventually,” he assured you over coffee.

You stirred your drink. “You know this might spiral, right?”

He looked at you. Calm and steady. “Let it. We'll manage.”

You weren't sure what was worse— how absolutely certain he sounded, or the fact that part of you wanted it to spiral just a little longer.

Because fake or not, being with Nanami was the most stable part of your week.

When you got home that night, you found a new calendar invite waiting for you.

‘Sunday – Study Session and Relationship Maintenance Debrief (Bring Fuzzy Socks, Weather Indicates Rain)’.

You didn't know what was happening.

But for the first time in weeks, life finally felt good.

ACT IV :- THE SPIRAL

Your fake relationship was not supposed to have momentum.

It was meant to be a carefully controlled experiment — one hypothesis, one result, minimal variables.

And yet, you were suddenly the face of an academic power couple with suspiciously high compatibility and a shared Google calendar.

Your next scheduled “date” was brunch.

Brunch.

You didn’t even know Nanami ate brunch.

You half-expected him to photosynthesize in a shaft of sunlight.

But there he was, waiting for you outside the café, holding two coffees and wearing a soft navy sweater that made him look... unfairly good.

Like, a post-grad cover of a magazine good.

“I ordered for you,” he said, handing you a latte with your exact milk-to-espresso preference.

You blinked. “How did you—”

“You order the same thing every time. I observe.”

You were going to throw yourself into the sun.

You sat at a quiet table near the window. Nanami had his reading glasses on.

Reading glasses.

He pulled out a journal article on economic policy like this was his version of casual conversation.

And yet.

He kept looking up to ask if you wanted more jam.

He nudged his scone closer to your plate like he wanted you to steal it.

When your hand brushed his by accident, he didn’t pull away.

You pretended not to notice.

He pretended better.

He asked you about your dissertation.

You asked if he still hated that one econ professor with the weird neck tattoo. (He did.)

You laughed.

He gave you a rare, quiet smile that made your stomach flip and your neurons short-circuit.

You were fake dating. And it was starting to feel dangerously real.

Back on campus, the spiral was real.

Gojo cornered Nanami during a faculty meeting and emerged from the room wheezing like he’d witnessed something unholy.

“I made a joke about handcuffs,” Gojo told you, tears in his eyes, “and Nanami blushed. Blushed. Like a maiden in a regency drama.”

“He did not,” you said automatically.

“He did,” said Haibara, who had apparently been there. “And then he looked me dead in the eye and asked if I had any ‘relevant questions’ about the syllabus.”

You were so deep in the spiral now you were starting to enjoy it. Not that you’d admit it.

That Sunday, Nanami hosted your “study session.”

He met you outside the library with a thermos of hot chocolate, two croissants, and a schedule printed in 11-point Times New Roman.

“‘Relationship Maintenance Debrief’?” you asked, squinting at the page.

“It helps to reflect on performance,” he said seriously. “Consistency ensures credibility.”

You stared at him.

He stared back.

“...We’re going to review how well we fake-dated,” you confirmed.

“And note areas for improvement.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

So instead, you sipped hot chocolate and took notes like a good fake partner.

Midway through, he said, “I noticed you laughed more than usual on Wednesday.”

You blinked. “Um. Yes?”

He didn’t look up from his paper. “I found it... pleasant.”

You were going to combust.

At the end of the session, he handed you a scarf.

“It’s colder than expected,” he said.

You took it slowly. It smelled like cedar and lavender. Like him.

“Thanks,” you murmured.

Nanami nodded.

Your fingers brushed again.

Neither of you moved.

The air was soft. Tense. Filled with every unspoken thing you weren’t supposed to be feeling.

And that should have been the end of the night.

But it wasn’t.

Because as you stood outside the library doors, waiting for your ride, you heard it.

“I still don’t get it,” someone said behind you.

You turned.

Two undergrads from your department were walking past, not noticing you.

“I mean, it’s gotta be fake, right? Nanami-sensei doesn’t do relationships. And she...well, she’s nice. But she’s not really his type.”

“Definitely fake. Probably just saving face after the ex thing. Poor guy’s being used.”

You blinked. Once. Twice.

You turned to Nanami.

His face was unreadable. Calm. Impossibly still.

“Ignore them,” you said quickly. “They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“It’s fine,” he said evenly. “This was the point, wasn’t it? Plausibility. You got what you needed.”

You flinched. “That’s not—”

“Don’t worry. It doesn’t matter.”

And then, without looking at you, he added, “Let me know if you want to end the arrangement.”

It was the first time he’d said it like it wasn't a joke.

