#and then after they roll out of the way he makes sure to have her land on top of him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mv1simp · 1 day ago

Text

Earned It ♥️ - Part 2 of 2?

Max Verstappen x Wife! Reader

cause girl you’re perfect, you’re always worth it, and you deserve it (the way you work it)

PART ONE HERE ♥️

Once you and your loving husband, Max, are finally ready to start trying for a baby, you face your next challenges as a couple navigating pregnancy. After a tricky conception, the two of you are ecstatic to now be five months pregnant. But lately, you can’t help but worry that your husband doesn’t find you desirable when you notice his behaviour changing. You have no idea how wrong you are until Max finds out about your insecurities…and is determined to prove you so very wrong.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, goddamn where do I even begin with this one, BREEDING KINK GO BRRRR, size kink, dom! Max, pillow princess! Sub! Reader, lots of emotional pregnancy hormones and max being the perfect husband, explicit mention of pregnancy and infertility struggles, 7K WC

Resting your cheek against your hand, you stare at your husband, who’s too focused on his current task to notice his pregnant wife’s annoyed expression. The 6 foot blonde Dutchman in question is dutifully serving up a perfectly balanced dinner for you, all macros and vitamin groups carefully counted as per the personal nutritionist he’s hired. Setting down the plate of smoked rosemary chicken breast, garlicky herb potatoes and sides of sautéed broccolini in front of you, Max stands back to admire his work. You can’t resist a petty Stop looking so proud, I know you hired someone to cook this.

Max pouts rather adorably at you. Surely it counts if I still paid for it, right schat? Rolling your eyes moodily at his antics, you stab a potato with your fork and munch on it, unable to resist the pleased hmm that escapes you at how flavourful the meal was. Noticing your reaction, your husband uses it to try gain your good favour again. You like it, schat? I taste tested five different cooks before I chose this one, he makes the best chocolate brownies, exactly how you like them with double fudge!

He tilts his head earnestly, looking the very picture of a cute golden retriever with his sparkling blue eyes and soft blonde locks. You sigh, putting your fork down. Normally, your darling husband’s devotion has your heart fluttering and cheeks flushing. But not today. No, today, your husband had gone too far - and you were going to make sure he made up for his mistake. When he nudges you to resume your eating, you needed the extra energy after all, you pointedly choose to ignore him. You instead pat the heads of your two Bengal cats and dog, Arlo, who curiously weave in between your legs hoping to get a taste of the fragrant dinner.

Groaning, Max slumps against the dining table in the seat next to you, his own plate ignored. I know why you’re upset, schatje, Max admits, conceding defeat. Finally, you mutter, picking your fork back up to resume dinner. You were mad, sure, but doesn’t mean you weren’t also going to eat the delicious dinner now that he had started his confession! It’s about today, isn’t it? Your husband continues. When you came into the paddock and I started creating a scene? I’m sorry, I know you don’t like it when I’m being too paranoid with your safety but I had to tell those reporters to fuck right off!

You put your fork back down and stare at Max, your brows scrunched in bewilderment. He continues talking, completely unassuming of his wife's growing annoyance as he explains. The "scene" that your clueless husband was referring to had been your attendance at the Monaco Grand Prix earlier that day. The paparazzi had gone positively wild at the rare sight of the retired World Champion with his arm around his obviously pregnant wife - whom he very rarely brought to F1 events for her own safety these days. He still attended races regularly, given how he coached and managed his own racing team now - but that certainly didn't mean he was going to make his beloved wife suffer the stuffiness of the paddock. But you’d insisted on coming to this particular race, pleading at him with puppy eyes, matching your shared golden labrador Arlo’s identical ones as you held the dog up to double your bargaining power. If your friends and family said Max Verstappen was whipped for his wife before, then they'd say he'd ascended into stratospheric levels of devotion once you became pregnant. He could never say no to anything you asked when you flutter your thick lashes up at him.

So even though he hated the idea of nosy reporters and fans getting up in the space of his adorable pregnant wife, he conceded by taking the self anointed role of your bodyguard. He certainly looked the picture of an ominous guard dog, smiling fondly down at you when you chattered to him or tugged his swollen bicep to pull him towards some food - and then icily glaring at anyone who tried to get too close to his wife. Everyone respectfully maintained their distance, scared off by the Dutch Lion. But towards the end of the race, some of the reporters hadn’t been able to resist coming in close when you’d taken your pearl buttoned cardigan off in the heat. The flowy cream-coloured long sleeved, short dress you wore underneath showed off your gentle baby bump. Paparazzio's eyes gleamed at the hot commodity, their hands twitching to their cameras to snap a highly demanded picture. Your husband’s overzealous efforts during the entire pregnancy to buy out publishing companies before anything could reach print and affect your privacy had left the F1 gossip pages begging for a rare photo of Max Verstappen’s pregnant wife.

So when Max turned to speak to one of his old race engineers, some of the reporters eagerly came a bit too close to you. They startle you with the mic suddenly in your face, asking if you were far along enough to know the gender and had you thought of baby names?

Max notices immediately, of course, his metaphorical guard dog ears swivelling in the direction of the intrusion to his wife’s peace. He’s about to interrupt when someone stumbles at the back of the group - a very common occurrence e in the crowded paddock. Unfortunately, that results in the reporter’s mic nudging against your pregnant stomach.

It hadn’t hurt, just a brief push, really! You were just caught off guard and slightly stumbled back yourself, a hand on your belly instinctively. The reporter is already sincerely apologising to you, and you’re waving them off, saying it was not a problem-

But your husband most certainly isn’t on the same page. He steps in front of you, his tall and broad frame completely blocking you away from the frenzied group, and uses a broad sweep of his muscled arm to push the reporter back. You watch in awe as he snarls at the group, reminding everyone of why his nickname was Mad Max, telling them all to fuck off or he’ll have them banned permanently from the paddock.

So this was the apparent scene that your passionate husband thought was the source of your ire, and was earnestly trying to apologise for now. He'd thought you were upset with him hovering over your shoulder, and making a dramatic scene. But he had no clue how wrong he was about the way you truly felt.

Sure, his protectiveness was something you’d talked about a few times - but that was because of how over the top Max had gotten with his security measures when he found out you were pregnant. Anyone who visited your home who dared to so much as politely cough was immediately tossed outside and told to come back when they didn’t have pneumonia. All of your meals were carefully preplanned and cooked for you, and the new motion activated aircon was always running at the right temperature for "optimal blood flow to the baby" (That's a scam, Max you told him blandly, I'm literally a doctor, trust me.) He wouldn’t let you lift anything heavier than your phone for weeks until you'd triumphantly opened a medical textbook to show him the chapter on importance of exercise in pregnancy. But he would still sometimes grab things off your unsuspecting hands after eyeing them dubiously. Your protests fell upon deaf ears - Seriously baby, I love you, but I’m strong enough to carry my own purse - I specifically took the pink Chanel bag today to match my fit!

You’d drawn the line when he had broached the topic, quite early in the pregnancy, of you taking time off your demanding schedule as a doctor and department head of the Emergency Department. But he’d quickly conceded when you firmly told him there was no way in hell you were going to sit at home, bored out of your mind when you were capable of working the first 2 trimesters at least - even 2 and a half?

It was almost comical how rapidly the blonde Dutchman’s face paled at the idea of his heavily pregnant wife running around the overcrowded hospital. So he hastily agreed to your compromise of working the first 5 months, albeit sulking rather cutely. You'd had to gently remind him to ease off, that the baby wasn't due for months, to which he replied that was good because he needed time to install the 12-point alarm system inside the house. You'd rolled your eyes fondly in response, but run a reassuring hand through his blonde locks, making him exhale and lean into your comforting touch. He nuzzles his face into your neck as you rubbed gentle circles to diffuse the tension in his corded back muscles, enjoying the way he’d almost purred contentedly like a cat. You’d reminded him gently to look after himself, too, and not you and his future child. I’m here to take care of you both as well, liefje, you say warmly.

So yes, you suppose one could say Max had been having some trouble…relaxing during your pregnancy. And why he now thought you were frustrated with his overprotective tendencies again today at the Monaco Grand Prix. But the idiot was being completely oblivious to your true feelings.

Because the truth was that you’d found the way he’d defended you fiercely, both in words and action, extremely attractive. And you’d wanted him to know that too, blushing as you look up at him in awe, biting your lip as he guided you into the car to drive you home with a clenched jaw. There was something about seeing your already gorgeous husband look ready to go to commit manslaughter to protect you that made him even goddamn hotter. By the time you'd gotten back home, you were ready to drag him to the luxurious Californian King bed and beg him to have his way with you. You’d always had a very active sex life as a married couple, sure - but this past year it had gone to new levels when you were trying to get pregnant. It was so exciting to tease out new sides and interests in each other, even after so many years as a married couple.

And now that you were finally pregnant, you found yourself thinking about Max’s gorgeous smile, his big and strong shoulders that led to swollen biceps, his broad chest and thick, muscular thighs that you loved to sit on. You had all the usual food cravings in your pregnancy that your husband would be up at odd hours to go get - including a 2 hour drive to a neighbouring Italian town for a tub of strawberry gelato you insisted you needed that very same night. But the strongest craving by far was your desire to have Max on top of you, inside you, fucking you during the warm, lazy afternoon and then again in the cool night and then repeating it all in the morning with sleepy sex to start the day off. And you were sure Max would have no reservations about fulfilling this particular craving of yours - after all, your husband normally went feral at invitations to have sex, with your coy suggestions and sultry eyes and teasing smiles.

So it had been very unexpected that for the last month or so, Max had stopped having sex with you completely. You’re not sure when you first noticed it, because he did a great job of distracting you at first - initially redirecting you to some other interesting activity when you’d flutter your lashes up at him. And when that failed, he wouldn’t hesitate to make you quickly reach bliss with his gentle, experienced large fingers or his skilled tongue playing with your soaked pussy. He knew just how to tease you for long enough that when you finally went over the edge, you would happily fall asleep cuddled against his warm figure, completely satisfied. His strong embrace would hold you protectively against him, running circles along your swollen stomach as he watched over you as you fell into deep sleep.

But as the desperate need to properly get railed by your husband grew as more days passed, you knew you had to do something about it - or risk going crazy from the intensity of your horny pregnancy cravings. You hadn’t realised how much he’d been redirecting your attempts until today, when you came home from the race. Max still looked furious, scowling about how those reporters needed to learn some goddamn respect in an annoyed tone. Meanwhile, you had moved onto plotting far more pleasurable activities - starting with smiling sweetly up at you husband as you took a seat next to him on the sofa. He sighed, tension easing from your comforting touch, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he wrapped a muscled arm around you.

He was still yapping about some media circus or other when you’d teasingly moved your hand over his bulge, playfully squeezing and seeing if your desires would finally be satisfied by something very thick and hard of his. Max stilled at your ministrations, relaxed body tensing again, gently burying his face into your curls as he took a deep breath in an attempt to compose himself. Giggling as you felt his cock respond to your touch within seconds, you took that as an invitation to slide a small h down the front of his jeans. You knew your husband must be as pent up with sexual frustration at you, and you couldn’t wait to return his favours. As you tuck your dark curls behind your ears in anticipation, bending at the waist towards his lap, you're rudely interrupted by your now rather large tummy in the way. You instinctively winced at the uncomfortable stretch across your bump, which was getting larger each week and catching you off guard in inconvenient times like this. Pouting in annoyance, you swayed your hips back to accomodate the swell of your waist. Then you lowered your head to Max's impressive semi erection, parting your eager lips widely, pink tongue darting out-

When Max had placed a gentle hand over yours and pulled you away from his pants, gently but easily manhandling you upright. You blinked, confused, as he kissed you sweetly instead, cutting off your questioning mumbles with a swipe of his tongue to make you moan. You'd gotten lost in his kisses for a few seconds when he’d got a phone call from his lawyer. His eyes lit up, and he gave you a final, chaste kiss before taking it with a sorry, schatje, why don’t you rest for a bit? You watched him, flabbergasted, as he stood up to go over to the kitchen and animatedly discuss filing a restraining order against SkySports. Why on Earth did your husband seem more interested in fighting some standard, run of the mill paparazzi rats than getting his dick sucked? Your doe eyes narrow in suspicion as you eyed his oblivious figure. This was extremely unusual, as normally Max would be tripping out of his pants in excitement if you offered your mouth up to him. His recent avoidant behaviour finally all came together then - and you realised that for the first time in your marriage, Max didn’t seem interested in having sex with you. It was the longest dry period you two had ever had.

You couldn’t stop the swirling anger, hurt, and now very pressing sexual frustration at your husband’s behaviour. You’d already started to hate the body dysmorphia the pregnancy was giving you, with the extra weight you’d gained and the chubbiness around your stomach and hips and ass all accentuating your already curvy figure. You could always rely on your husband to make you feel desirable, though, with the way he fucked you like it was his dying wish on Earth.

But not anymore, apparently, you think dejectedly, as you tune out Max’s misguided apology about his Monaco Grand Prix debacle. You interrupt him, unable to bear the tension any longer. Max, liefje, you begin, voice soft as your earlier pettiness dissolved to give way to vulnerability. I'm not mad about how you defended me today. Your husband looks at you intently with those gorgeous blue eyes of his, patiently waiting for you to go on. You take his large, warm palm into your smaller one, and slowly run your fingers over his skin, calloused from years of professional racing. You're suddenly feeling shy with how focused he is on you, but your pent up feelings can't go on like this. I - I was more, well, I thought it was really hot how you pushed everyone off me, you confessed, still looking down at your intertwined hands. And then when you looked so mad when you yelled at them - you bite your lip at the memory. When you finally meet your husband's eyes again, you find a cocky gleam in his eyes as he noted the way you pressed your thighs together.

Oh, schat, did you get all wet and bothered at seeing me protect you? Max's voice deepened as he teased you with a knowing smirk. You swallow, nodding at his dirty question, your earlier defiance completely gone as you look at him almost pleadingly with desire in your doe eyes. He pulls your smaller frame into his broad chest with a tug from his strong arm around your waist. And as you find yourself on his lap you're breathily telling him how much you want him, need him-

He hmmms approvingly as he gives you a deep kiss, saying he was sorry the two of you'd gotten interrupted earlier, he was very happy to continue where he’d left off. Purring into your ear and making you gasp, he asks you if you wanted his fingers or his tongue first?

You desperately tell him you only wanted one thing - No, no foreplay, I’m so wet already, ju- just need you, Maxie, you ask brazenly as you run your manicured hand down his toned front and just over the waistband to his sweats. And to make sure he’s absolutely certain about what you were asking for, you boldly tell him you wanted his cock, inside you, right now!

Max flushes at your heated demand and it sends a flutter through your aching core. You love being able to catch him off guard! But just when you think you’re finally getting what you want, he slows his wandering hands down and gently murmurs that he’ll make you cum on his thigh first then, schat-

And there it is again - the cold sting of rejection from your husband as he once again hesitates to properly fuck you. Why do you keep doing that? you ask directly, trying to keep your voice steady but your hurt tone still comes through when your lips tremble. You knew how this would go - he would just overstimulate the hell out of you with his thigh and make you cum more than once, exhausting you before you could even get to feel him buried inside you the way you needed him the most. It’s what he’s been doing this entire month.

Max blinks at your abrupt mood change, his expression surprisingly too difficult to read despite the years of marriage you share. Scatje, he says soothingly, trying to reassure you, that’s not it, I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable-

You glare at him now. You do know him well enough to pick up on when he was lying to you - he’s always been horrible at that, after all. You cut him off by suddenly standing up and stalking off to your shared bedroom, saying that you were going to bed and didn't want to be disturbed. It’s a bit dramatic of you, sure, but you can always blame it on the pregnancy hormones - your new favourite excuse. You almost slam the door when your husband calls out that you had barely eaten dinner, his deep voice laced with concern.

Puffing your cheeks as you reply you'd eat later, you slowly close the door instead, feeling guilty that Max was so caring towards you even when you were being dramatic about not getting laid. Changing into a comfortable satin nightdress, you end up sinking into the plush bed, suddenly tired from the overthinking and sexual frustration that's been building up within you. Maybe you’re being unfair on Max, you think sleepily. Maybe he was just caught up in his own worries and anxieties and that’s why he couldn’t focus on anything else - like your normally positively sinful sex life.

After all, he had good reason to worry - because despite your excitement at finally being on the same page about the next stage of your marriage, actually getting pregnant had been far from easy. Of course, you hadn't expected it to happen straight away, knowing it would take a couple of months at least. Your medical textbooks stated the average couple took around 6 months, even! If anything, you and Max were glad for the time you had to thoroughly fuck each other, long and hard. Every fleeting touch, stolen gaze over a dinner with friends would result in you both practically ripping the clothes of each other and rolling around in the Egyptian cotton sheets. Soon you barely even made it to the bedroom - with him taking you in the entry corridor of your home, obscene noises filling the air as his hips unwaveringly pounding into your dripping cunny and you desperately moan his name from where he had you pinned against the wall. It was thrilling, this new rush and desire for all your lovemaking to result in an actual baby.

You'd unlocked a breeding kink of Max's that he hadn't truly realised the extent of - until he saw you cooing at his baby niece who was being rocked in her Uncle Max's arms. Looking down at the scene of his pretty wife smiling at a child who looked just like Max made the Dutch Lion unable to resist the temptation of having you right there. He'd handed his niece back to his sister and attempted to appear subtle as he all but hauled you off upstairs from the rest of the family barbecue. You'd been confused but as soon as he led you into a small office, locking the door behind him, you recognise the dark gaze he hungrily eyes you with. Even you'd lost your normally sensibilities when your husband acted like this, and you willingly spread your soft thighs for him to bury his raw, aching cock into. He fucked you on the wooden desk, a large palm clamped over your drooling lips to keep you quiet. You must have cum at least twice from the way he murmured darkly how good you were going to look pregnant with my child, that's right, gonna be a good vrouw for me and take all my cum, yeah?

So 6 months practically flew by, the two of you thoroughly enjoying yourselves. But when it hit 7 months, and suddenly you couldn't help but notice how all your friends and cousin sisters and in laws seemed to be getting knocked up. It seemed everyone you knew had become pregnant at the drop of the hat - your childhood best friend, your favourite coworker - and even your neighbour's cat, after her and your household cat Jimmy had a rather scandalous affair themselves. Although you'd try to fight it, you couldn't stop the sinking feeling of guilt, of feeling like you weren't good enough for Max, for your future family. It chipped away at your confidence everytime you would tell Max that you were on your period, like clockwork on the same day each month. And your husband remained as considerate as ever, tactfully not asking if you were late this month unless you brought it up yourself - even though he knew your cycle like his own steering wheel by now. You felt too overwhelmed to talk about how much of a failure you felt to Max, who had remained the perfect, devoted husband.

But you hadn't been able to hold it together by 8 months, because this was when your period was finally late. You kept holding your breath, waiting for it to come the next day or the day after - but it never did. And two whole weeks past, and for the first time you let a bubble of hope rise in your chest. Max kept looking at you curiously, noting how you seemed a little happier for this time of the month than usual, but waited for you to come to him yourself. And you almost had that weekend where you were attending yet another friend's gender reveal party, and had seen Max bend down on a knee to sign something for one of the excited kids who spotted the ex Redbull champion. You'd been unable to resist grinning at the sight of multiple toddlers swarming the 6 foot Blonde who handled them rather impressively. He's going to make sure a good father someday, your friend giggled to you by your side. You hmmed in agreement, finally feeling excited about the possibility of you two becoming parents for the first time in weeks.

So that evening, when Max had gone out to meet some of his mates, you committed fully to the bubble of hope and brought a pregnancy test. But after those five minutes were up, your world came crashing down again as the lines read negative out to you. You're not sure how long you ended up sitting on the cold bathroom marble, staring blankly at the stick, your mind running a million miles a minute as you anxiously overthink, But it must have been quite a while, because you're only distracted when you hear Max's knock on the bathroom door, and his worried voice saying Schatje? I'm coming in, you aren't replying-

And as soon as your husband walked in, his soft, blue eyes taking in the heartbroken expression on your face and the pregnancy test at your feet, you couldn't hold it together anymore. Max's own heart broke at the sight of his wife bursting into tears, sobbing and confessing how much of a failure she was, how this is the only thing he wanted and she couldn't give it to him, how she was so sorry-

He'd gathered your shaking, petite form into his comforting embrace and ran soothing motions all up your back as he murmured reassurances to you that it was okay, he was here and you two would get through it together like you always did. When you'd finally managed to stop sobbing, now just sniffling, he wiped the tears off your face as he firmly told you that none of this was your fault, and you had nothing to blame yourself for. It was all just a matter of time and luck, and at the end of the day he didn't care about what happened in the future - what truly mattered was that you were happy.

You'd nodded shakily, doe eyes rimmed with red as you let him carry you to bed. He held you extra tightly that night, until you'd fallen asleep in his arms after crying yourself to exhaustion. You had started feeling better by month 9, with some of the heavy expectation you'd put on your shoulders easing off now that you'd opened up to Max about how you'd felt. Your late period had already come and gone, but you didn't find yourself falling apart at it like last time. Taking it as a promising sign, your husband insisted that the two of you take a week off and relax of the Sicilian coast.

You finally felt like yourself for the first time in a while again, closing your eyes and enjoying the sun beating down on you, drying you off after the refresing swim you'd had in the turqoise waters. Max emerges onto the deck himself, shaking his hair and making you laugh as your dog Arlo does the same next to him. Truly, he was such a golden retriever, all tall, blonde and handsome. You couldn't help but feel your heart swell with gratefulness that you'd found the perfect husband to complete you. Grinning at the sound of his wife's genuine laughter, Max plops down next to you, resting his soft locks comfortably on your plush thighs as he snoozes.

And that evening, when you two made love, it felt different somehow. The months of high intensity, filthy and desperate sex had been fantastic, of course. But there was just something about the slow, sensual pace of Max's lips moving their way down your bare waist, his intense blue eyes watching you closely as he buried his head in between your thighs, right there on the yacht deck. You moaned as your small hands entangle in his golden hair, and let yourself get lost in the dizzying waves of pleasure without any thought of needing to get pregnant.

You taste different, your husband murmurs suddenly, his husky Dutch accent sending shivers to your throbbing core. You flush at his words, comfortable enough with him to swat his head with your thigh, indignantly replying that No wife wanted to hear that from her husband when he's going down on her-Oh! Fuck!

Your protests are cut off abruptly as he gives your dripping pussy another teasing lick, an almost thoughtful expression on his face. I didn't say different is bad, he counters smugly, enjoying the sight of rendering you speechless with his tongue. You always taste good, schat, but right now - he presses that large, Dutch nose of his that you adore right into your dripping pussy - you taste even sweeter than normal...like honeydew.

Of course, Max had always enjoyed eating you out your whole relationship. But that week on the Sicilian coastline, he seemed even more entranced than usual, wanting to have you for breakfast, lunch and dinner, saying that you just tasted sweeter and sweeter each time. Not that you were complaining, of course - he definitely knew what he was doing when he deftly untied your bikini strings to bury his face in between your soft thighs. It wasn't until a couple of weeks later that you'd realise just why you tasted so different to your husband. When a bout of vomiting that you'd returned back to Monaco with and thought to be a tummy bug from dodgy seafood didn't stop, you realised that you'd somehow missed your period that month, too. The vacation Max had planned for you had certainly gotten your mind off trying for a baby a little too well, it seemed - so much so that you’d stopped tracking your cycle.

So when your husband finds you on the bathroom floor for a second time, staring in shock at a pregnancy test in front of you, he immediately is at your side. He hugs you tightly again, making you secure in his embrace and stroking your curls as he tells you please don’t cry again, schatje, I can’t bear to see you like this, it’ll all be okay, we can try other options or always adopt-

You laugh, still in a state of disbelief, the noise muffled against his muscular chest. No, no, Max, I’m actually okay this time, you say as you pull away, smiling up at him. Oh, he says, blinking at you with worry, not looking convinced. Are you sure?

You nod, unable to control the ecstatic grin that appears on your lips. Yes, liefje. I’m positive. And then your husband sees the pregnancy test you hold up for him, the proof of your marriage’s perseverance over these past months as two lines. His jaw drops open, and you giggle at his expression. This is my third one today, it’s definitely real, Maxie. Finally processing the news, he laughs with delight, embracing you tightly again as happy tears filling his pretty ocean blue eyes as he tells you how excited he is.

So now, 5 months later and in the present, you suppose Max was still on edge with how fragile you’d been at the start of your pregnancy. But you’d been so stable and healthy throughout it, looking after yourself and of course having a very dedicated husband who watched your nutrition and daily gentle exercise like a hawk. There was no reason for him to still be concerned about your safety, you think sleepily as you sink against your soft pillows. Your mind drifts to sleep as your overthinking tires you out.

You wake up with a gasp sometime later, breathing heavily as you stare at the moonlit ceilingas the intense dream you’d been having replays again in your head. Hazy visions of strong hands holding you down as his wide cock fucked into you, a deep accented Dutch voice crooning in your ears that your sweet cunt treated him so well, it was just made to take him perfectly, hmm? You’re not sure how much time has passed, but it must only have been a couple hours when you turn the warm bedside lamp on and see your husband hasn’t come to bed yet. The stinging feeling of rejection fills you again, even though you knew Max was probably just relaxing with a video game out in the living room after the emotional rollercoaster you'd been hitting him with today.

But the pregnancy had definitely sent your insecurities into overdrive, and you’re starting to sniffle and you quickly try to muffle your sobs with a palm to your trembling lips. You can’t hide from your ever observant husband, though. A small line of light shines into the dim bedroom as Max cracks open the door, entering with a hopeful look and to ask if you were hungry yet.

At the sight of his teary, pregnant wife sitting up in bed, he’s at your side looking at you with concern. What’s wrong, scatje? He asks, an undertone of urgency in his usually calm voice. Are you hurt? In pain? Is the baby-

I’m fine, Max, we’re fine, you say through the tears, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. I'm sorry I've been acting so crazy all day. God, I’m so stupid, I don’t understand why I’m feeling like this when you’re being such a good husband-

Hearing your self deprecating words, he reassuringly you with a gentle kiss to your forehead, calming down your anxiously beating heart. Tell me what’s happening, schatje, he encourages earnestly, validating that your feelings weren’t silly to him. Although you’re still shaking slightly, your breathing starts to settle as your brown doe eyes look up into his intense blue gaze. I had a dream, Maxie, you breathe, focused on him completely as flashes of the erotic wet dream you’d had return. I had a dream, and you were in it, and- you bite your lip as desire pools in your core - and you were in me, and it felt so, so amazing, and I don’t get it, why don’t you want to have sex with me anymore?

Your husband’s eyes go wide in surprise at your question as you continue. Is it - you sniffle - is it because I’m too fat now? It is, isn’t it? You don’t find me pretty like this? Max is bewildered, not having guessed this was the reason why his wife had been feeling so upset today. He’s pulling you against his strong chest, rubbing soothing circles along your back to calm your jerky breathing down fully. Oh, my sweet vrouw, I’ve been ignoring where you needed me the most, hmm? His comforting, deep voice murmurs reassurances about how you were absolutely beautiful in the pregnancy, having already been the most gorgeous wife but now, you genuinely glowed. Remember the valet at dinner last week who walked straight into the revolving door when he saw you? Max jokes, making you giggle through your tears at the memory of the gawking young valet. Wiping your tears away with a gentle stroke of his thumb, his gorgeous blue eyes look at yours intently as he agrees that he’s been holding back lately. But given how quickly things in bed can get…a bit rough, Max says, cheeks adorably flushing and making you grin, he wanted to avoid anything that could hurt you and the baby. Especially because I don't think I can hold back once I start, because seeing you pregnant with my child has been driving me wild.

Your heart swells with love at your ever thoughtful husband. But his sweet intentions are not needed right now, and you tell him this as you wrap your arms across his broad shoulders. Maxie, you say warmly, your doe eyes blinking up at him with adoration, you know that having sex isn’t going to hurt the baby, right? Even when he didn’t believe your textbook, your literal gynaecologist said there’s no problem.

I know, I know, your husband says, his ocean blue eyes looking at you a bit helplessly. It’s just that I can’t bear the thought of hurting you in any way, the pregnancy was already hard for you at the start and I-

You cut his worried rant off by drifting your small hands across his swollen biceps, to his own large palms. Have you not found it hard to be apart like this, liefje? you ask him directly. Biting his lip rather sexily, your husband’s gaze lowers to where your juicy tits, already having grown larger as your pregnancy went on, bounced enticingly with every breath. You don’t miss a beat, guiding his warm palms from your waist to your delicate collarbones, where you help him slip your skimpy nightgown off your shoulders.

Max’s eyes go dark with desire, and you find a similar need throb in your pussy at seeing him like this. Finally, there your lion of a husband was, the one who acted like he would willingly go to war for one more night with you. You tell him, sounding breathless from how excited you are, about all the times you’d fantasized about him fucking you daily on the sofa, on the dinner table, even that time at dinner last week when he'd worn a fitted shirt and you’d considered begging him to have his way with you right there in the restaurant bathroom. Max groans from your heated confession, and you feel him rapidly hardening underneath you from where you’re sitting in his lap.

It’s been - he swallows, his hands now brushing towards your tempting chest to play with your swollen nipples - it’s been so fucking hard, schatje. You have no idea how sexy you look like this. God, I wanna fuck you so much that you end up pregnant again.

You laugh at his confession now, finally feeling at ease knowing he had been wanted you just as much as you had. You’ve been holding back on me, my dear husband, you tease, peppering his flushed cheeks with gentle kisses. You’ll make up for it tonight, please? Fuck me properly and make me cum around your cock? You finish your naughty demand with a playful grind of your damp panties against his now impressively hard erection.

Strong hands hold your thick hips securely to put an end to your games. You flutter your eyelashes up at your husband who’s looking more and more hungry by the second, and growls out that his sweet little wife was actually a desperate slut wasn’t she? You gasp excitedly at his dirty words, knowing you’d finally broken the last thread of self control holding him back. Max lifts you easily off his lap, pressing you back against him so his husky voice murmured right into your ear from behind. I forgot how addicted you are to being fucked by my cock. Been dreaming about it for weeks, like a good girl, hmm? You nod furiously, whining out yes, yes, please Maxie’s as your head spins in dizzying pleasure. The swell of your chubby ass rubs against his cockhead as Max easily yanks your lace panties off, joining his hastily abandoned sweatpants on the floor.

Rough hands palm your soft thighs, growling lowly that your ass had been getting so fat lately, it drove him mad everytime you bent over in your flowy minidresses. When you can’t resist grinding back on him invitingly again, he gives you a few gentle smacks and you yelp excitedly. Been wanting to hit it from the back so fucking bad, your husband breathes, as his hand doesn’t leave your ass after his third slap, instead grabbing the bouncing flesh firmly with his large, strong palm. M-Max! you’re so turned on at his dirty confession. You two barely need any foreplay, having already been on a frustrated edge for the whole month, and Max’s large cock easily starts slipping into your dripping hole. You’re comfortably laid out on your side, his toned chest pressing into your back and your combined moans mix as he sinks home into your welcoming cunny.

The position lets him easily thrust half his impressive length into you, controlling the slow pace so you only feel blinding pleasure without a hint of any uncomfortable stretch. I’m not gonna last, Maxie, it feels so good- Ah! Your desperate whimpers are cut off as his hands move to play with your lush, bouncing chest, the pregnancy having enhanced your curves. And these tits, schatje, they’re so pretty for me. You’ll be a good girl and let me fuck them, won’t you?

Your pink lips are parted as you pant in pleasure from his skilled fingers toying with your over sensitive nipples. Yes, Maxie, whatever you want, you whine desperately. You can even cum on them, okay? This time you’re the one making him moan with your words and his hips stutter as he pictures his creamy release dripping all over your large breasts.

He makes you cum then, when he slowly sinks a deep thrust in fully, letting you feel the wide stretch of his cock, making you gasp and throw your head back against his shoulder. Your breathless, high pitched whines are captured by his mouth as he moves his tongue languidly against yours, murmuring how good you did for him, the most perfect vrouw he could have asked for as he talks you through your mind numbing orgasm. He barely lasts a few seconds after you, letting out a Oh fuck! Gonna cum, schat- as your tight, warm pussy clenches around his raging erection and milking him for every last drop.

Heavy, content breathing fills the room as you both come down from your highs together. Your small hands intertwine with his as you smile tiredly at him, where he rests his flushed face against the swell of your chest. Did I satisfy your craving, schatje? Max says with a teasing smile, still breathless. You run your fingers affectionately through his damp, tousled hair. Not even close, baby you say, equally breathless. You know how strong my pregnancy cravings are.

Your husband laughs, the warm sound making you giggle as well. Challenge accepted, schat. Be careful what you wish for.

_____________________________________________

A/N: dedicated gentle husband max who switches up when you rile him up drives me FERALLLLLL hope it does for you too <3 Sooo many of you requested this im so glad you liked part 1!! thoughts on part 3 with soft dad max?? (Im writing this anyway regardless of what yall say ahahaha) 🫶🫶

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x oc

509 notes · View notes

forzarma · 2 days ago

Text

Between the lines

Lando Norris x Law student!reader

A/N: ok amma just act like i didn’t ghost this app for months and came out if nowhere but here we are ig. Also the Brazilian gp??? What the heck like wild race istg😭

It all started one night in Monaco, on a break from law school. You were on vacation with a friend, celebrating the rare freedom that came with a brief pause in your intense study schedule. A night at the casino was not usually your scene, but your friend had insisted.

After about an hour, she’d struck up a flirtatious conversation with some guy who’d been lingering by the bar. You waved her off, telling her you’d be fine, and took a seat on your own near a roulette table.

That’s when he walked up. Unassuming at first, with that messy hair and a slightly cocky smile that had “trouble” written all over it.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, a hint of an accent in his voice.

You shrugged, amused. “Go for it. But I’m not particularly good at this.”

He chuckled. “Neither am I.”

You exchanged a few more jokes, but it didn’t take long for him to introduce himself, giving you his number in a smooth, unhurried way.

“Lando,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You stashed the number away without much thought. It was only the next day, when you mentioned the encounter to your little sister over FaceTime, that you realized who he actually was.

“Some guy named Lando gave me his number at the casino,” you’d said offhandedly. Her jaw dropped.

“Wait, Lando who??.”

You blinked, stunned, and then laughed. “I don’t know, apparently he’s famous”

“so it’s lando fucking norris what” she said wide eyed

She rolled her eyes, muttering, “Only my sister would be this oblivious to F1 drivers. I’ve been a die-hard fan since I was, like, ten, and you meet one without even knowing?”

From there, you let yourself get to know him, intrigued by how normal he seemed compared to the hype you’d suddenly realized surrounded him. When he asked you out, you thought, why not? You were used to focusing on your studies and keeping your personal life private, so it didn’t seem like much would change. But with Lando, everything was different.

Months later, you’d fallen into an unexpected but steady rhythm with Lando. Despite his career, he managed to keep things low-key. Neither of you posted much about each other. Hell, you barely posted anything at all. You were still a law student with a private life, and the last thing you wanted was for the whole world to know who you were dating.

One evening, you were lying on his couch, scrolling through your phone, when Lando turned to you with a sly grin.

“Babe, you know… you’re eventually gonna get caught, right? Someone’s going to snap a picture of us, and then the cat’s out of the bag,” he teased, nudging your leg with his.

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Oh, sure, because every random person with a camera is just dying to know who you’re dating.”

He snickered, leaning in closer. “Maybe. But you know, it could be kinda nice… to go out sometimes. Like, properly. We don’t have to make a big deal of it.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. As much as you loved being with him, the idea of being recognized—or worse, photographed—made you cringe. Your accounts were private, your life simple, and you weren’t sure how you’d feel about people seeing you with him.

But, at the same time, you knew it wasn’t fair to keep him hidden away forever. So, you took a deep breath and gave him a small smile. “What if we make a deal?”

His eyebrows shot up in interest. “I’m listening.”

“You can have me at the paddock,” you said, already dreading the idea. “But my accounts stay private, no tags, no ‘girlfriend reveals’ on Instagram. I’ll show up, I’ll be there for you but I’m not trying to become some celebrity.”

He grinned, leaning in to kiss you softly. “Deal. Although I can’t promise you won’t end up in a couple of team photos. You know how they love to catch every damn moment.”

You chuckled, trying not to think too hard about what you were signing up for.

A couple of weeks later, you were lying in bed with Lando, scrolling mindlessly through Instagram, when you felt a pang of guilt.

“I never actually told you about my sister,” you said suddenly.

“Oh?” He looked over at you with interest.

“Yeah, she’s been obsessed with F1 since she was like, ten,” you explained, laughing softly. “She’s begged me to take her to a race for years, but I was always too busy with school. Now she’s a full-on Ferrari fan… and she’s probably never going to forgive me for dating you.”

He grinned, intrigued. “A Ferrari fan, huh? That’s rough. Maybe I can convince her to switch sides.”

You snorted. “Good luck. She’s already sworn allegiance to Sebastian Vettel. In her words, McLaren’s colors are ‘an offense to her soul.’”

Lando laughed, shaking his head. “Well, in that case, we’ll have to win her over somehow. Why don’t we bring her to a race? I’ll make sure she gets the best seats, full experience,

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. “She’d lose her mind. Seriously. Are you sure? Because I can tell you right now, she’d never root for McLaren.

“Absolutely,” he said, squeezing your hand. “If she’s as big a fan as you say, she deserves a proper race weekend. Plus, I think it’s time we officially break her ‘Ferrari-only’ heart.”

On race day, you and Lando arrived at the paddock, and immediately, heads turned. You’d chosen a classic, chic outfit and despite your initial nerves, you managed to keep your cool.

You spotted your sister down the row, and her jaw dropped as soon as she saw you. She approached, barely able to contain her excitement, though she shot a mock glare at Lando.

“Such a shame I don’t like McLaren,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied with a grin. “You just wait. One lap, and you’ll be a fan.”

She rolled her eyes, but you could tell she was thrilled, practically bouncing on her heels as she looked around at the spectacle. She turned to you, eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re really here… at a race. I don’t know whether to thank you or disown you.”

You laughed, nudging her playfully. “I’m still not a fan, if that helps.”

She huffed, pretending to be offended. “I guess I’ll forgive you. But only if you bring me every single time from now on.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of cameras, fans, and the hum of engines. You couldn’t deny the rush of excitement that came with being part of the chaos, even if it meant being in the public eye. And when you saw your sister’s face, completely lit up as she took in every second, it felt worth it.

The relationship slowly became public, just as you and Lando had agreed. You kept your accounts locked down, but fans began to recognize you, and a few photos of you two at the paddock circulated on social media.