You stood there stunned, scarf clenched in your fist.

“Nanami—”

“I have to finish a recommendation letter. I’ll see you at the seminar.”

And then he was walking away.

No wave. No goodbye.

Just you, under a flickering street lamp, still wearing his scarf. Your throat tight with a feeling you weren’t supposed to be having.

And the sinking realization that somewhere between fake dates and lavender tea, you had accidentally handed him your whole heart — and hadn’t even noticed.

ACT V :- THE CONFESSION

Nanami ignored your texts.

Not rudely. Not aggressively.

He replied to one, the most practical one, about the department seminar.

But the others, your soft apologies, your careful “Hey, are we okay?”, were left unread.

Unread.

Nanami Kento.

The man who organized his inbox alphabetically and once color-coded a grocery list.

Gojo noticed first.

“Why is Kento walking around like he’s in a black-and-white film where his lover dies tragically at sea?” he asked, licking icing off a donut. “He’s got the posture of a man who hasn’t emotionally recovered from a missed comma.”

You winced. “I think I hurt him.”

Gojo tilted his head. “You? Hurt Nanami? The guy who once apologized to a printer for jamming it?”

“I didn’t mean to. But I let him believe I never meant any of it.”

Gojo, for once, looked serious. “Then fix it. He’s worth that. And so are you.”

So you took a deep breath, bought two lavender teas, and went to his office.

You didn’t make an appointment. You didn’t even knock right away.

You stood outside for five whole minutes, fidgeting with the cardboard cup holder like it was responsible for your emotional crisis.

Then you raised your hand and tapped the door, light and hesitant.

“Come in,” came the quiet reply.

You stepped inside.

Nanami was sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled, tie loose, reading glasses perched low on his nose.

He looked calm. Or at least he looked calm.

But the second he saw you, his hand stilled on the page.

“Hi,” you said, offering the tea like a peace treaty. “I brought bribes.”

His brow lifted. “Lavender?”

“Of course.”

He hesitated for one breath, then took it.

You set yours down and stayed standing, nervous energy crackling through your limbs.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I should’ve said something sooner. I should’ve defended you. Us. I just…I got scared.”

He stared at the tea. “Of what?”

“Of how much I meant it. Of how much you meant to me. It started as a lie, but I was never pretending when I looked at you like…like you hung the moon. I just didn’t realize I’d handed you my whole heart somewhere between croissants and clause reviews.”

Silence stretched. But not cold this time. Just full. Quiet.

Nanami stood.

He crossed the room, slowly, and stopped right in front of you.

“I wasn’t pretending either,” he said softly. “I’ve been in love with you since you argued with me for that last lab thermometer.”

You choked on a laugh. “That’s so specific.”

“I remember everything about you. It’s not difficult. You’re my favorite observation.”

You blinked back tears. “So what do we do now?”

He took your tea, set it down, and cupped your cheek.

“We revise the contract.”

The kiss was slow and careful and reverent. Like he was reading your face the way he read research abstracts, with quiet interest, with total focus, with that furrowed brow you secretly adored.

Your hands curled into his shirt. His arms wrapped around you like a second heartbeat.

And when you pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours.

“Clause One,” you whispered, “No more pretending.”

“Clause Two,” he murmured, “Kisses are encouraged and unscheduled.”

“Clause Three?”

“Sleepovers are now allowed on weekdays.”

You grinned. “Even before ten PM?”

“Only if you agree to proofread my grant proposals.”

“Deal.”

He kissed your nose.

Then your cheek.

Then your lips again, like he was making up for every day he hadn’t.

The calendar invite arrived later that night.

“Subject: Date – Not Fake. Wear that scarf. I’ll bring the tea’.

You replied, ‘Subject: Accepted. I’ll bring dessert’.

EPILOGUE

Dating Nanami Kento was almost exactly like fake dating him, except with more hand-holding, surprise forehead kisses, and joint spreadsheets labeled “Groceries + Love.”

He still brought you tea.

You still stole his sweaters.

He now had a drawer at your place, and you had a favorite coffee mug at his.

He left post-its on your laptop that said things like? "Don’t skip meals. You’re the best part of my day," and "Reminder: You’re brilliant. And mine."

He called you “darling” exactly once and you short-circuited for ten minutes.

Gojo cried the first time you two held hands during lunch.

Shoko took a photo. Geto laminated it.

One lazy Sunday, Nanami reached over from where you were tangled together on the couch and handed you his phone.

On the screen: a calendar invite.

‘Subject: Marry Me? RSVP by Monday. Early responses preferred’.

You stared.

He watched you, amused.