Your sister stayed true to her Ferrari fandom, texting you regularly to tease you about your “betrayal.” But every now and then, you’d catch her slipping in a comment about McLaren usually something along the lines of, “Okay, that car looks pretty badass.”

One evening, Lando turned to you with a satisfied grin. “I think we’re doing alright, don’t you think?”

You looked around the Monaco apartment you’d somehow started calling “home” without even realizing it, at the life you’d built together. You leaned over, giving him a soft kiss. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

In the end, you realized you didn’t need to post, announce, or shout your relationship from the rooftops. Being there for each other was enough, even if it meant sharing some of the spotlight.

After all, Lando may have been the one the world wanted to see, but you were his, and that was more than enough.

#Lando Norris x reader #Lando Norris smut #Lando Norris fanfic #ln4 #ln4 x you #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #lando norris x female reader #land norrix x oc #lando norris #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formual one x reader #formual one

382 notes · View notes

seitmai · 1 day ago

Text

Your eyes flick over him, taking in his nervous fidgeting. It’s endearing, really, the way he seems like he'd rather be anywhere but standing across from you. And maybe it’s because he's the polar opposite of the loud types, but you can’t help teasing him a little.

Endearing is just the perfect description for Bob 🥰

You can’t resist needling him just a bit more, leaning in just close enough to watch him fluster. You know the effect you have—the low neckline of your top, the tattoos trailing down your arm, the glint of your piercings just visible through the thin fabric. He’s doing his best not to stare, but his eyes flick down for a split second before he yanks his gaze back up, his face turning redder by the second.

🤭🤭🤭

He leans in even closer, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial tone. “Well, let’s start with two beers for Phoenix and Bob. Can’t have ‘em dehydrating, right?” There’s a slight pause, and he gives you a smirk, his gaze lingering a bit longer than necessary. “Make sure Bob’s is extra cold—he’s, uh, still cooling off after the last time you talked to him.” You laugh, shaking your head as you start on the beers. “Don’t tell me he’s still flustered from that., it's been years.” “Poor guy doesn’t stand a chance with you around, no matter the time,” Hangman says with a wink.

Oh Bobby 🥹

He pauses, rolling his eyes in that way he does whenever he brings up Rooster. “Rooster’s a beer guy, as usual. But let’s give him the lighter stuff. Don’t want him trying to prove anything tonight.”

Hahah this cracked me up 😂

“And what about you, Hangman?” you ask, tossing him a smirk. “Anything special, or do you just want a mirror to stare into?”

Perfect answer 👏🏻

You laugh, reaching for a row of glasses. “Let me see… Something tells me you could handle a little extra kick tonight.” You pour a round of tequila for Phoenix and Coyote, grabbing lime wedges and a sprinkle of salt for the rims.

The way I just know Phoenix and Coyote are gonna drink those tequila shots with the most sexual tension between them 🤭

He chuckles, not missing a beat. “Because I don’t think you’d waste your time with just any guy.” He holds your gaze, letting the words hang in the air, something challenging in his smile. “You seem a little… particular.”

I love how they have this verbal sparring going on

Phoenix snickers, sipping her tequila and watching the scene unfold like it’s her favourite soap opera. “This is priceless,” she mutters to Coyote, who nods, clearly entertained.

Oh they are having the best time, front row and all 😅

“Hey, Bob,” she says with a mischievous grin, “you’re awfully quiet over there. What do you think? Who’s got the better shot?” Bob’s eyes widen as every head at the table turns to look at him. He stammers, his grip tightening on his glass. “I—I don’t know,” he mumbles, his voice barely audible. “I, uh… I think she’d go for someone… respectful. Kind of… uh…”

He's like: oh please don't rope me into this 🫣

Bob just blushes harder, sinking a little lower in his seat as Phoenix pats his back in a show of support. “Ignore them, Bob. They’re just scared you’re the dark horse here,” she teases, sending Jake and Bradley a challenging look.

Oh I have a feeling Phoenix knows something the others don't 🤭🤔

Bob practically melts into his seat, but despite his obvious embarrassment, there’s the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he glances at you.

👀👀👀

Bob’s leaning on the railing, doing his best to stay out of the spotlight as Jake and Bradley bicker, each too wrapped up in their little rivalry to notice you coming. Only Phoenix catches your approach, her eyes widening in excitement as she realizes what’s about to happen. She’s the only one who knows, after all.

Hehe I knew it 😌 maybe Jake and Bradley should just kiss each other, they already bicker like an old married couple 🤭

You can tell he’s trying to play it cool, but there’s a flicker of pure adoration in his eyes as he takes you in. Without a word, he leans in, brushing his lips softly against yours, his hand finding your waist as he pulls you in. His usual shyness fades as he melts into the kiss, his touch growing just a little bolder, like he’s letting himself savour every second.

🥰🥰🥰

Around you, the entire squad has gone silent. Rooster, Hangman, and Coyote are all staring, mouths slightly open in complete disbelief. But it’s not the kiss that has them in shock. It’s the glint of your engagement ring—hanging on a delicate chain around your neck, tucked just under the collar of your shirt. The light catches it as you pull back from Bob, and you see the realization dawn on each of their faces.

They are like:

🤯🤯🤯

Bob, still flushed from the kiss, shifts awkwardly as he catches sight of his teammates’ stunned expressions. He ducks his head, clearly overwhelmed by all the attention, but there’s a shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close.

He is just so cute 🥰

“Guess we kept it under wraps a little too well,” you say with a smirk, running a hand affectionately through Bob’s hair, watching as he blushes even deeper but relaxes into your touch. He looks at you with such genuine, quiet adoration that it’s impossible not to smile.

Urgh they are perfect together and Bob's blushing is just so cute 🥰

Rooster, still processing, lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Wow. And here I was thinking shy guys didn’t stand a chance.” Phoenix is practically beside herself with joy, and she can’t help but gloat just a little. “Well, guess what, boys?” You grin, crossing your arms. “Turns out all I wanted was the quiet one.”

Haha this is just perfect!! And Phoenix is reeling of joy, I know it 😅

The quiet ones

Summary: You surprise the Dagger Squad by revealing your secret to Bob, who shyly but lovingly melts into your kiss as the others watch in shock, as shy guys are your type.

Chapter Warning: Secret relationship reveal, unexpected PDA, and flustered teammates, drinking.

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x reader

The sun is barely up, casting a soft glow over the empty beach outside The Hard Deck as you pull open the doors and step into the familiar dimness of the bar.

You've been doing this for years—unlocking before the heat of the day sets in, setting up stools, and sliding glasses onto the shelves with the smooth rhythm you've perfected. Today feels the same, but something in the air hints it won't be an ordinary shift. There's a buzz, the sort that comes with Navy missions brewing, whispered over drinks in tones low enough that only bartenders know how to hear.

You're wiping down the bar when the door creaks open. You look up and spot a guy with dark-rimmed glasses, a touch of shyness evident in the way he stands at the door, scanning the place like he’s about to get reprimanded just for being here early. He's tall but sort of unassuming, a guy who'd rather fade into the background. He's a contrast to the pilots who usually come in loud, all bravado and swagger. You recognize him instantly: Bob, the quiet one who stands at the edges of the Dagger Squad.

As he approaches, you give him a slow, easy smile and cross your arms, leaning back. "Hey there. Early start for you guys?"

He swallows hard, adjusting his glasses. “Uh…yeah. Just…getting a round for the squad.” His voice is barely audible, like he’s half-hoping you’ll mishear and let him walk away without much fuss.

“So…who’s in charge of this little mission?” you ask, setting down a few glasses with a subtle clink.

He hesitates, caught off guard by the question. “Uh…Admiral Simpson.”

You chuckle. “Beau? That's my uncle."

Bob's eyes widen, his mouth hanging open for a moment before he stammers out a response. "Oh. Uh, wow. I… I didn’t know." The faintest blush creeps up his cheeks, and he looks down, almost embarrassed to be caught off guard like that.

“Don’t worry,” you say with a smirk, letting your fingers trace the rim of a glass, “your secret’s safe with me.”

“Uh…thanks. I just—um, I’ll take…uh, the round,” he manages, his voice catching as you pour the drinks.

You can see his struggle—the way he wants to say something, but every time he opens his mouth, he clams up. He's never met anyone like you before, that’s obvious. The confidence, the tattoos, the piercings peeking through the fabric—it all ties together into something that leaves him completely off balance. And he’s… well, adorable.

As you slide the last glass across the bar to him, you give him a wink. “See you around, Bob. Bring your friends by sometime.”

He mutters a quiet “thank you” and shuffles out, beers in hand and cheeks flushed. And as he heads out the door, you can't help but grin to yourself, wondering if he’ll find the nerve to say more next time.

---

It’s a typical night at The Hard Deck, the bar buzzing with energy, filled with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and rock music blaring from the jukebox. The place is packed with Navy types, just as it always is when there’s no active mission holding them back. You’re behind the bar, quick on your feet, sliding drinks to customers and catching up with the regulars. Then, through the crowd, you spot him.

Hangman strides up to the bar with that cocky swagger he’s famous for. Tall, blond, and all confidence, he’s got a grin that could charm the devil himself. And he knows it. Tonight, he’s dressed in his usual off-duty look—just tight enough T-shirt and a leather jacket slung over his shoulder, looking every bit the guy who doesn’t take “no” for an answer. But that’s the game he plays, and tonight you’re ready for him.

“Evening, sweetheart,” he drawls, leaning across the bar just a little too close. “Thought you’d be closed by now.”

You raise an eyebrow, resting your hands on the bar and meeting his gaze without flinching. “Well, I thought you’d be up in the air by now,” you shoot back, your tone teasing. “Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

He chuckles, clearly delighted by the challenge. “All right, you got me there,” he says, glancing around. “But I’ve got a list for you. The squad’s thirsty tonight.”

“Let’s hear it, then,” you say, pulling out a row of glasses, ready to work but giving him your full attention.

You laugh, shaking your head as you start on the beers. “Don’t tell me he’s still flustered from that., it's been years.”

“Poor guy doesn’t stand a chance with you around, no matter the time,” Hangman says with a wink. “But hey, he’ll survive. Next up, Coyote wants a whiskey—neat. You know how he is. And Rooster…” He pauses, rolling his eyes in that way he does whenever he brings up Rooster. “Rooster’s a beer guy, as usual. But let’s give him the lighter stuff. Don’t want him trying to prove anything tonight.”

You slide the beers across to him, already pouring the whiskey as he keeps going. “And what about you, Hangman?” you ask, tossing him a smirk. “Anything special, or do you just want a mirror to stare into?”

He laughs, clearly enjoying this back-and-forth. “Ouch, darlin’. That one stings.” He places a hand over his heart, feigning offense before letting his gaze flick down to the line of tattoos trailing up your arm, then back to meet your eyes with a mischievous glint. “But as long as you’re the one serving, I’ll take whatever you recommend.”

You pour him a whiskey, sliding it over the bar with a raised brow. “Think you can handle it?”

He picks up the glass, holding it up to you with that easy, confident grin. “Oh, I can handle a lot more than that. But I like a bartender who can keep me on my toes.” He takes a sip, never breaking eye contact, letting the moment hang in the air.

The bar is still loud around you, but there’s a beat where it’s just you and him, his gaze heavy and flirtatious, yours daring him to keep going. He leans in a little closer, his voice a quiet murmur. “You know, we should get a drink somewhere else sometime. Just you and me.”

You lean back, letting a slow smile spread across your face, but truly this guy is not for you. “Oh, is that an invitation?”

“Consider it an open one,” he replies, giving you a wink before stepping back to gather up the drinks. “But hey, don’t take too long thinking it over. I don’t like waiting.”

It’s been a busy night, the bar still packed as the crowd buzzes with the kind of energy that only comes when there’s no telling when the next mission will roll around. You’re behind the bar, catching your breath after that last round, when you catch sight of Rooster winding his way through the crowd, headed straight for you.

He’s wearing his usual laid-back style—well-worn jeans, a vintage band T-shirt, and that aviator jacket slung over his shoulders. He looks like something out of a different time, especially with those sunglasses perched up in his curls, even though it’s night. Rooster always has this quiet, steady confidence, like he knows he doesn’t need to announce himself. And there’s something a little different in his step as he approaches you, maybe a touch of playfulness in the way he’s looking at you, a half-smile already curving on his lips.

“Hey, bartender,” he says, leaning onto the bar with an easy grin. “I’m back for the squad’s refills, but this time I think we’re changing things up.”

“Oh yeah?” You give him an amused look, resting your hands on the bar and leaning in just enough to close the space between you. “Guessing Hangman finally realized he can order something other than whiskey?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, Hangman’s hard to change. But the rest of us? We’re open to suggestions. Figured you might know what we need better than we do.”

You raise a brow, sensing the tease in his tone. “Oh, so now I’m in charge of drinks? Guess I must be moving up in the world.”

“Better believe it.” He flashes you a quick grin. “But you still gotta keep me entertained while you’re at it.”

“Tequila for Phoenix and Coyote,” you announce, lining them up. “And… let’s do something different for Bob. A Moscow Mule might be more his speed—something smooth but not too strong, I know he likes it.”

“Perfect,” Rooster nods, his eyes catching on the way your hands move as you pour, clearly fascinated. “And what do you recommend for me?”

“Hmm,” you say, pretending to consider as you tilt your head, catching his gaze. “Something with a bit of bite, I think. Something… classic.”

You reach for the whiskey, but instead of neat, you add a twist of orange, pouring a well-balanced Old Fashioned. You slide it over to him, catching his eye with a smirk. “Think you’re ready for that?”

He picks up the glass, turning it slowly in his hand, that same lazy smile lingering on his face. “Only if you’re ready to join me for one sometime,” he says, his voice low enough to make sure you catch the hint. He takes a sip, and his gaze stays fixed on you, watching your reaction, clearly testing the waters.

You raise an eyebrow, not about to let him off easy. “And what makes you think I’d go for a guy who takes drink recommendations from the bartender?”

“And you think you’re up to the standards?” You tilt your head, leaning on the bar just close enough that he has to take in every word.

His eyes flick down to your arm, where your tattoos catch the light, and then back up to meet yours, a flicker of mischief in his gaze. “I think I’d be willing to try,” he says, his voice smooth, steady. “But I’ll leave it up to you if I get the chance.”

You shake your head, suppressing a grin, and reach for another glass, pouring yourself a splash of soda as you lean back. “How about you focus on delivering those drinks first, hotshot?”

Rooster raises his glass in a mock salute, his eyes never leaving yours. “Alright, boss,” he says, clearly amused. “But don’t think I’m letting this go that easily.”

He picks up the tray, balancing it with practiced ease as he throws one last look over his shoulder before heading back to the squad. You’re left behind the bar, catching your breath with a smile as you watch him go, knowing full well he’ll be back for another round—and maybe another shot at breaking through.

The Dagger Squad is clustered around a corner table, the drinks you just served scattered across the tabletop. Conversation and laughter flow easily, but the energy shifts the second Hangman and Rooster start eyeing each other, sizing each other up with cocky grins and sidelong glances. Bob, meanwhile, is trying his best to blend into the background, clutching his Moscow Mule and looking more than a little flustered as he watches his teammates' latest standoff unfold.

“You know, Rooster,” Jake drawls, leaning back in his chair and raising his whiskey with an infuriatingly smug smile, “you’re wasting your time here. She’s clearly more into a guy with… confidence.” He emphasizes the last word, smirking as he takes a slow sip, his eyes flicking over to the bar where you’re serving another customer.

Rooster snorts, crossing his arms as he leans forward. “Confidence? Is that what you call whatever it is you do?” He shakes his head, trying to keep his voice casual, but the competitive gleam in his eyes betrays him. “Trust me, Bagman, she’s not going for the guy who struts around like a damn peacock.”

Phoenix snickers, sipping her tequila and watching the scene unfold like it’s her favourite soap opera. “This is priceless,” she mutters to Coyote, who nods, clearly entertained.

“Oh, please,” Jake fires back, unfazed. “You think that ‘slow burn’ routine of yours is going to win her over? Women don’t want to wait around forever. They like a guy who knows what he wants.” He casts another confident glance toward the bar, and Rooster follows his gaze, jaw tightening just slightly.

Bob, meanwhile, is turning a shade of red that nearly matches his squadmate’s call sign. He keeps his eyes firmly on his drink, but Phoenix catches the flush creeping up his neck and nudges him with her elbow.

“Hey, Bob,” she says with a mischievous grin, “you’re awfully quiet over there. What do you think? Who’s got the better shot?”

Bob’s eyes widen as every head at the table turns to look at him. He stammers, his grip tightening on his glass. “I—I don’t know,” he mumbles, his voice barely audible. “I, uh… I think she’d go for someone… respectful. Kind of… uh…”

Rooster grins, reaching over to pat Bob’s shoulder, his tone almost affectionate. “See, Bob gets it. A guy who’s not all in her face about it.”

Jake rolls his eyes, scoffing as he leans back. “Right. Because nothing says ‘charming’ like shyly staring into your drink.”

“Oh, is that it?” Hangman laughs, tipping his glass toward Bob in mock salute. “Tell you what, Bob—if she turns me down, I’ll let you take a shot.”

Rooster shakes his head, chuckling. “Sure, Bob. If Jake somehow fails—and trust me, he will—you’ve got my blessing.”

Bob’s face is now a deep shade of crimson, and he lets out a nervous laugh, clearly mortified. But he can’t resist glancing over toward the bar, where you’re moving easily between customers, completely unaware of the mini-drama playing out across the room.

“You know what?” Rooster says, straightening up and giving Jake a look that’s half-challenge, half-smirk. “Why don’t we let her decide who’s worth her time?”

Jake’s eyes narrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Fine by me, Rooster. May the best man win.”

Bob practically melts into his seat, but despite his obvious embarrassment, there’s the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he glances at you.

You’ve been keeping an eye on the Dagger Squad from behind the bar, and you’ve caught enough of the banter to know they’re up to something. You can feel the weight of their stares now, so you decide to put them out of their misery. With a knowing smile, you grab a couple of fresh napkins and make your way over to the table, letting your gaze linger on one person in particular.

“Hey, Bobby,” you say with a playful lilt, giving him a warm smile. His head snaps up, his cheeks turning an immediate shade of pink.

“Oh, my god,” Phoenix gasps, covering her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter as she watches Jake and Bradley try to process what they’re seeing. “No way. All this time, and she’s been with… Bobby?” Her eyes sparkle with pure delight as she glances back at you, unable to contain her excitement.

“Wait…you’re with Bob?” Hangman says, still sounding completely baffled. He shakes his head, his usual confidence gone. “And you’re engaged?”

Rooster, still processing, lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Wow. And here I was thinking shy guys didn’t stand a chance.”

Phoenix is practically beside herself with joy, and she can’t help but gloat just a little. “Well, guess what, boys?” You grin, crossing your arms. “Turns out all I wanted was the quiet one.”

533 notes · View notes

carbondioxidewater · 2 days ago

Text

Make A Move (Pt. 3)

americanfootballplayer!Sukuna x fem!reader

genre: slow-burn romance, college au, fluff, angst

warnings: none so far

word count: 3k

(-> Pt. 1) (-> Pt. 2) (-> masterlist)

A small gift bag in your hand, you're currently on your way to the football field. You figured it would only be fair to thank Sukuna for his help last thursday. All of your classes were over for the day and after your talk with Utahime - you had a lot of explaining to do after all - you found out that the team had training in this exact period.

Because Utahime is a senior tutoring juniors occasionally - as she had the best score in the mathematics exam last year - she knows about their schedule through a guy named Aoi Todo, who is also in the football team and simultaneously one of those juniors she tutors. You don't know how she keeps up with her own studies, considering she has that minijob at the hotel AND is a tutor on top of that. But she had always been a very determined woman and luckily, she only tutors every few weeks.

When you arrived, the team was just getting ready to start. You looked around the area to find that distinct pink haired guy you were here for and when you thought you had found him, he turned around and didn't have those typical tattoos on his face. You were utterly confused to say the least, when all of a sudden you heard a deep voice from behind you.

"Looking for me in your free time?"

You turned around and Sukuna gave you a smug look.

"Actually, yeah." you admitted and his face turned into a stunned one. He didn't expect you to be so blunt about it.

"I just came to give you that." you added and reached him the small bag.

"What's that?" he asked, mustering it before reluctantly taking it into his hands.

"Just a small thank you for last time." you crossed your arms behind your back and looked up at him, a genuine smile adorning your face. At this sight, he gulped. He examined the gift closely, slowly removing its content. He couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the chocolate in form of a football, his mind went blank.

"You got this for me?" he quizzed, taken aback by the kind gesture. You couldn't help but chuckle, a small bluff following.

"No, I actually got it for the other pink haired boy over there." And with that, you turned around and pointed at the man you had mistaken for Sukuna a few moments ago.

"'The other pink haired boy?'" he repeated with an amused grin. "Don't tell me you don't know him."

You shook your head.

"I don't. Why would I?" you doubted to which he responded in disbelief.

"Because he's one of the best players of our team?"

"I don't really concern myself with football or who plays it." you confided to him, causing Sukuna to drop his jaw in a state of shock before closing his mouth again in a moment of realization.

"You knew who I was though." he then stated.

"Yes, because you're a well-known womanizer." you rolled your eyes. He just laughed.

"If I am, then why aren't you all over me?"

"I'm resistant to boys like you." you shrugged your shoulders.

"Really? How are 'boys like me'?"

"Let me think." you pretended to be serious, getting into the thinker pose. "Arrogant, insufferable, boring, nasty..." he nodded at every word, occasionally raising his brows amusedly but letting you speak. Sukuna couldn't hide his entertainment, you were truly something else.

"You think so?" He came closer. "Then why did you give me the chocolate? You sure you're not crazy about me, sweet thing?" he smirked and that startled you for a moment, but you composed yourself again.

"Don't flatter yourself. You know it's not like that."

"A man can dream." he sighed and held up his hands in retreat, eyes closed. Once again, you felt your face heating up, when suddenly some of the players on the field headed your way.

"Yo, Sukuna! Hurry up, before you're late again!" someone screamed while coming up to the two of you.

"What do you mean again? I'm never late for training!" Sukuna hissed at him. Then the guy was already next to you, though on the other side of the fence.

"And what happened on thursday?" he asked him to which Sukuna kept silent. Your mind went to work, catching onto his words.

"What happened on thursday?" was your next question, curious because on that day, Sukuna helped you out.

Then another guy followed after the first, answering your question. It was the one that looked so similar to Sukuna.

"He was one hour late to our meeting, delaying the bus drive and our whole timetable and all!" The kind looking boy unfolded and now that he was closer to you, he looked like a boyish version of Sukuna, who was rather mature in contrast. His words left you speechless though, Sukuna prioritized your safety over football? You couldn't believe your ears.

"Yeah yeah yeah, and now I'm never hearing the end of it." Sukuna complained while the others laughed at him.

"Deserved." The black haired one said.

Then Sukuna took the opportunity to introduce you to each other, exposing the one with the black hair as Todo and the other one as Yuji. The two seemed to be extremely surprised at Sukuna's action for whatever reason, stammering sceptically while greeting you.

But that was not what caught you off guard, it was the way your name rolled off Sukuna's tongue. Now that you heard it slipping from his lips, you noticed you don't reckon telling him your name, so how did he know? You instantly glanced at him and when you did, he already met your gaze, a knowing smirk on his face.

"Anyways, hurry now or we're starting without you!" the two boys exclaimed to which he responded with a simple "I'm coming, dammit!", walking after them while all three of them grinned.

And with that, the athletes said their goodbyes. You returned, leaving slowly but surely. Sukuna, though, halted for a split second, calling out your name once more. He was definitely doing this on purpose.

"Hey! We're not done with that conversation!" he shouted and you inwardly agreed, wanting to confront him about the new found information that was revealed to you.

"Is that a threat?" you screamed back and he beamed at you.

"It's a promise!"

And then he turned around, running after his teammates. You couldn't help but start growing a wide smile yourself.

In the distance, you could see them teasing Sukuna about something, but you couldn't catch their voices.

It was the next day and you were sitting in your linguistics class that was about to start in a few minutes, busy reading through the endless pages of text you were supposed to read at home. Thankfully, your lecturer was not there yet, but you still cursed yourself for not starting earlier, positive that you wouldn't finish reading it in time.

Focused on skimming through the text, you jumped when suddenly someone plumped down the seat right next to you. It couldn't be your friend who typically sat there, because she was sick this week. Of course, it was Sukuna.

"Can you stop doing that?" you hissed, still recovering from the shock.

"Where would be the fun in that?" his pearly whites flashed you.

"Why are you even here? Mixed up the classes?"

"Nah, but we have unfinished business."

"So you thought this was the right place and time for that?" you remarked sarcastically, but he replied with a careless "Yeah."

Shaking your head, you took a quick look at the time before taking the opportunity to confront him.

"Why didn't you tell me you had to be somewhere else on thursday? I would have been fine. I hope you didn't get in trouble..."

Finally talking about what left you nosy after yesterday's events, you wondered if he didn't have any classes himself. But that shouldn't bother you. You've had a hard time doing your homework and falling asleep the previous night due to Sukuna's selfless act, unable to stop your mind from wandering to said topic. You truly wouldn't have expected that from him.

"You know my reasons already, it was my decision. It was nothing your little gift couldn't have fixed." he flirted and you puffed. "I texted them I had to take care of something first and in the end, we still won. None of them was actually mad at me, so don't worry about it." he assured you and that soothed you a little.

"Next time, I'm declining your offer." you informed him.

"Next time, I'll make sure you're at the game then. Can't keep me from the game when you're at it." he smirked and you sighed. He was so annoying.

"I already told you I'm not into football."

"Yeah, about that...that has to change. Can't let you walk around not knowing who the heroes of our campus are." he exaggerated.

"Speaking of which, how do you know my name?" you finally had the chance to ask him that.

"Wouldn't you like to know? Maybe I should leave it to you to figure it out, like you did to me." he suggested, referring to you lying about sharing a class with him when you first met. The puzzled look on your face was enough for him to break out in laughter.

"But I'm not cruel like that. I know Utahime from Todo, I just didn't know she had a roommate. So when I asked him about it, he remembered your name from some of her stories. He didn't know who you were though."

So you both used the same method, the same opportunity to find out about each other? What are the chances?!

"You know Utahime?" Those were news to you. She would have told you if that was the case, you were sure of that.

He shook his head.

"Not in person, I just know she tutors Todo."

"You're unbelievable." you were shocked that he put so much effort into getting to know you.

Everything you've learned about Sukuna in the past few weeks truly surprised you. You thought he was just a big asshole that only cared about himself and had a shallow personality, but the more you got to know him, the more you realized you actually felt somewhat comfortable in his presence. Not that you would tell him that, of course.

"I know." he winked. "So, what do you say? You coming to my next game this weekend?"

"Didn't you have a game last weekend already?" And in that moment, your professor barged in.

Shit! You haven't finished reading the text yet!

"Oh you have a lot of learning to do. We have one every week of the season."

But before Sukuna could carry on his lecture on football, you tried convincing him to give you this lesson another time, internally stressed about your still due obligation of reading the text. But he was stubborn, not willing to comply until you pledged to come to his game this saturday.

The loud discussion in the otherwise so quiet room has ultimately drawn the attention of your lecturer, who quickly noticed that Sukuna didn't belong in this class.

"Mr. Sukuna, aren't you in the wrong place?" the professor voiced.

Sukuna apologized, claiming he only needed a minute before turning back to you again, everyone's eyes on the scene in front of them now. The lecturer was taken aback by Sukuna's boldness, but seeing as the period hasn't even started, he let it slide.

"Please, go already!" you pleaded whisperingly, shoving him a little but he didn't back down just yet. Thankfully, both the professor and the students started preparing for class, the noise slightly concealing your conversation and taking the focus from you.

"I'm not leaving until you promise me to come."

He pushed and you gave in, not daring to face the consequences if you didn't, and especially not wanting to make this situation even worse let alone hold up the whole class.

"Okay, okay! I'm coming! Now go!" And Sukuna grinned.

"That's what I wanted to hear, princess." he moved closer towards you, his lips right next to your ear. "Keep a lookout for number 9, he'll score the winning goal." he whispered deeply and finally stood up, excusing himself.

You let out a breath you didn't know you held and noticed some girls shooting daggers at you. You almost forgot how popular Sukuna was and that made the whole scenario the more embarrassing for you. It was in that moment that you realized what it meant to be around the campus heartthrob Ryomen Sukuna.

Home. Finally home!!!

You thought the day would never come to an end when during all of your classes, Sukuna occupied your every thought. You didn't know what to feel, you knew he was this big ladykiller who you'd never involve yourself with usually, though at the same time, he was caring and attentive and easy to talk to.

You discarded your bag into the corner of your room and freshened up a little. Shoko would come over soon and together with Utahime, the three of you would have a long due girls night again. Movies and gossip with your two best friends - what could be better.

All of you were sitting in Utahime's room now, you didn't have a living room because your apartment consisted of only two rooms plus a bathroom and a kitchen. You didn't complain though, you were already lucky enough to have two separate rooms, many dorm members have to share one.

Shoko was even luckier and lived alone. You always switched between meeting at Shoko's place and yours. Although Shoko didn't have a big apartment, her bedroom was kind of small, so she visited you more often than you visited her.

You were in the middle of telling them the tea and they already tried to persuade you into thinking that Sukuna was interested in you. You just rolled your eyes.

"It's NOT like that! Trust me!" you insisted, but they didn't sound convinced.

"He invited you to his game?" Shoko promted.

"And didn't back off until you said yes?" Utahime's mouth fell wide open.

"I don't know, this all sounds pretty much like it is to me." Shoko was certain.

"I'm not sure, he's really nice and to be honest, different from what I thought." you admitted.

"Just be careful. His reputation speaks for itself. Don't let him fool you." Utahime then added.

"Don't worry, I won't." you sighed.

"Maybe he's just the type of guy who gets off on your 'unreachable' demeanor." Shoko wondered, tapping her chin with her finger. Your face cringed at the thought.

"Even if, it's not like I don't know better than to be cautious. I'm not playing into his game and I'm definitely not going to be one of his conquests. I could never see myself being involved like that with him." you declared confidently.

It was true, you wouldn't fall for his advances, you weren't naive. Maybe you've doubted it for a split second, but you always knew what his goals probably were. And you were thankful for your girls for reminding you.

"It's for the best, really. He is really attractive, but his reputation is just not it. If he ever makes a serious move on you, please run." Utahime concluded, disguising her sincerity with laughter. You could read her like a book however and knew she just deeply cared about you.

"I can't go alone to the game though. Are you by chance free on saturday and would join me?"

"What type of question is that, it was crystal clear from the beginning that we would come with you! Excuse me?" Utahime announced, seemingly offended and you all broke out into laughter.

Oh, how you loved your friends.

A few days before the game, you walked to one of your classes again. This time, you were prepared. You had read the text at home and the phenomenon 'Ryomen Sukuna' didn't distract you from it. You were on your way into the building when you saw a big bus in the parking lot in front of it. It was unmistakably for the football players, you saw Sukuna and his team in the distance. Suddenly, someone bumped into you.

"Oh shit, sorry! Hey, I know you!" It was Yuji.

"Oh, hi! Are you on your way to the bus?" you asked him.

"Yeah! We have an away game again this week!"

"Oh yeah, I know, I'll be there! Good luck!"

"Oh you will? That's nice! I hope you'll enjoy our game then!"

"Thank you! By the way, I'm sorry for interrupting your training last time. I could see you and your friend were quite irritated." you scratched your head in agitation. Yuji seemed confused.

"Hm? Oh! No, sorry if we left that impression! It wasn't you, it's just that Sukuna never really introduced a girl to us before! That was strange!"

What?

His words shocked you. You wanted to know what he meant by that, after all, Sukuna had something going on with a lot of girls already. But before you could consult him, he already set off.

"Oh shit, I have to hurry up, they're already getting inside the bus!" he stressed.

"Oh, yes of course! Uhm, please tell Sukuna good luck from me. A-and the rest of the team too of course!" you passed the message on to him.

"Will do!" he beamed at you and ran off. He was so fast that it didn't take him long to reach the bus.

In the background, you could see Sukuna looking at you through the window. He was already in the bus, his chin in his hands when he winked at you. You winked back.

Great, you thought, you successfully failed keeping Sukuna from your thoughts.

Here's part 3!!! Wasn't content with it for a while, and I've been busy. But now I like it! Omg omg so excited for all the ideas I still have for this story. Next part will be about the first game we're at! Sukuna in action (WOHOOO)! Let me know what you think! <3

taglist: @miakxn @aureliaborea @nonamevenus @silkija @sad-darksoul @joh-ahae @weareundead

173 notes · View notes

multimilfs · 3 days ago

Text

Agnes O'Connor x Fem!Reader: Beginning & End

Summary: Taking a late drive to get your mind off a few things, you get more than you bargained for from a not-so-routine traffic stop.

AO3

A/N: Wasn't sure how to tag this since Agnes is technically an Agatha... variant? persona? Also I didn't tag the Agatha taglist since this isn't technically Agatha? tricky tricky... This is basically just pure smut with a sprinkle of plot.. enjoy xoxo (also let me know if you want more of Agnes?)

Words: 6.2k

Included: Established relationship, Jealousy, Smut; choking, spitting, bdsm, possession, semi-public sex, car sex, fingering, cunnilingus, daddy kink, roleplaying, power dynamics, dom/sub, teasing, begging

Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix

You sigh as you lean into the leather seat. The music is loud enough to hurt, but you don’t turn the volume down, glad of the noise even if you don’t feel like singing along. Trees fly by outside the window as you drive.

A sign passes in a flash but you catch the number; 45. Your speedometer reads 55.

Making sure you’re alone on the road, you push it to 57 just for kicks. Even as the dark scenes on either side pass in a blur, the road ahead is clear. The moon hangs low and bright above, reflecting off the filled-in parts of the pavement.

The song changes and you sigh again upon hearing the familiar tune. It only reminds you of your wife; who should be home and in bed with you, but ended up on night-shift instead after hassling a suspect a bit too hard, canceling your planned evening.

Which leads you to driving the backroads between Westview and Eastview, hoping the journey will tire you out enough that you can sleep. Instead it lands you in the position of blowing past a hidden cop.

Just your luck.

You groan as you turn the music down and pull off the road into a flat area of grass. With the lights, you can’t tell if it's a Westview or Eastview officer at first. You have pretty good chances of getting off with a warning if it's one of Agnes’ coworkers.

But it’s not one of the regular officers. It’s the Chief’s car. You hit your head against the steering wheel. He’s been riding Agnes’ ass for months and will likely give you a hefty ticket just to spite her.

While you’re hitting your head against the wheel, there’s a knock on your window. You roll it down without looking, “Look, Chief, I know the deal. You can just write me a ticket and I’ll pay it tomorrow.”

“Oh, will you now?”

You pause.

Looking up in disbelief, “Agnes?”

“That’s Detective O’Connor to you.” Her face doesn’t change from the stern facade, “You were driving pretty recklessly back there. Have you been drinking tonight, ma’am?”

Subtly as you can manage, you check your side mirror to see if anyone else sits in the police cruiser. It wouldn’t be unlike the Chief to put Agnes through some insane test. No shadows lurk in the other car.

You drag your eyes back to Agnes. She’s waiting, still just as stoic, but you see the mischief in her eyes. Well, if she wants to play, why not up the stakes?

Tilting your head and smiling, “Of course not, detective. I’ve been a good girl.”

A split-second pause tells you she wasn’t expecting that. She licks her lips before the act slips back into place. She scoffs.

“That’s what they all say. Wait here.” Her hand pats the open window before she’s heading back toward the cruiser.

You watch her walk away in the side mirror with a grin. Her confident gait stirs something in you, always has.

For a split second you consider throwing the car in drive and peeling out of here. You’re curious to see what Agnes would do. You hope she’d chase you all the way home; that way when you get there you could finally have a taste of what tonight was meant to be.

You want Agnes painfully. Between work deadlines on your end and long hours on hers, you’ve been too tired to do more than cuddle, or some heavy kissing on a better day. You miss the connection that comes from baring yourselves to one another. And the orgasms, too, of course.

Agnes is back at your window, breathalyzer in hand. You make a split second decision.

“Please, detective, I can’t afford another ticket, and my wife will be so mad.” You plead, using that innocent, wide-eyed expression you know turns her on, “Is there anything I can do to… pay it off, per se?”

To her credit, she doesn’t crack this time, “Are you soliciting an officer of the law, ma’am?”

“No, of course not! Unless that’s what you want.”

“Step out of the car.”

The commanding note in her voice goes straight between your thighs. You open the door and step out, watching her brows raise at only the long nightgown you’re wearing. There’s a chill in the air that makes you shiver. Her eyes are drawn to your chest before she shakes away whatever is going through her mind.

While you’re enjoying the game, you do hope she’ll let you get back in the car soon. The cold is unmanageable without more substantial clothing.

Agnes holds up the breathalyzer, “Open your mouth.”

You do so without thinking. A blush races up your face. Agnes can’t help but smirk.

It’s not the breathalyzer that finds itself between your lips, but two fingers that settle on your tongue and press. You jolt at the pressure. Tears come to your eyes as you gag, but the weight of her fingers doesn’t ebb. You fight against your gag reflex to curl your tongue around the digits.

Closing your lips around them, you swirl your tongue like one would around a piece of candy. Even through blurred vision you can see how Agnes’ eyes darken. She leans forward, staring at your lips.

Her fingers move deeper, pressing harder, fucking your throat. You swallow around them.

You find your mouth and throat empty as Agnes pulls out. Her hand grabs your face before you can close your mouth and holds it open, fingers wet against your cheek. She grins meanly.

“Stick out your tongue.”

The second you do, Agnes spits in your mouth. You whimper. It’s humiliating and you feel yourself clench around nothing. You leave your tongue in the position she demanded, obedient as ever.

Agnes laughs, “Swallow.”

Humiliation, in combination with your startling need for her touch, forces the tears to spill over and down your cheeks. The sight of them seems to please her. She’s always loved seeing you thoroughly debased; loves knowing only she can break you down like this.

Partners in the past did try. Yet they would hesitate, hold back, believing they knew the limits of your desire instead of trusting you. A few would panic when they saw tears in your eyes and pull out of the scene completely. You often found yourself pretending; toning down your desires to ‘acceptable’ levels and leaving yourself unsatisfied to avoid that worried look in your partner’s eyes.