“Clause Four,” he said. “Permanent exclusivity.”

You flung a pillow at him, kissed him senseless, and hit ‘Yes.’

The rest was history. Documented via Gojo’s private gossip blog.

And also? Unquestionably real.

🌺:- i spent all day on this and am SO FUCKING TIRED so YOU BETTER LIKE THIS/hj

masterlist

sequel

[rinsfanfics01]

I've had this idea since the breakup. Since no one else is going to write it I guess I will.

Part 2

~

The thing is, they had talked about it. During that first coffee date, all those months ago. Buck and Tommy had decided to take a walk after finishing their coffees. He couldn't remember how the topic had come up, but he did remember telling him.

"Sometimes I say things, but they don't come out right." Buck had admitted, rubbing the back of his head. He could feel his face heat up and tried to avoid looking at the other man. Tommy had stayed quiet, so Buck did what he always did and rambled.

"It's not that I do it on purpose. I will be trying to say one thing but my brain goes too fast for my mouth to keep up. So I would be trying to tell you one thing but jump to the finish line without meaning to." He remembered so many times it had happened with Eddie. Where the other man thought he meant one thing and they ended up arguing over it. The lawsuit alone. Well, he tried to not remember that one.

"Okay, I can work with that." Tommy then said, bringing Buck back to the present.

"Yeah?" Buck asked, looking back at the other man. Tommy had a thoughtful look on his face. Maybe he was trying to come up with ideas on how to work with it. An unpleasant part in the back of his head suggested that he might be reconsidering.

"Have you ever heard of the color system?" Which, yeah. Buck had, but mostly in regard to kink. This didn't have much if anything to do with sex. Well, maybe sometimes it did, but he didn't want to talk about that.

"Yeah? Like green means go, yellow means pause, red means stop?" Buck snorted. Except, Tommy wasn't laughing. So he stopped and kept his attention on the other. What was he thinking?

"Exactly, we can use that. When you think I'm not understanding what you mean, or when your thoughts get to fast, you color out. We stop, then discuss." Tommy explained. Which was-nice? He'd never truly tried to find a way to help with this issue. He sorta expected that no one would have wanted to.

"Yeah-yeah, that works." Buck knew his face was probably cherry red at this point. Tommy reached and took his hand in his. Buck squeezed it, and he felt Tommy squeezing it back.

"Good." The older man hummed. Buck smiled back at him and gently bumped his shoulder into the other's.

"I mean, those colors work in other places too." Buck joked, making Tommy laugh.

They had used that system a few times. More so in the beginning of their relationship. Buck hadn't had to use it in a month or so now. So, it didn't surprise him that he hadn't thought about their arrangement until now.

"You wouldn't mean to, you wouldn't plan for it, but you'd end up breaking my heart." The words hit Buck like a bus. What did he mean by that? He loved Tommy. Why did he think he'd break his heart? "And I-I don't think that I could deal with that."

Buck had no clue what was happening right now. He tried to figure out where he went wrong. What did he not say that made them get here? Because if it was something he did say then they could fix jf. Well, maybe. It didn't help that Tommy looked devastated. He needed to fix this- he needed to stop this-

"I should go." Tommy said softly, standing up. Buck couldn't stop this. He needed to stop this. But Tommy kept on moving to the door. Which wasn't great. How could he stop this how-

"Wa-wait, wait- hey-hey-hey. Wait, did you just break up with me?" Buck asked. Thankfully that made the other man pause and turn. The hope he felt at the gesture didn't last.

"Yeah, I guess I did. Believe me I didn't see it coming either." Tommy sighed. "Shoulda known that parking spot was too good to be true."

Buck honestly felt his heart crumbling as he tried to think of anything to say. To make this stop. His brain scrambled with each pause. He needed Tommy to take control back and make things go right. But the other man wasn't doing it. Didn't he know this was one of those times Buck needed him to make things better?

"See you around Buck." Tommy whispered.

"Red." Buck said quickly, without thinking. When he didn't hear the door he repeated the word again.

"What?" He could hear Tommy say but by this point Buck had his eyes closed. The only thing he could think to do was grab onto his hair and repeat the word like it was a lifeline.

"Red-red-red-red!" With each time the word left his lips it raised in volume. He needed this to stop, why wasn't his daddy stopping?

"Hey-hey, what's wrong? You gotta talk to me, sweetheart." He could hear the other man say. His voice was soothing but it wasn't helping.

"Red means stop. You gotta stop. Red means stop." Buck tried his best to calm his own heart down but it wasn't too late. His brain was running on overtime and his system was shot. He needed his daddy to take control now.