But you’ve never had to pretend with Agnes. From that first time, she went as far as she wanted, knowing that you were an adult capable of safe-wording if it was too much; it wasn’t. You had been dripping and needy the entire time. You had cried while she sat back and watched you polish her boots with your tongue, and had nearly come undone from the act alone. It was everything you craved—Agnes was everything you craved; trusting, dominating, cruel when it suited, and the most loving partner you’ve ever known.

You had vowed then and there that you weren’t letting her get away. And how lucky for you that she put a ring on your finger; the ring that is so much more than a symbol of love; but a brand, too, just as you desire.

“I wonder what your wife would think of you offering yourself up to me,” Agnes muses, “but you’re so eager for it, I can’t help but wonder if she’s not satisfying you properly.”

“Only you can satisfy me, detective.” You flutter your lashes.

That draws a real laugh from her. Something inside you preens. You lean forward into Agnes’ space, angling your head for a kiss, but she pulls back.

“Be that as it may, soliciting an officer is a crime, as is reckless driving.” Her hands reach for her belt, where her handcuffs rest in one of the holsters, “I’m going to have to take you in.”

Though the idea of being cuffed and fucked however she pleases excites you, you’re not entirely pleased with how your original plan was ruined. Agnes knew where the line was during interrogations and she crossed it. Knowingly. It’s safe to say you’re a little pissed she acted out.

A mean-spirited voice in your head considers pushing Agnes away entirely, leaving her wet and turned on for the rest of the night shift while you go home and find solace in your favorite toy. The rational part of you knows that no toy can replace your wife, and it’s her you want. You’re just not going to make it easy for her.

You fall to your knees before she can work the cuffs off her belt. She jolts at the unexpected change. You slam against the ground pretty hard and wince, but don’t dare stop.

Your hands find her belt buckle. Deftly, you start to undo it, “Please, I can make you feel good. I’ll do anything.”

Agnes raises her brows. She doesn’t stop you from undoing her belt or slowly lowering the zipper of her pants. There’s a tenseness in her jaw as she thinks over the request. Intent on sealing the deal, you move your hands from the front of her pants; instead leaning forward to place a kiss where they’d just been.

Looking up through your lashes, you beg, “Please.”

“Well, since you’re so eager for it.”

Ignoring the screaming in your knees, you shoot to your feet, capturing Agnes’ lips in a hard kiss. You attack with lips and teeth and tongue. At the same time, you slip your hand inside her pants and past the waistband of her panties.

She groans against your lips when your fingers play in her wetness. Your fingers ghost over her clit and you grin into the kiss. Two hands settle on your hips and shove, your back hitting the side of your car; it hurts for a moment before you’re once again lost in the feel of your wife, how she’s using her position to grind against your hand, the obscene noises leaving her throat.

Your clit throbs with every roll of her hips. It’s intoxicating that she’s just taking what she wants, using you as a toy to achieve her own pleasure. But the desire between your own legs reminds you of the end goal.

Agnes’ hips pick up speed, her usual low groans evolving into panting, high-pitched whimpers. She’s so close. You consider letting her have what she wants.

Moments before she can fall over the edge you pull your hand from her pants. Hands settling on her chest, you shove her back. She jolts and stumbles. Her fucked-out expression from seconds earlier shifts to confusion, then anger.

“What the fuck?” Agnes snarls.

“You’ve been bad, detective.” Still leaning against the car, you cross your arms over your chest, “Or should I say Daddy.”

Agnes stands straighter. There’s steel in her spine now, jaw taught as darkness comes over her expression. Amusement alights inside your chest.

Her hands begin to unravel the belt from the loops of her pants, “I’m going to paint your backside blue.”

“I don’t think so.” Your voice is hard. “You see, I had a lovely evening planned for us. Dinner, a movie, clean sheets for us to spend all night ruining. And we didn’t get to enjoy any of it because someone couldn’t control her temper. So you, daddy, are going to fuck me until I decide I’m ready to forgive you.”

“It’s cute that you think you’re in control, baby.”

Agnes steps into your space, belt in her hands. You stop her with a hand on her chest before she can get close enough to do anything.

“I am in control.”

“Those with the upper hand don’t usually have to state the fact.”

You tilt your head, “If you don’t give me what I want, you’re not going to touch me for weeks. I’ll fuck myself and all you’ll be able to do is watch. And I’ll stuff all the pairs of panties I ruin into your bag, your pockets… everywhere you go, you’ll be reminded of just what you’re missing.”

The smug expression slowly slips from her face. She tries to push forward again, but you’re unyielding; clenching your fist in the fabric of her shirt until she feels the subtle bite of your nails. There’s fury and a small trace of fear in her eyes.

It’s rare that you have the upper hand. Usually Agnes is twelve steps ahead of everyone—you included. But this time she miscalculated, and she’s going to pay for it.

“Your choice, daddy.”

She scoffs. Shaking her head, a few pieces of her hair free themselves from her low ponytail. They lay in and over her face before she blows them out of the way carelessly. She hasn’t been taking care of it, you can tell; and briefly, you consider if you can get away with commandeering her into taking better care of herself.

You likely shouldn’t push your luck. Agnes is going to punish you enough for this stunt, you’re sure.

The belt is tossed onto the ground a few feet away in a silent show of surrender. Her eyes are dark, churning with a mixture of fury and arousal. A brief moment passes where you wonder if you’re taking this a bit too far, but you shove it down; Agnes is an adult just as you are and will tell you if you cross any hard lines.

“Is the heat on in the cruiser?” You ask.

She pauses, taken-aback, “Yeah, of course.”

“Good. You’re going to fuck me in it later. But first—”

You open the back door of your own car as wide as it can go, just so you can perch on the seat with your feet still outside. With a smile, you open your legs wide. You hadn’t considered this outcome when you left the house for your drive, so your panties are relatively plain, but it doesn’t matter since they’re soaked through.

Agnes takes a step forward and you hold up a finger. She pauses. You point at the ground.

Her face goes red, “Not fucking likely.”

And then she’s on you. She’s holding herself up with one hand on the seat, the other dragging your face to hers. Her body rests perfectly between your legs. With a low moan, you roll your hips against her front.

Her grip on your face is painful. Thank god her nails are clipped short.

Agnes pulls away from your mouth to bite and suck at your throat. You throw your head back, still grinding up against her, moaning with abandon. The friction is nice but it isn’t what you wanted.

“I want you to eat me out.” You force out.

“I don’t care what you want.” Agnes growls.

“Oh? Well, I guess I should be prepared to handle my own orgasms for a while, then.”

As you say that, you stop grinding, and lay fully against the seat, one of your arms snaking its way down your front and between your thighs. You’ve only circled a finger around your clit twice before her hand catches your wrist in a punishing grip.

“Try it and I’ll tie you to the bed everyday when I go to work.”

“I made my terms abundantly clear.”

“You know what you forgot though, brat?” Agnes taunts, lips right next to your ear, “You’re too greedy to settle for your hand or your little toys. It’s only a matter of time before you get bored and come crawling back to me.”

“Maybe I’ll just crawl to someone else. Agent Vidal has been hanging around.”

A hand closes around your throat and you whine. She squeezes, your vision going fuzzy around the edges. You roll your hips.

“I’ll lock you in the house if you even think about it.” Her voice is hard, promising, “You’re mine, baby.”

“Prove it.”

That’s the wrong thing to say.

Agnes pulls back completely. Her hands leave you, the pressure of her body is gone. You look up and she’s standing just far enough away that you can’t touch her. You growl.

The look on her face is one you’ve seen a dozen times; the very same one she wears when you’re about to endure something you don’t like. But you vow not to let her have the upper hand. Not this time. This time, you’re going to make her bend.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” She says.

The words are like a bucket of cold water over your head. You don’t spend long dwelling on the threat, there’s no time.

Agnes is halfway back to the police cruiser when you worm your hand into your panties and bury two fingers inside without preamble. Despite being the source of your own pleasure, you jolt, back bowing off the seat. The moan that leaves your lips is exaggerated; pornographic.

“Oh, yes!”

You hear her footsteps come to a stop. You don’t dare open your eyes, not yet. The pleasure you’re experiencing is real, even if it is half of what it could be with Agnes’ help, but you have to keep up the act—have to make her jealous of your own fingers.

Though she hates to admit it, Agnes is jealous in all aspects of life. There’s a bit of healthy competitiveness worked in there that you can admire. Yet some days… some days she comes home fighting mad, hair a mess and muscles clenched tight as she recounts the events that made her that way. And lately they’ve all had the same person involved—

Agent Rio Vidal.

A loaner agent from the FBI, here to figure out some of the more poignant details of a murder on the Westview-Eastview county line. She’s confident and cutting and painfully attractive. Somehow, she knows how to push every single one of Agnes’ buttons, in work and play.

You’ve only met her twice and each time Agnes was an animal afterward. The appreciative glances and suggestive words made you blush—and though you won’t admit it, turned you on a good bit—while Agnes could barely hold herself back from attacking the woman. So possessive. So jealous.

You can use that.

The door on the other car hasn’t opened and you know she’s watching with rapt attention. You put on a good show, rolling your hips into your one hand while pinching at your chest with the other. You could get off on her watching.

Another exaggerated, high-pitched moan, “Oh, Agent Vidal!”

Though the woman is attractive, you can’t imagine anyone but your wife. Agnes doesn’t need to know that.

Strong hands grab your calves and pull you half-way out of the car. You squeak, eyes snapping open. Agnes looms above you and oh fuck you’re in trouble.

“You little bitch.” She snarls, hand coming to wrap around your throat.

You try to moan but she doesn’t give you that much air. Another deft hand rips your own from your panties, even going so far as to rip the fabric off completely. There’s the ghost of her fingers above your center. You roll your hips.

The sensation of loss and blurry edges is usually a huge turn-on; maybe it’s the intense change from oxygen to no oxygen, but you’re struggling more than normal. You tap her wrist three times.

Agnes pulls away completely. Her hand is off your neck, the other gone from between your thighs. You take in large lungfuls of air and feel your heart-rate slow just a little. A little whine works its way from your throat, though it’s mainly a result of the throbbing between your legs that’s still driving you crazy.

Your wife’s hands hover over you, eyes concerned, “Honey?”

“I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.” You assure, sitting up and kissing one of her palms, “The quick change just… startled me. I’m okay.”

“Should I… Do you need me to take you home?”

“Oh no, Agnes O’Connor, you’re going to finish what you started.” Spreading your legs offers an obscene picture of just how soaked you are, made even more tantalizing by the ripped panties clinging to your thigh, “Unless you want me to find someone else who can finish the job.”

It’s like flipping a switch.

Overwhelming is a word that could be used to describe Agnes in bed—smothering, even. She has a way of overtaking every single one of your senses at once. Your skin is on fire with her touch, with the faint strands of hair tickling your face. The scent of burnt break-room coffee clings to her jacket. You even taste it when her tongue invades your mouth, moaning obscenely against your lips.

You like being smothered, though. You crave it; aching for anything that will let you turn your mind off and just feel.

Agnes pulls back. Her breath is hot against your lips, “You’re such a brat.”

“Only for you, daddy.” You murmur.

A shudder passes through her at the name. Her grip tightens on you, near bruising. You moan.

“Where do you want me?”

“With your mouth between my legs.”

“Fingers?”

“Yes, please.”

Agnes chuckles, “So you do remember your manners. Interesting.”

You roll your eyes. To your luck, Agnes doesn’t see—if she had, you would have been punished accordingly. Though you realize things are a bit off-balance with your threat hanging in the air; any other time, Agnes would have you bent anyway she pleased, taking all she wanted until you couldn’t handle any more.

Being in control is… odd. Not unwanted, but odd. You have to be more aware of yourself, confident in every command that leaves your lips. You’re glad that this is Agnes’ preferred role even if you’re enjoying the change.

Lips kiss the inside of your thighs and you shudder. When she sinks her teeth in, you squeal, jolting at the change. Your hand falls to the top of her head.

“Not what I meant!”

“Oh, then what did you mean?” She taunts.

“If you don’t make me come right now so help me—”

The heat of her mouth on you is enough to shut you up. Her tongue drags up your slit with agonizing slowness. She teases at your clit for only a moment before repeating the slow drag, making you whine, pressing her head closer.

You feel the rumble of her laughter and god help you the vibrations feel amazing. Yet when you try to move your hips for more, her hands keep them pressed firmly to the leather seat.

Another threat sits on your lips that never comes to pass. With the last slow lick, she fastens her lips around your clit and sucks, hard. It’s painful and wonderful and your back bows off the seat, hands scrambling for anything to clench into. The weeks have been long and you know you’re not going to last.

“I’m going to come.” You force out.

She laughs again. That, in combination with her attention focused solely on your clit, sends you straight over the edge. You feel wild, unhinged as your hips move without any guidance from your mind, chasing the waves of pleasure that make your every muscle go taut.

But when the pleasure subsides, Agnes doesn’t stop. She pushes two fingers inside and curls them in that way you like so much. You clench around them, though you ache, not ready for more so soon.

“I can’t—Please, I can’t.” You beg.

“One more, baby. You can give me that, can’t you?”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

And you do. Her fingers know every inch of you well, her mind cataloging every spot that makes you whine, every move she performs that sends you over the edge. She calls on that knowledge as the pads of her fingers rub against that spot inside you with abandon until you can’t breathe, shrieking and moaning loud enough that you worry someone will hear you miles away.

The pleasure tenses your body so tight that you worry the muscles will never relax again. It hurts in that delicious way only Agnes can bring out.

When you do relax, she’s licking gently at you, collecting the flavor on her tongue and savoring it like a fine wine. You twitch. The hand you have in her hair pushes as you attempt to slide further onto the seat, away from her mouth.

“No more,” you beg, “please.”

“Am I forgiven?”

You laugh, breathless, “Not quite.”

You tug her up wordlessly until the weight of her is draped over you. It’s nice, comforting to feel her close. Her warmth helps fight against the cold biting at your lower half. Sighing, you bury your face in her neck, your hand coming up to lazily play with her hair.

Agnes accepts the touch. She traces little patterns on your hip over the nightgown, soft and quiet. You can still see the red and blue lights from your hiding place in her neck.

“Why do you have the Chief’s car?” You ask.

She scoffs, “Mine broke down three hours into the shift. Had to call the Chief and walk all the way to his house to get the cruiser.”

“What? Agnes, why didn’t you call me?”

“I wanted you to enjoy your night in, honey.”

You think about arguing, but you recognize the exhaustion in her voice, and decide not to push it—for now. It’s an argument you can save for later.

“So what was it, the battery? I thought we just replaced it.”

“I think the old girl might just be done for. We’ve had her for a while.” Agnes shrugs.

“But that’s… we brought Nicky home in that car.” You whisper, chest aching.

Another piece of your life—connected to your baby—that you won’t get to keep. Agnes tenses, her breathing growing ragged, and you feel terrible; she’s likely already thought about this the whole shift, spent all these hours remembering it alone. That’s why she didn’t call you—she didn’t want to drag you bag into the deep end of the pain, too.

You press a gentle kiss to the side of her neck. No wonder she took the first opportunity to play with you, she needed the distraction.

“I’m sorry, my love.” You murmur.

“Not your fault, honey. These things happen.”

She sounds less and less like herself with every moment. You don’t want to shove the grief aside—the grief counselor said that only made things worse—but this isn’t how you want to handle it; Agnes draped over your freshly-debauched form in the backseat of your car.

This is a conversation, a breakdown for home, where the two of you can take all the time you need to soak in the new loss. You need to distract her away from this.

“Will the force offer you one of their vehicles?”

“Yeah. They should.”

“Where did you break down?”

“By the bridge on Old Forest.”

Perfect.

“Let’s give her a proper sendoff, then.”

Agnes pauses. The look she gives you is questioning, as if not quite believing your suggestion, but she knows better—knows you’re serious about this.

“Alright.”

Which is how you find yourself halfway across town, on a back road with no streetlights, pulling off perilously close to a ditch. Agnes' car is unmistakable even in the dark—from the extra mirror on the hood reflecting the moonlight to the dent in the back bumper she never got fixed. You feel suddenly overwhelmed as you trace your fingers over the body.

So many memories, good and bad. Your late-night trysts in the back seat. Bringing Nicky home. The back seat full of his stinky sports gear. Agnes’ old case files winding up on the floor.

Agnes comes up and drapes her jacket over your shoulders. The warmth of her body has seeped into the cloth, now blocking out the chill in the air, “This might not be the best idea.”

You raise a brow, “Cold feet, detective?”

“Mine are nice and warm. Yours, however...”

She looks up and down your scantily-clad form with a worried furrow of her brow. It’s sweet, but not needed.

“I don’t think our plans will keep me anything but warm.” You smile, leaning back against the car while pulling Agnes close, until every inch of her is pressed against your front. Her hands settle on your hips as she kisses you with a softness belaying the vulnerability she still feels, “Unlock the car.”

“Honey—”

“Agnes, would you rather I went home?” You murmur.

“Of course not.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Beats me.”

“You know what I want?”

Using your leverage against the vehicle, you draw one of your feet up the inside of Agnes’ leg, careful to press every part of yourself against her. Her warmth radiates through her flannel and jeans and you smile.

She raises a brow, “I’m sure I can guess.”

“I want you to bend me over in the backseat of this car like you did that first time. You remember, don’t you? How pissed you were that I’d been teasing you for five dates.” You laugh at the memory, “You couldn’t even make it out of the restaurant parking lot.”

“You were so loud we almost got caught.” She recalls, voice low, gravelly.

“There’s no one around to catch us now.”

Agnes wraps one of her arms around your waist and uses it to tug you sideways, making quick work of unlocking the car. With the hand not on your waist, she opens the back door, and eases her jacket from your shoulders. She lays it out on the cold seats with the warm side up.

Not for the first time, you’re moved by her consideration of your comfort. It would be so easy for a partner to disregard the little things if it meant getting to the end goal faster; but not Agnes. You reward her with a long, slow kiss.

When she pulls away, there’s a fond little smile on her lips. She pats your hip, “On your hands and knees.”

You obey without question. Crawling onto the backseat, you’re reminded of just how confined the space of a car is. You have to keep your head bowed so as not to hit your head on the roof. It’ll be worth your while, but you know the two of you will be feeling the adverse effects of this choice for days.

Agnes follows and shuts the door behind her. She works her way into the backseat until not a bit of space exists between the two of you. Every inch of her front is pressed against you, draped over you like a warm blanket. You push your backside back into her crotch, teasing.

“I should’ve sent you home to get your purple.” You say.

“Be good and you can have my cock later.”

Warm fingertips trail up the back of your thigh until they snake under the hem of your nightgown. The soothing heat of her touch is lovely compared to the bite of the cold air. You lean into it.

“Yes, daddy.” You sigh.

Her body pulls away from yours and you turn, confused. A sharp slap to your backside makes your breath stutter, your core clenching around nothing. Your toes curl.

“Interesting that you want to be good now, when you’ve been testing me all night.”

“What can I say? I’m motivated by rewards.”

You’re satisfied that Agnes seems to be in the moment, rather than locked up in the memories in her head. Intent on keeping it that way, you lean back into her, arching so you can match her entirely. Her muscles go taut and relax and being able to feel it makes you ravenous.

Two fingers push your ripped panties aside and begin to drag up your slit, teasing. It should be noted that you are trying to be good for her, offering the control she takes to so well. You like to think she can tell, too.

When she slips her fingers inside you without torturing you further, you’re sure she knows.

You push back, desperate. You want more of her and bad. It’s as if the orgasms she gave you less than an hour ago never happened. Every muscle in your body quakes with the knowledge of what only Agnes can give you. And you want it so deeply that it threatens to bring tears to your eyes.

“Please.” You beg without prompting, “Please, more.”

A split-second hesitation belays her surprise, but she does slip another finger inside, stretching you even wider. You can’t stop how you move, nor the noises that come out of your mouth. You feel cursed with hunger only she can sate.

It’s this car, this backseat, and the memories here that are driving you so mad. It’s the life attached to it that you never thought you would get; a family, a future, a wife who loves you despite all the ugly parts others had run from. It’s the years you haven’t had to live out alone, the pain you’ve shared. It’s the fact that this act was once a beginning and now it’s an end.

Her lips press against the back of your neck, impossibly gentle, so unlike the role she’s meant to be playing. Something inside you breaks.

“Agnes—“ You choke out.

“It’s okay, honey.”

You let go.

You let go from holding yourself back—fucking yourself on her fingers until you shriek with pleasure. You let go of the ball of emotions in your chest, of hunger and pleasure and guilt. You let go of the pain and let tears spill over onto your cheeks.

It’s not the best orgasm you’ve ever had, but it doesn’t need to be. It’s a goodbye to this piece of your life. It’s an end. And it hurts just the same as it feels good to embrace the potential of something new.

Agnes holds you, steady as ever. You feel the dampness of her own tears on your neck.

You turn and lay on your back, welcoming the weight of her. You use your thumbs to wipe away the tears coming from her beautiful blue eyes.

“Am I forgiven, or do we have to go another round?” She asks.

You grin, not taking your hands from her face, “You’re forgiven, my love.”

“Thank god.”

Agnes drops her head until it rests on your chest. You laugh, extracting the hair tie so you can run your fingers through the length of it. Her arms wrap around you as much as they can.

She presses a kiss to your chest, over where your heart is. You gently work through a knot in between your fingers. The windows are clouded with perspiration. Beads of water reflect what little moonlight peeks through the trees. Moonlight or no, you know every dip and curve of your wife’s form, and could identify every part of her without sight.

The stale coffee smell has worn off, replaced by the faint undertones of the cologne she wears each morning. It’s deep and musky and comforting.

Maybe it’s the weight of her head on your chest in combination with the memories that makes you speak, “Have you ever thought about us trying again?”

She tilts her head so she can look up into your eyes without lifting from her resting place. Her brows are furrowed.

“Trying again?”

The weight of her beautiful eyes on you almost makes you change the subject. These conversations are so much easier without that layer of intimacy. But you’ve started something and you’ll be damned if you don’t finish it.

“To be parents.” You whisper.

“I’m a little past due on that, baby.” Her smile is self-deprecating.

“I’m not.”

“You never wanted to carry. I remember that much.”

“That was then.” You continue smoothing through her hair, “Now… If you want to try again, I’ll do it. I want to do it.”

You can’t decipher the look in her eyes. She doesn’t pull away, but she’s tense.

“We don’t need to decide right now. We have time.”

She nods, “Alright.”

“You’ll still be daddy, even if you aren’t my baby-daddy.”

“That was terrible.”

It doesn’t stop her from grinning, nor does it stop you from laughing. Something in the tension eases. You can’t lean down and kiss her like this, so you press a kiss to the pads of your fingers, and press them to her lips. She nips at them playfully.

The quiet is nice, but you can feel the cold settling into your bones. You need to be back in a heated car before you get sick.

“When is your shift over?”

“In a few hours.”

You nod, figuring out what time she’ll come home and how it fits into your schedule, “I have nothing after work if you want me to make good on those orgasms I owe you.”

“I look forward to it.”

It takes some time, but you and Agnes manage to untangle yourselves and worm your way out of the back seat. She sits, keeping you wrapped in her coat, until the inside of your own car is nice and warm. That earns her a few lingering kisses.

She trails you on the drive home before speeding off to do god knows what during the last few hours of her shift. And when you fall asleep—already feeling sore—an eagerness sets in your chest of what awaits. With an end, a new beginning.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha all along #agnes o'connor #agnes o'connor x reader #agatha all along x reader #agatha all along fanfiction #agatha harkness fanfiction #wlw #wlw fanfiction #nov2024 #multimilfswritings

288 notes · View notes

7s3ven · 2 days ago

Text

Hear me out guys… retired soldiers now bodyguards! task force 141 x spoiled heiress! reader

( just an idea )

You’re like, a nutcase. Your father adores you but sometimes you can go out of control. Like for instance, the time you jumped off a cliff into the ocean below to impress a boy.

Yeah, your father wasn’t very impressed with your behaviour.

On top of your recklessness, your father has enemies who always seem to target you. You’re his obvious weakness and he can’t spend another moment of anxiously wondering if you’re okay while he’s working.

So, he hires the best bodyguards he can find. And they turn out to be retired soldiers from an elite unit known as Task Force 141. Perfect.

You don’t take kindly to being continuously followed by four large men who don’t even try to be subtle. It’s not like taking care of you is easy either. You’re a troublemaker, you always have been since your mother left you for another family (your reckless tendencies tend to stem from the fact that you’re causing trouble to get her to notice you again).

Task Force 141 has had enough when you attempt to sneak out of the house to a party on a Friday night. But it seems apart from shopping and acting like a brat, you aren’t good at anything else.

They hear a crash and someone swearing loudly before you roll off the roof, landing in the bushes right outside the window where the four men have a perfect view of you. They were watching a football came until you interrupted.

Jonny bursts into laughter, slapping Gaz out of amusement, while Price fetches you and forces you back inside.

“You know, your house has a back door for a reason.” Simon utters as he cleans your scratches but there’s a mocking indication to his tone.

“Yeah but like, going out the window felt more cool.” You argue back, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Was it cool when you face planted into the ground?”

You can only pout in annoyance.

From then on, they don’t leave you alone, especially not on Friday nights. You have to deal with being squished between Price and Simon as they watch a boring documentary on… fish? Jonny definitely chose that one.

But hey, you aren’t exactly complaining. Being stuck between the two men means being able to feel their muscles and smell their strong cologne. You tolerate the four men more after they cleaned your scratches from landing in a bush and carried you to your bed.

And so what if you catch feelings? Anybody else in your position would have done the same.

“We can’t date ya, lovie. We’re too old and we work for your dad.”

Do you care? Not really.

“My dad literally hired you because I was a troublemaker. Ya think I give a shit? ‘Sides, the older the better.”

Jonny jabs a thumb in Price’s direction, “Even the captain? You should’ve seen ‘im in his prime. Way better looking.” He hands you a picture that he just happens to have of Price.

You glance at it then lift your head to look at Price. Your lips curve into a teasing smile. “Yeah, you’re right. What happened, Captain?” You joke.

INCORRECT QUOTES FOR THE LAUGHS:

Kidnapper, negotiating with TF 141: We have the annoying heiress. Give us ten thousand dollars and they will be returned to you unharmed

Y/N: Whoa, whoa, wait, you think I’m only worth ten thousand dollars. MAKE IT ONE MILLION–

Price: Y/N, STOP

Simon: Can I be frank with you guys?

Jonny: Sure, but I don’t see how changing your name is gonna help.

Gaz: Can I still be Gaz?

Y/N: Shh, let Frank speak.

Gaz: In your opinion, what’s the height of stupidity?

Simon: *turning to Y/N* How tall are you?

Price: Where's Simon, Gaz, and Y/N?

Jonny: They're playing hide and seek.

Price: Where?

Jonny: I don't think you get how this game works.

Y/N: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast?

Simon: Several traffic violations.

Gaz: Three counts of resisting arrest.

Jonny: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks.

Price: Also, that’s not our car.

157 notes · View notes

childrenofcain-if · 2 days ago

Text

AS THE WREN SHEDS HER FEATHER (ELIAS’S POV AFTER SEEING YOU OFF TO UNIVERSITY)

one of the servants unlocked the door to the manor and elias stepped inside, the peculiar quietness pressing down on him like an unexpected weight. it was strange—to be met with silence when he expected his little apple to come bounding downstairs or to be already lounging in the living room to greet him. he thought he’d have an easier time getting used to it, but now? he wasn’t so sure.

elias handed his tailor-made suit jacket to another servant, glancing at the framed picture on one of the mantles near the fireplace: you, as a young kid, perched on his shoulders, a grin lighting up your face. your mother’s arm is looped around his, a laugh in her eyes so identical to yours as she holds onto the two of you.

he could remember the day that picture was taken, but it wasn’t enough—just memories which grow blurry each day. so he went to his study, where he kept the home videos. the cabinet was hidden behind a stack of old books, almost as though he’d been trying to bury it. but tonight, with you miles away at yale and his heart feeling like it was suddenly too big and too heavy for his chest, he wanted to see her. he wanted to see both of you.

after a few minutes of sorting through the SD cards, he found one simply labeled, “to be remembered.” he slid it into the player, and the screen flickered, a bit staticky, before the familiar image of the manor’s living room filled the screen.

the camera was shaky at first, moving around as your mother laughed, “elias, you’re terrible at this. here, let me…” her hand appeared in the frame, reaching for the camera.

“no way!” elias’s voice, younger and far more cheery, filled with laughter, protested from behind the camera. “i’m the cameraman. you, mijn liefje, are the star.”

“oh, so you just get to sit back and watch, huh?” she teased with a fond roll of her eyes.

the camera settled, a little less wobbly, as elias zoomed in on you, toddling around with your hands outstretched for balance, your whole face lit up with excitement. you must have been barely two, still unsteady on your feet, wobbling a little as you reached for her.

“come here, sweetheart,” she said, crouching down to your level, arms open. “you can do it, just a few more steps.”

elias chuckled as he watched her coax you forward, a surge of warmth flooding his chest. he remembered how her face would soften every time she looked at you, the way her eyes would light up. and then he saw it again—how she laughed when you finally tumbled forward into her arms, her joy bubbling over.

the tape lurched forward in fits and starts, as if elias had just recorded whatever seemed meaningful at the time without thinking about how it would piece together later. the screen shifted to a birthday, candles on a homemade cake—your fifth birthday. you were wearing a crown made of a long balloon that you’d insisted on, sitting cross-legged at the table, and there were flecks of icing smudged on your cheeks. your mother was holding the cake, careful to keep it level, beaming as she leaned toward you.

“go on, make a wish!” she encouraged.

you closed your eyes so tightly, putting your hands together with exaggerated seriousness, lips moving silently as if asking the universe for something only a child could imagine. then, with a deep breath, you blew out all the candles in one go. the room erupted in cheers—your mother, your father, your kindergarten classmates, even some of elias’s business partners they’d invited over that day.

“what’d you wish for, apple?” elias’s voice asked from behind the camera.

“i can’t tell you, dada, or it won’t come true,” you said, grinning, eyes twinkling in the candlelight.

the camera lingered on your face, the pure joy and belief shining in your eyes. elias could remember how the moment felt then, with both of you so young and so certain that everything good could be held together just by love and laughter. he felt a pang in his chest, a memory too nostalgic to hold without pain.

the video cut to the christmas morning of 2009—your mother was filming this time, narrating with a chuckle as she zoomed in on the chaos of ripped wrapping paper and new toys scattered across the floor.

“look at this mess! who do you think is going to clean all this up?” she asked, mockingly stern, zooming in on you hiding behind the couch.

“dada!” you’d shouted, giggling as you peeked out from your hiding spot.

“wow, selling me out, huh?” elias’s younger self chuckled as he leaned into the frame, pretending to growl and chasing you around as you giggle and try to run away from him.

the frame then jumps to another clip of you in the center of the frame, small and wide-eyed, your tiny hands busy, your concentration fixed on hanging ornaments on the lower half of the tree. you were talking to yourself in that way only small children do, a quiet monologue about which ornaments went where and how important it was that they were balanced just right.

“that’s the glittery one!” your mother’s voice came through, rich with warmth and humor. the camera wobbled slightly as she adjusted the focus, trying to capture your handiwork up close. “are you sure it should go there?”

“mama,” you said, in that exasperated tone only a preschooler could muster, “i know where it goes.”

“oh, i see,” she laughed, the sound a warm, gentle ripple through the screen. she shifted the camera to capture elias as he stepped in, feigning seriousness, hands on his hips.

“is the decorating committee open to suggestions?” he asked, crouching down to your level with a grin.

“no,” you replied without missing a beat, making him chuckle.

he then reached over, lifting you off the ground in one swift motion, swinging you in a wide circle. you shrieked with delight, half trying to wriggle free, half clinging to him.

in the background, your mother could be heard laughing too, her voice just as bright and full of love as your giggles. as he lowered you back down, she moved closer, still holding the camera as she leaned in to plant a kiss on your cheek.

“who’s the little ornament expert now?” she murmured, voice so close, so impossibly tender. she kissed you on one cheek, and elias joined in, kissing you on the other, making you squirm between them, giggling with each kiss.

“stop, stop!” you squealed, caught between pushing them away and clinging to them. “you’re both squishing me!”

“we just can’t help it,” your mother said, a soft laugh trailing off as she kissed you again. “you’re so loved, my sweet baby, you know that?”

elias’s voice was quieter but equally warm as he added, “we love you so, so much, little apple. more than anything.”

he pressed another kiss to your cheek, lingering, his voice almost catching, as if he was holding onto the moment where he truly felt like he was the richest man on earth.

elias hit pause. the screen froze on her face—her smile bright, eyes crinkling at the edges. he swallowed hard, feeling the tears well up before he could stop them. the years had done nothing to soften the edges of her absence. the house still echoed with her laugh some days, in small ways that felt like nothing and everything. he let the tears fall, a quiet acceptance of how deeply he still missed her.

finally, he pressed play again, as if he couldn’t bear to stop watching. he watched you grow through that grainy screen: you with your first lost tooth, your first day at school, your proud insistence on making dinner—omelette burnt to a crisp that elias and your mother had eaten anyway, praising every bite.

and then the last video came, a quiet day at the beach. the camera showed you and your mother on the sand, the waves lapping at your feet. she held your hand as the wind whipped through her hair, her smile soft and quiet as she watched you point excitedly at the seagulls swooping overhead. she bent down, saying something to you that he couldn’t quite hear over the sound of the waves, but he remembered the feeling of that day, of everything feeling just right in that one moment, sun dipping below the horizon in a blaze of color.

he watched as the sun began to sink lower in the video, casting a warm orange glow across the sand. and then she looked back at the camera, at him, her gorgeous eyes meeting his through the lens.

“come here, darling,” she called, beckoning him with a smile.

the camera dropped slightly as he walked toward her, and for a moment, all that was visible on the screen was a blur of sky and sand. then he set the camera down in the sand, angled just so, and the three of you were together, laughing as you stood side by side, the waves lapping at your ankles, the horizon stretching endlessly behind you.

and then, just like that, the tape ran out, the screen going to static.

elias sat there in the silence, his chest tight, the memories pressing in on him, so beautiful and aching all at once. he hadn’t let himself revisit these moments in years, too afraid of what they’d stir up, but now the memories felt as vital as air. he could almost hear her voice, feel the weight of her hand on his shoulder, see the way her eyes had softened every time she looked at you both.

he leaned back in his chair, one hand covering his mouth as he closed his eyes, letting the repressed emotions wash over him. the tears spilled over, hot and unbidden, the kind that left him feeling vacant and full at the same time.

he never cried in front of you like this, too afraid that it’d break the fragile tape that held the dam of your devastation upright. but now, elias didn’t even try to wipe the tears away. he let himself feel it all, the bittersweet ache of love and loss, the memories that filled the empty spaces your mother had left behind.

the silence seemed different now though, less hollow, filled with echoes of laughter and whispers of promises he’d made, long ago, to keep always keep going—for you, and for her.

#this was sitting in my drafts collecting dust #so i thought “why not?”#have some elias + MC’s mum snippets #if: the ballad of the young gods #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #twine wip #pov scenes

147 notes · View notes

syoddeye · 9 hours ago

Text

the warren, part seven - call

price x f!reader | 4k words | series page | ao3 tags: background ghoap, multi pov, animal death, mentioned oral both f! and m!receiving, manipulation a/n: new friend next chapter; had to split this into two since it was getting way too long. shout out to gemma and tats <3. mdni banner by @/cafekitsune. 🔪

Bonnie. Bunny. Rabbit. Skittish thing. Brave thing.

Hasn’t met her face-to-face yet, but he likes her. Her scent carries. The sillage of her floral soap drifts through the air, lingering just as vividly as it does on her pillow. She reads a lot of books. Admirable. He doesn’t have the patience anymore. She must be clever.

From what he’s seen, her work isn’t half-bad. Rough around the edges but better than the shite he’d cobble together. Couldn’t pay him to pretend to care about some dead cousin or happy bride. She doesn’t know a thing about pay rates, though. Strangers robbing her blind. Makes him angry.

John orders him to sabotage the laptop. Says if he manages it, he’ll earn a spot on the boat. So, of course, it’s done. He slips in with Simon and works his magic. Doesn’t take much given the computer’s age.

He leans into it when Simon drags his nails from his scalp to his nape. He should’ve known then, when Simon called him a good boy, that he’d be sent below to check the rabbits. He sulks into the dark.

The reward for good work is always more work.

The air turns eldritch and metallic in the back of his throat the further he travels, a thick miasma prone to clinging. After all this time, he hasn’t grown accustomed. It fills his mouth with a heavy, sour tang, and swallowing doesn’t get rid of it. He should’ve stolen a pillowcase.

His nose twitches at the notes of an unfamiliar scent cutting through the fog. A faint, sickly-sweet rot, like meat left too long. The smell gradually envelops the passage.

A lantern illuminates the edges of the twin hutches. There is no movement in the shadows beyond, but that isn’t what stops him in his tracks. There is no sound. No rustling or thumps. The rabbits do not gather in their nervous, curious way to greet him.

Treading closer, his vision adjusts, and he spots the first rabbit. Unnaturally still with its limbs bent at strange angles. Milky-white eyes tinged red, blood seeping from every orifice.

Fuckin’ grand.

He fucking hates it when this happens. Always puts John in a foul mood.

Huffing loudly, he rolls his sleeves and slips on the gloves jammed into his pocket. Stomping toward the hutches, he mutters a string of curses.

The reward for good work is always more work.

~~~~

You wake with a start, your heart thrashing against your ribs. Beside you, John’s chest steadily rises and falls in stark comparison to the shudder of your own. Squinting, you latch onto his hand flat over his abdomen as a focal point, coming down from whatever nightmare you must’ve had.

Though as your breathing evens out, the vague scent of brimstone and iron tickles your nose. It drifts over the bed and disappears as quickly as the remnants of your dread, with no trace lingering behind when you sit up and take deep breaths.

You wince at the hour on your phone, and recheck the unknown number. No update.

>> F741 >> hold

> Who is this?

Cryptic, to be sure, but you’ve received a message by mistake. It’s likely a pocket text.

You return your phone to its place, and John stirs. His eyes remain shut, but he reaches for you, his voice rough with sleep.

“You alright?”

“A bad dream,” you almost laugh, because of how silly you feel. Old houses have their sounds. Odors, too, you suppose. In response to his rumblings, you let him pull you down, and trace a soothing line over his chest, hoping he won’t notice the tremor in your touch.

As you cozy in, already sweating from the furnace that he is, you cannot shake the feeling of something unseen, a shadow or a specter, hiding just out of sight.

~~~~

Romance.

John snorts derisively at the garish covers depicting happy couples. Some far-fetched nonsense called Museum Muse and Just Sign Here. She is right. He’s not inclined to read them. However, it is reassuring to know she craves it, even if she’s wary of it—love.

She certainly fantasizes about it. She’d deny it if asked, but considering the collected evidence, that isn’t necessary. All her gasping and whining. The shame is the cherry on top, something to savor each time she smothers her noises, even when alone.

Hearing the shower across the cabin, the sound of its stream breaking against her body is enough to make his cock twitch. He’s half a mind to intrude, but after waking her up on his tongue, he reckons she needs a break. Instead, he double-checks Soap’s work and thumbs through the borrowed titles toward a bookmark, curious about her salacious stories. To see if there’s anything useful to—

His thumb catches heavy cardstock. He cracks the spine and his eyes narrow on official letterhead.

Phillip Graves.

That man is swiftly climbing his list of problems. A biting fly buzzing around the ears of the populace. He glances from the card to the bathroom, tongue swiping over his teeth. She’s proving to be quite the crafty liar, too, though it’s more from fear than intent. A wound that makes her flinch, learned from that ingrate husband of hers. That particular man’s one more bump in the road, but simpler to handle than a fed. Everyone knows what to do with rats.

His ears perk when the water shuts off. He makes an impulsive decision.

She doesn’t notice, padding from the bathroom to the bedroom in a towel, but she does when she’s dressed.

“Feelin’ better?”

The poor thing gawks, her big eyes not on him, but the novel. She fidgets. “I thought you didn’t like those sorts of stories.”

“No, sweetheart, you assumed,” He corrects, twirling the improvised bookmark in his free hand. “Don’t worry. I remember your place.”

That gets her moving. She closes the distance, hovering at his side, hands twitching and clearly caught between snatching up the book or card.

“It’s stupid to use as a bookmark, but it’s what I had after Phil gave me his card at the diner.”

“Phil?” What a peculiar familiarity. “I don’t recall him giving you a card.”

“Oh.” She falters. There it is. “That’s right, he…may have stopped by the other day.”

“May have?’ What was he after, darl?” He pats the arm of the chair for her to sit, and snakes an arm around her. His fingertips skim just under the hem of her shirt, her skin soft and smooth from bathing. Her vellus hair stands on end beneath his fingertips. He’s always found it curious that the human body knows before the brain. A narrow wire to walk, but he’s had practice.

“He…he wanted to know about those boys who came into the store. The ones who…”

“Crashed their car?”

Fucking rats. It sets his teeth on edge. ‘Phil’ could’ve asked any number of questions. John doubts she will tell him everything. He needs to install audio as soon as possible.

John grins. “Is he trying to claim we’re in trouble because we sold them beer?”

“He hasn’t contacted you?”

“No. That’s rather unprofessional, don’t you think? He’ll badger my lovely employee but not me?” He pauses, then hums as if he’s made yet another discovery. He rubs her hip, putting on a slightly dejected air. “Oh, I see.”

“What? What is it?”

“He came onto you, didn’t he?” He casts his focus elsewhere as if he physically cannot look at her. “You’re not seeing him too, right?”

Predictably, it pushes her buttons. “What?! No!” She angles toward him. A hand lands on his shoulder, journeying shyly to his face to cup a cheek. “No, John.”

He leans into her palm and kisses its heel. Such a lovely creature. “Sorry, sweetheart. It’s not you, it’s me.” He sighs. “It’s happened before. Two-timin’. Makes me paranoid. Nothing puffs up my chest faster than another buck sniffin’ around.” He slips his fingers under hers, minding how easy it’d be to hold on and never let go.

“Loyalty is everything to me, y’know. I may know just about everyone in these parts, but my inner circle’s small. I’ve lost a lot of folk over the years. Some ties severed by my choice, others, not so much. Fate’s been cruel, so I’m quite protective.”

John tilts his head, relishing the softness in her face. Romance.

“Sometimes, I think there’s a greater force at play. That I must’ve done something right to have found you.” He squeezes her hand. “Rather, you found me, didn’t you? Could’ve run to any corner of this earth, but you chose this slice of Eden.”

Her smile is a balm for the weary spirit, his most restless of all.

“Maybe it’s luck,” she suggests, then adds, “Or something. I certainly feel lucky, with everything you’ve done for me…”

Ah, this old refrain.

He says nothing, just watches as she shifts her weight, her eyes flitting down before she slowly moves, as if testing her decision prior to committing to it. Then, to his surprise, she lowers. Kneels. It tests his restraint, every fiber of his being baying for suppliance. Her palms nervously fit over his knees.

It’s only polite to ask. “You sure?”

She reaches for his belt with a nod. “I want to.”

He forces his mouth into a shape passable for humility and studies her expression. Devotion practically radiates off her, and an eagerness to show it. That’s something the others lacked. This is a start. Initiative and promise. Love.

A contentedness spreads through him, rolling down his spine in sync with the descent of his zipper. Rich and heavy as honey, warming him with a satisfaction he’d longed to taste.

He remembers her place. She’s learning it.

~~~~

When John leaves, you brush your teeth. You stare into the mirror, faintly disbelieving, as if your eyes belong to a stranger. Didn’t think you’d do that any time soon, but it must be growth. The months away from the desert have reshaped you, revealing a gentler line to your mouth, a brightness to your gaze, and an ease to your brow. The thought of being a little happier feels dangerous. Fragile and premature. And yet, you cannot deny the woman in your reflection. Soap’s words ring clear.

Love’s got a way of changing people.

A phantom weight presses on your tongue the longer you look, and your face grows hot.

Still. You smile and like what you see.

Days pass, and the number never texts back. John doesn’t mention Phil again.

The peace is an uneasy one, but you’ll take it.

There’s a lull at the store after the holiday, a return to the usual pace. John’s business takes him around the area, leaving you to staff the counter for a few afternoons. However, you suspect Soap’s loitering outside is no coincidence. He doesn’t bother you, but you wish he would. He was friendly enough at the boat before Simon’s interruption.

Lover’s quarrel, John had said, but Simon’s face suggested otherwise.

You can’t help the twinge in your chest, a trip cord wrapped around your heart. Though Soap admitted he was scared of Simon, he didn’t seem frightened. You grapple with the urge to reach out, the impulse caught in your throat like a stone, weighty with your own memories.

When you finally work up the nerve to ask if he wants to chat while you close, Simon’s with him, a helmet tucked under his arm.

Through the window, you watch the men, Soap’s face aglow with excitement, swaying foot to foot. You don’t interrupt, familiar with the possible consequences. You decide to wait and ask Soap to walk you instead.

Of course, you’re not so lucky.

“I’ll take you. Johnny’ll wait for Price.” Simon thrusts a spare helmet into your hands the moment you step outside.

There’s no discussion or debate. Simon watches you shove the helmet over your head with a look of rancor, a harsh set to his jaw, then swings a thick leg over the ATV. He doesn’t help as you climb on, slotting awkwardly behind him. You try to leave space, but he reaches back, curls a hand under your knee, and hauls half of your body forward. Tilting nearly off-balance, you grab his waist, swiftly bracketing your other leg to his.

“Be good, Johnny.” He barks as the ATV roars to life between your legs.

Your hands slide around him as he backs up, burying into his shirt to feel a slab of muscle. A short, surprised cry bursts out when he abruptly accelerates, cutting off a car in the road as he peels out. You clutch tighter as the ATV jerks around the bend and forward, pulse revving alongside the machine as Simon throws it against the incline.

The ride itself is, thankfully, brief. The cats scatter as Simon veers sharply and sends a spray of gravel flying as he lurches to a stop. You clamber off, legs unsteady, and thank him as evenly as possible.

Simon does not immediately take the helmet from your outstretched hand. He stares with his mitts wrapped tight around the handlebars. Hard to believe hands the size of spades are dexterous enough for a trade like taxidermy. When he finally takes it, you flee with a shaky gait.

“Be good, rabbit.”

Laughter follows you to the door.

Night presses in on the cabin. You tuck into the armchair with your book, grimacing at the business card. Such a stupid, stupid mistake, letting John find it. How close you’d been to spilling. Disappointing John worried you, but crossing Phil terrified you. His cryptic manner of speaking, all his dancing around what he meant. It didn’t inspire trust, nor did his badge. At least he’d gone silent. Not a word since his visit.

The agent lurks in your subconscious. You have some notion of how investigations work. If he’s run your name and if he’s discovered anything, wouldn’t he have dragged you back by now? Could he do that? Would he?

Eventually, you concede. Your mind keeps drifting and catching on everything else you’ve tried to avoid thinking about. You toss the book onto the coffee table with a huff and rise to prepare for–

The library’s label, clean and laminated, sticks out on the spine. The letters 'P', trailed by a line of digits.

Realization as cold as lakewater washes over you.

>> F741 >> hold

It’s a call number. A book.

You reach for the phone as soon as the hour turns reasonable. Dialing Nikolai with one hand, you rub your eyes with the other, feeling hollowed out. You didn’t close your eyes all night.

To your relief, he answers. A jarring clang accompanies his greeting, underlaid by a rhythmic crank and humming.

“Nikolai, sorry if I’m interrupting, but I was wondering if there are any updates?”

“Ah, rabbit, darling, a moment.” It’s clear he’s set the phone down by the sound of footsteps and a distant grunt. His humming evolves into whistling, culminating in a faint rumble in Russian. What follows, erupting through the receiver, is a cacophony of mechanical sounds, jagged and violent. Something thrums with a relentless chorus of metal grinding against metal, punctuated by deep, resonant clunks and crunches that make you pull the phone from your ear and hold it at arms-length.

It’s a minute before Nikolai returns, and the terrible noise grows quieter. He cuts you off before you get a word in, providing a non-answer about your car and a reminder about the cost of towing it to the nearest city. It is sorely beyond your budget.

“So impatient. Where are you trying to scurry off to? Do you need transport?”

“No, it’s nothing urgent,” Your jaw aches from clenching it. “I simply don’t want to bother John.”

“Why not? He’s your man.” He almost sounds annoyed. “Listen, rabbit, I’ll do you a favor and tell John you need a ride.”

You freeze. “Oh, no, you don’t need to do that–”

The line goes dead with an unceremonious click.

“Why didn’t you come to me first?”

The truck bounces along the road, the warm air through the window merging pine and with John’s tobacco. You rest against the frame, watching the forest.

“I was going to.” A white lie or two can’t hurt. “I’m just anxious about my car. It’s been weeks, and Nikolai keeps dodging my questions. I’m close to threatening to tow it if he can’t fix it by the end of the month.”

John snorts. “Good luck. He does not like ultimatums, speaking from experience.”

You glance at John out of the corner of your eye. Lying to him stings, especially after he poured his heart out, but you know he’ll think you foolish about the mystery text.

“Did you…know there’s a closed mine shaft behind Nikolai’s shop? When we were there, I followed one of his shop cats and saw it.”

John’s lip quirks around his cigar. “You follow every cat you meet?”

“They haven’t led me astray yet.”

“S’pose so. And I do know about the mine shaft. The area’s full of them. Folk used to say Mount Grouse is hollow from the silver rush.”

The smile slips from your face. Silver. The West’s full of it—silver and promises. Dusty whispers in your ear from hundreds of miles away, from years ago. You pinch the bridge of your nose and breathe.

“You alright?”

“Think I’m getting a headache.”

Guilt flares when John tosses his cigar, turns the radio off, and slides a comforting hand over your thigh. Why his affection is offered to you, of all people, a liar, you don’t know. Certainly don’t deserve it.

For the remainder of the drive to the library, John keeps his hand on you and his mouth shut. Only letting go to park the truck.

“I’ll let you get your books. Gonna return a missed call.” John leans against the tailgate and nods at the entrance, dismissing you with a playful pat to your ass.

Your face burns all the way to the doors.

“Back so soon?” The librarian asks with a big smile. “Already finished with your selection?”

“I’m finished with two, yes, but I was actually wondering if…”

“If I have the book on hold courtesy of Mr. Graves? I was wondering when you’d come in for it.”

>> F741 >> hold

Phil. Your stomach falls like a torn, wet paper bag. “Yes.”

You absolutely cannot tell John about the text—or this—now.

“Come with me.” She crooks a finger over her shoulder as she meanders toward the circulation desk. “He picked a good one. Locally authored. However, although we classify it as nonfiction and shelve it with our regional materials, it’s an anthology of transcribed oral histories and diaries from mining camps, so take it with a grain of salt.”

Your vision swims as you process. “Really? That’s good to know.”

Jeanne retrieves the hold and it is thinner than you expected, wrapped in a worn, brown cloth cover. Veins of Blood and Metal: Mining the Silver Valley. Grim yet hokey, just like the man who picked it.

“Would you like a reading room?”

Your eyes snap up. “Can’t I check it out?”

“Oh, no. We don’t check materials from the local collection out.”

“Could you make an exception? I’m in Grouse Bay and I don’t have a car of my own, and I hate to be a burden on my…” Several terms collide and tangle like a rat king. “To my boyfriend. I promise I’ll take care of it. I don’t dog ear or annotate. I won’t even keep a glass of water near—”

Jeanne’s face softens. She pats your hand, bracelets jingling. “Sweetie, it’s alright. I’ll bend the policy. You seem like a good kid.”

If only you knew.

“Oh, thank you.”

“Just promise to take good care of it. It’s already a little damaged.”

“Yes, ma’am. And, uh, do you happen to know why Mr. Graves left this for me? Did he say anything?”

She puckers her lips in thought. “I believe he said that you would find it ‘enlightening’.”

Your fingers itch. You’re tempted to call, tired of his enigmatic nonsense, just to demand why he bothered masking his number if only to leave his name. If this is his way of operating, it eases your worry over his capabilities as a fed.

“Right. Thanks, Jeanne.”

You stow the book from Phil in your bag and meet John outside as he hangs up.

“Ready to go, darl?” He asks with a strained smile.

“Yes. Everything alright?”

“Right as rain. Need to make a couple of stops while we’re in town.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t ask about the library, but he’s unusually reticent again. After you stop at the depot and an outdoor supply shop, it’s back to Grouse. He grips the wheel tight and gazes at the road with a flat, distant focus. It’s impossible that he knows, but doubt sticks between your ribs.

Dust seeps in.

You remember how it felt with Dusty, that weight in the air, thick with the silence he would settle into for days. You’d wait, always, for some change in his facial expressions and the tension in his body, but somehow, it never felt like you were meant to know. It afflicted you with the need to both placate and pry.

You lick your lips and look at him through the rearview. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

“Nothing for you to worry about. Just a minor problem.”

The question rises in your throat, uninvited, like it’s pushing its way out despite the warning signs flashing. Curiosity runs headlong into self-preservation and makes it impossible not to ask. It’s not as if it’s outside the realm of possibility.

Your hand finds his knee in a bid to soften it.

“Is it at all related to those boys? To…Phil?”

His attention flickers to meet yours in the mirror, a slight furrow to his brow. You wonder if he’s thinking the same thing you are—whether asking was a mistake. A millisecond later, he huffs and grins, shaking his head.

“Still worried about him? Oh, sweetheart. Didn’t I tell you? Must’ve forgotten, what with all the running around I’ve had to do.”

“Tell me what?”

“I had my own tête-à-tête with Mr. Graves. Answered his questions and sent him on his way. Said he’s going to Kellogg to continue his little investigation.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” You swiftly assure, despite that revelation piling atop all your questions. “I was worried. He seemed dogged.”

A hand drops from the wheel to cover yours. “Not our problem anymore.”

Despite the strange book in the bag between your feet, despite Phil Graves’s odd behavior—you settle into a calm, a boat gliding into port to avoid a storm. John’s happy. You’re happy. The book can wait, especially after he sweet talks you into staying the night at his place for the first time.

On the drive, you talk about nothing, mostly. The trees, the towns, how the road is barely wide enough for two cars. John teases you for holding onto the handle at every bend, and you laugh in your defense. There’s a gentle warmth, easy and growing familiar. It’s more organic, more natural, than what you had before.

You’re still giggling when he pulls around back. You hop out of the truck and pause, spotting a large patch of blackened, dead grass. The gears turn in your head until they click into place.

“Where’s the hutch? The rabbits?”

You nearly walk into him with his abrupt stop. John’s face twists, and he sighs and rakes a hand down his face, then coaxes you into his arms. “This week put me through the wringer. Yet another thing I neglected to mention…It’s terrible, sweetheart. A rabbit got sick. It was infectious. Had to do the humane thing. Then I burned the carcasses and the hutch to avoid it spreadin’ to anything else.”

John’s grip shifts to your waist to lead you inside, but your gaze returns to the charred earth, and you stumble at sulfur wafting past your nose, brief and sudden but unmistakable. It plucks at your memory like a harp playing a discordant note.

His lips find your temple, his voice in your ear. “I’ll have fresh does, soon.”

#the warren #price x reader #john price x reader #price x f!reader #john price x f!reader

86 notes · View notes

maybejj · 1 day ago

Text

The Beginning of Us.

Part 2

babydaddy!Rafe x sweetheart!reader

summary: You and Rafe were high school sweethearts that continued into college however Rafe went down the wrong path and you found out you were pregnant. 3 years later finds you and Rafe trying to navigate co-parenting your 2 year old son while overcoming life’s obstacles and past experiences.

warnings: swearing, rafe checking out reader

word count: 1.5k

You had just put Asher down for a nap, quickly getting your stuff together by the door. Your best friend, Ashton, was opening her own bakery store today and you promised her that you would be there to help. You had called Rafe earlier in the week to make sure he was available to watch Asher while you were gone, you both had trust issues when it came to having anyone else watch your son after what happened the last time.

When you had called Rafe, he said he was free to watch Asher, that he didn’t have anything else going on. That wasn’t the case. After you got off the phone, he immediately rescheduled all his meetings that fell on that Friday morning. His Dad was pissed off with him because of it but he couldn’t care less. His family, his son, came first. He would always be there for his son and you, if you’d let him.

Ever since Asher was born, he made a promise to himself that he would clean up his act and make up for how he treated you while you were pregnant with his son. He had a long way to go but he was trying.

You were putting your earrings on in the bathroom when you heard him come in. You could hear him set his stuff down on the counter in the kitchen before coming to find you.

Rafe came into view of the bathroom doorway, looming over you. He couldn’t help himself, his eyes traveled your figure. You were wearing a baby blue sundress that came down to your knees. The top half was tighter than the bottom, making your breasts sit very nicely, snug. The v-neck wasn’t too deep, just enough to leave your imagination running wild and his definitely was. You were beautiful, that was the simplest way to put it. Your figure had changed since you were together in high school and college but damn, you never looked better. If anything, he found you more attractive after birthing his son.

“Again, I’m sorry this is kinda late notice. I only told you about it a couple days ago. It completely slipped my mind until Ashton called me the other day and that’s when I called you-” You continued to ramble on until Rafe’s deep voice stopped you mid sentence.

“Don’t have to apologize, you’re allowed to have a life. Besides, this gives me an excuse to show Asher some new tractor catalogs I got in the mail the other day.” Rafe smiled at you, leaning against the doorway, “Little man asleep?”

You nodded while fluffing your hair and giving yourself one more glance over in the mirror. You were about to leave the bathroom but when you turned you noticed some of your hair sticking out of place.

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself. You turned back to the mirror and picked up your comb. Your hair was curled lightly but it had been giving you trouble all morning.

“You look good, stop stressing. You’re going to be late.” Rafe murmured, rolling his eyes half heartedly. You stopped with the comb halfway to your hair, slightly blushing after his comment.

Your relationship with Rafe was complicated. You were together for three years before you broke it off. You were done watching him waste his life away with drugs and alcohol in college but shortly after you ended things, you found out you were pregnant. To put it nicely, he was a complete asshole while you were pregnant. He wasn’t there for the appointments, the cravings, the hormones, the complications towards the end. The drugs took over his life and he took it out on you while you were the most vulnerable you had ever been.

Once Asher was born though, that’s when it changed. Rafe barely made it to the hospital when you went into labor but once he was allowed to see Asher for the first time? You swear you watched something switch in him. You didn’t even have to say anything to him, he said it for you.

He had tears in his eyes while holding his son for the first time, Asher was sleeping with his head resting on Rafe’s chest. You were watching them closely. You didn’t know if Rafe was currently high or not but you wanted him to at least see his son for the first time.

With silent tears running down his face, Rafe turned to you in the hospital bed, “I’m going to get better. For him. For you. I’m done. I don’t want my son growing up and seeing his father like this. He deserves better and so do you. I’m going to prove it to you.”

After he left the hospital that night, he checked himself into a six week rehab facility and stuck to his word. He hadn’t drank or done drugs since. He was slowly restoring your faith in him. It took a while to get where you were today but he was still determined to prove himself to you and Asher, he never stopped. While he was a good dad and a better person today, it was still hard to forget how he treated you while you were pregnant with his son. You tell yourself that’s why you weren’t together now. You had convinced yourself you both were better off just co-parenting.

Your phone ringing in the other room caught both of your attention, both of your heads snapping in the direction of the living room.

You excused yourself from the bathroom, brushing against Rafe as you made your way to your phone. You smiled as you answered, “I swear I’m about to leave.”

“You better be, I’m stressing out over here and I need my best friend ASAP!” Ashton’s hurried voice came across the phone.

“Deep breaths, I’m saying goodbye to Asher and then I’m heading your way. You’re going to do great.” You grabbed your purse as you put your phone against your ear and shoulder, sliding your sandals on at the same time.

“Give my namesake a hug and kiss for me! See you soon babe.” Ashton quickly said before hanging up. You had name your son after Ashton. You had been friends with her since you were 10 years old. You did everything together, including going to the same college. She was also there the entire time you were pregnant, taking you to every appointment and drying your tears.

You laughed before shoving your phone in your purse. Rafe had taken a spot on the couch and was trying to find a good channel to settle on. He raised his eyebrows in your direction when he saw you walking towards Asher’s room.

“I’m just going to poke my head into his room and give him a kiss. Thats all.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

Rafe snorted, “If you’re in a hurry, I wouldn’t do that. You know it’ll wake him up.”

“Maybe but I have to say goodbye to my baby. And we both know you’re just as excited as him, if not more, to show him the tractor magazines.” You turned around and faced him while you talked, still walking backwards to your son’s room.

Rafes loud laugh followed you into Asher’s room as you opened the door. The room was painted red and blue, his favorite colors due to Spider-Man being his favorite superhero. You walked over to his bed, crouching down to his height. He was laying on his stomach, his arms and legs flopped crazily. You brushed his blonde hair away from his face and kissed his cheek.

“Mommy loves you so big baby.” You murmured. While he hadn’t been a planned baby, he was the best thing that ever happened to you.

Asher stirred gently at your hand against his face, his bright green eyes looking up at you. He instantly started waking up, a sleepy smile forming on his face. You smirked, Rafe was going to have so much fun chasing him around the apartment.

“Hi mommy,” Asher took one of his chubby hands and put it against your cheek. You turned your head and kissed the inside of his hand.

“Guess who’s here?”

Asher shot up so fast it nearly gave you whiplash.

“Daddy?!”

Before you could reply, Asher was running out of the room. You heard Rafe grunt from the living room while you started making your way back to them. When you got to the living room, you saw Rafe being smothered in a bear hug by Asher. Rafe just gave you a look that said, ‘I told you so’ while hugging Asher back.

“Alright I’m heading out now. Be good for daddy, Asher.” You blew Asher a kiss from the front door.

Rafe and Asher stopped what they were doing and looked your way. Rafe had a slight blush to his cheeks he was praying you couldn’t see and Asher was scrambling off the couch to get to you.

Asher barreled into your leg, “Bye Mommy!”

You ruffled his hair and hugged him back as best you could while he was hanging onto your leg, “See you later, baby.”

You sent Rafe a smirk. Asher was awake and full of energy now, he was going to have his hands full.

“Good luck.” You glanced at Rafe while he gave you a flat look. You laughed while you double checked one last time to make sure you had everything and stepped out the door.

#rafe cameron #obx #babydaddy rafe #babydaddy!rafe #tbou rafe fic #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #rafe x you #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #john b routledge #jj maybank #cleo anderson #kiara carrera #pope heyward #sarah cameron #outer banks

75 notes · View notes

mxstellatayte · 2 days ago

Text

pretty please: chapter three.

pretty please masterlist.

chapter three contents: these hoes being in LOVE love, a lot of plot but it makes sense just wait, 2020 turkish grand prix, very brief sex but it's vanilla bullshit, love confessions, lewis' private jet, ROSCOEEEEEE

chapter three word count: 4.8k

taglist (crossed out means i could not tag you/no blog was found): @pear-1206 @vivi-81 @irishmanwhore @lucycowr @benstormy

@anat33-blog1 @Xoscar03 @tremendousstarlighttragedy @nenamalenaa @champagneproblems17

@marknolee @toby33b @theendofthematerialgworl @soloqualcosa @sassyinchident808

@slutmeoutsworld @itsgrlalmghty

join my taglist here!

she on an ego trip, baggage in the trunk

lewis sent emails.

a month later, you get an email from one of the mercedes pr representatives, the subject line reading "turkish grand prix invitation." you roll your eyes, already knowing exactly who arranged your visit to the grand prix. as expected, should you accept the invitation, you'll be receiving premium treatment from mercedes, equal only to a vip paddock pass. when you send lewis a text about it, he simply responds by asking if you'll be there.

your reply? "if nothing comes up, i'll be there."

when you receive the email in late september with your november assignments, you breathe a sigh of relief when you don't have any traveling on the roster for the whole month. after a brief phone call with lewis and a lot of insistence on your part that, seriously, you'll survive a four hour flight on commercial, you giggle and roll across your bed, squealing like a teenager. the day of your flight can't arrive soon enough.

tuesday, 10 november, 2020.

the timing of your flight to istanbul is, admittedly, less than ideal. you land at almost ten PM local time, so by the time you've made it through customs, your eyelids are heavy and you want nothing more than to hit the pillows of the hotel bed that awaits you. thankfully, it's relatively easy to spot the driver that mercedes has sent for you. you find the well-dressed employee- melek, her name tag reads- who holds a tablet with your last name on it, and greet her with a smile beneath her mask. "i trust you had a good flight?"

"yes, i did. thank you. how have things been here?"

"they've been good. i'm sure you know that when mr. hamilton wins this weekend, he'll secure the championship. please, let me take your bag." you nod, handing her the handle of your suitcase but keeping your backpack slung over your shoulder. "will we be heading to the hotel or another destination, ma'am?"

"i think i need to head to the hotel tonight. i'm exhausted. thank you" melek nods, tacking her tablet under her arm. "lead the way." the car ride to the hotel isn't long by any means, but despite the flight from london to istanbul being just under four hours, you still feel the exhaustion that only exists in the depths of your bones, and it's an exhaustion you only feel after a day of travel. frankly, you don't know how the drivers, mechanics, engineers, lawyers, and team principals regularly do this, sometimes traveling to upwards of twenty races each year.

"i am staying in this hotel, as well, and my phone number is on my business card so that you can call or text me. i am at your service for the week." melek fishes around in the pocket of her blazer, then pulls out a crisp white business card. you accept it gratefully, remarking with a smile that she won't have to be driving you anywhere for the rest of the day-you're completely and entirely drained of any energy from traveling. "in that case," melek says, matching your own smile beneath her mask, "good night."

you nod and bid her the same, smiling when you open the small pack melek had handed you with her business card, indicating that you're bound to stay on the twenty-second floor of the luxurious hotel. the elevator takes painfully long to climb to the floor, but once you stagger through your door, ditch your suitcase somewhere along the way to your bed, and barely manage to untie your shoes, pull off your jeans, and yank on a pair of loose, star-printed sleep shorts, you shimmy under the duvet and fall fast asleep.

one thing that you've considered about visiting the middle east multiple times has been the dress code. sure, there isn't any explicit dress code, per se- it's not like school where you had a specific uniform that you had to obey every day lest you'd get a talking to from one of your teachers or, god forbid, detention. no, it's much different, but it's still a dress code you're going to obey. in fact, in the middle east, it's much more like a social norm than a dress code. since islam is the most commonly practiced religion in turkey, you've opted for some of the more modest items of clothing in your closet, even packing a dress that goes past your knees and reaches your wrists for the race.

today, you're going to explore istanbul. after arranging your flights and lodging, you'd been asked what you would want to do in your two free days before the race weekend. normally, you'd only have one free day, if any, before needing to report for your media duties, but, since you're a guest to this race, the first time you'll set foot in the paddock is friday, for the free practices. another reason melek is your guide for this weekend is because she was born in istanbul and knows the city like the back of her hand.

it seems that you beat melek to her first comment, which is that of modest clothing and keeping your wallet close to you. today, instead of the professional attire she wore last night, she wears a simple long dress in a beautiful dark purple (an abaya, she says,) and the same black hijab she was wearing yesterday, but today she wears a white undercap as opposed to the black one from yesterday.

"do you have any ideas for what you want to do for the next two days?" she says, smearing paprika butter onto her toast. you both have ordered the same meal, although you just followed her lead when her eyes lit up upon seeing that her favorite breakfast was on the menu. çilbir, she said it was called.

you shake your head, swallowing the bite of poached egg and toast, the rich flavors of the garlicky yogurt sauce the egg had sat on remaining in your mouth. "not really. the only idea i had was to follow your lead, honestly. i saw that you were born here and figured it would be best to see what someone who knows the city as well as you do would do with a free day." melek's eyes light up once more, smiling broadly.

"i was kind of hoping you'd say that." her voice is filled with glee, and you know you're in good hands when she pulls out her phone and shows you a list of ideas she'd come up with the night before. "if you're up for it, the first thing i'd like to do is a bit of shopping. the grand bazaar is absolutely incredible and, if you'd like, we can find you an abaya and a hijab for you to wear this weekend." when you nod eagerly at her idea, another bite of your breakfast in your mouth, she continues. "i'm not sure if architecture and culture is your thing, but the blue mosque and the hagia sophia are the most iconic mosques in istanbul, so those are definitely also ideas for places we could visit. they're also right next to each other, so we can definitely see both if you want."

you finish your breakfasts making relatively loose plans for the day, and you can tell that melek is overjoyed that you're excited to learn more about istanbul. as she'd suggested, your first stop is the grand bazaar, and you really underestimated it. it's loud, crowded, and hot, but it's beautiful in its own unique way. the first shop that melek pulls you into is a clothing shop, and your jaw drops. the fabrics that line the walls are in colors so rich and beautiful you almost think you're viewing the post-editing photographs of it, yet you somehow know that it's real.

"it's beautiful, isn't it?" melek's voice snaps you out of your trance, and you nod.

"it's stunning. thank you for bringing me here."

"this is just the beginning. what colors do you normally wear?" after telling her, she rattles something off to the stall owner, a kind-eyed woman wearing an abaya and hijab similar to melek's, though she doesn't wear an undercap and her hijab is much more opaque. "oh, look at that." when you turn, seeing what she's referring to, you're starstuck. a dark blue abaya lays in the stall owner's arms, and something uneasy stirs in your stomach. you attempt to quell it, though, instead accepting the dress from the owner and scurrying behind a curtain to try it on. when you emerge and face the full length mirror, a sheepish grin spreads on your face when melek gawks at you. "oh, my goodness. you look stunning."

"really?"

"absolutely. do you want to try on a hijab, too?" the uneasy feeling returns in your stomach, and this time, you're able to pinpoint what it is.

"wouldn't it be appropriating your culture, though? i don't want to offend anyone."

"oh, nonsense," melek says with a wave of her hand. "i'd say you're appreciating it more than anything. here, try mine on. pull your hair back?" she unfastens the magnets that hold the fabric together at her chin and drapes it over your hair, securing it with the magnets below your chin and styling it how she had it on her own head. when she moves away from the mirror and you're able to look at your reflection, you're... slightly shocked.

somehow, despite your typical style being jeans that hug your body and shirts or blouses that end before your elbows, you feel beautiful in a full-length dress and a headscarf.

you feel beautiful, confident, and, most of all, you feel strong.

you don't notice it initially, but tears are brimming your eyes, and melek jumps forward, dabbing at your eyes with the sleeve of her abaya. you laugh, tilting your eyes upwards to avoid letting the tears fall. "you look absolutely beautiful."

"i feel beautiful."

by the time you collapse into your bed that day, your smartwatch has logged more than 30,000 steps throughout the streets of istanbul, your camera roll has increased by nearly 500 photos, your stomach is full of delicious street food, and you've purchased two abayas, a white undercap, and three different hijabs. you travel to the middle east several times a year- why shouldn't you have some outfit variability?

before parting ways for the day, you'd made plans with melek to visit some museums tomorrow, the first of which is the rumeli fortress and the second being the topkapi palace museum. you just hope your phone has enough storage to hold all the photos you're going to take.

so pretty and you know it, my heart goes hammer time

soon enough, friday rolls around, and you can't help but admit that you're a bit nervous. knowing the media, they'll tear you to pieces for simply adhering to the cultural norm, but you push down your anxieties in favor of smiling at yourself in the mirror- you really look gorgeous. you're wearing the dark blue abaya you found on wednesday with a simple white chiffon hijab. the juste un clou necklace sits just below your collarbones, and you'd laid your hijab in such a way that it'll be visible, but only if you're really looking for it. knowing lewis, though, he'll see it instantly. after tying the ribbons into a bow at your back, giving your silhouette a fitted waistline to contrast the otherwise fully modest outfit, you make sure everything you'll need is inside your clutch, including two extra masks, and head to the elevators. once you arrive in the lobby, melek greets you with a smile below her mask and hands you a vip guest pass.

"you look beautiful," she assures, almost as if she could read your mind once you sit in the car.

"thank you. you do, too." she's wearing a white shirt and pants set below her lilac jacket-style abaya with a black undercap and hijab, and her converse match the abaya. honestly, it bugs you a little bit how she's so effortlessly beautiful and stylish.

when you step out of the car at the paddock, you slide the pass over your head and hold your clutch tightly in order to stop your hands from shaking. the nerves are starting to settle into your bones, but they're immediately banished when you catch a glimpse of dark tattooed skin, and you instinctively call out his name.

"lewis!"

he'd know that voice anywhere.

before he can fully register your voice, he's whipping around and scanning the crowd for you, almost skimming over your figure. "hey!" he approaches you, and, as is the standard now, brings you in for a hug. "you look amazing. where- when did you buy this?"

when you turn, attempting to find melek in the crowd, you realize it's purely in vain- she's ducked away from the cameras and is making a beeline for the turnstiles to enter the paddock while somehow still avoiding every single camera. "well, she's disappeared now, but melek and i went shopping in the grand bazaar on wednesday. it was absolutely beautiful. you need to go sometime." you've started walking toward the turnstiles with lewis, and you fish your pass out from the folds of your hijab. "you feeling ready for this weekend?"

"a little nervous, but you know how it is."

"i don't, in fact," you quip, making lewis laugh, and, oh, how you missed that laugh. it's high and bubbly and fills you with so many stupid emotions that you really don't want to process right now, so instead you try to turn your dumb smile into a sly smirk. "why don't you tell me?"

"it's... difficult to put into words." he pauses, fist bumping sebastian vettel and giving him the signature 'bro pat' on his arm before returning to his conversation with you. "there's different feelings for each event. for practice sessions, there's less pressure and you're just trying to get a feel for the track, the conditions, learn which corners you're over- or understeering in, that kind of thing. for qualifying, though, it's a waiting game for the first bit, and then, on your flying lap, the world goes quiet. i learn the car get a feel for it and how it responds to everything in the practice sessions, and then in qualifying, i boil all of the mental notes i gathered during the three hours of practice down into one or two notes per corner and send it. i put everything into the car like it's the last lap of the last race and the championship is purely based on this lap." by now, you've made it to the mercedes garage, and you're handed a headset to slip over your neck before smiling and fist bumping a majority of the mechanics and hugging bono quickly. as soon as you've ducked out of view of the cameras, lewis' hand grasps yours tightly, and you quietly thank whatever gods are watching over you that you haven't taken your mask off yet, because you're positive that the heat seeping through your cheeks is incredibly visible.

"when i'm in the car for the race, though, it's a whole different feeling. i feel every minute detail, every time the tires slip or lock up in the slightest bit, how the car gets snappier with each lap as the fuel burns off, every tiny pebble or piece of debris that i run over." you don't let lewis continue talking, instead unhooking your mask from your ears, reaching up to undo his, and kissing him softly. your hands, still holding both masks, rest on his chest and his arms wrap around your waist, caging you in safely.

"you should be a poet," you say, smiling softly against lewis' skin while he continues peppering feather-light kisses to the corners of your lips and cheeks.

"oh yeah? what makes you say that?"

"the way you explained that was... beautiful."

within the next hour, your phone is being blown up with notifications. to be fair, most of them are from amelia saying how absolutely stunning you look and encouraging you to "go get that driver dick, baby!" the others are mostly instagram and twitter notifications, and although the majority are praising you for respecting the modest culture, the ones that you remember the most are the ones critiquing and berating you.

"don't go looking through that bullshit," lewis says, prying your phone from your hands. you're laying on his couch after the first practice session, your feet kicked up onto one armrest and your head resting against the other. "they're just jealous because you look so pretty."

on saturday, lance stroll takes pole, excelling in the rainy conditions. the internet goes up in flames when you arrive at the paddock wearing an abaya and a hijab yet again, but today, you remember lewis' words, and your nerves calm a bit. in the post-qualifying interviews, though, you're surprised when sebastian, daniel, carlos, lewis, and valtteri all come forward, defending you and condemning any fans that have been criticizing you for dressing in a culturally sensitive manner.

it's sunday. you had seen the abaya you're wearing today on your walk to the topkapi palace on thursday and it remained in the back of your mind the whole time you browsed the museum. on your way back, you'd nudged melek and gone into the shop with her, and, after standing behind melek slightly awkwardly as she conversed with the shop's worker in turkish, you paid for the dark teal abaya and moved on to the rumeli fortress. a dubai abaya, melek had called it. "it's more dressy- see the embroidery on the sleeves? it's typically for more luxurious or glamorous occasions."

what's more glamorous than the pinnacle of motorsport?

when you find lewis and valtteri in the garage, their faces light up and lewis brings you in for a hug quickly. "you look stunning, as always," he whispers, and a rush of butterflies flood your stomach once more.

"thank you."

"can i get a spin?" valtteri says, and you happily oblige, the abaya twirling at your feet. "it suits you." you beam below your mask. valtteri is a very reserved person, but you've quickly learned his mannerisms. he isn't the person to hand out compliments for the heck of it, so when you do get a compliment from him, you know he really means it.

"thanks, valtteri. you ready for today?" he nods and is about to respond when his race engineer notifies him that he needs to review some strategy ideas, so he excuses himself from the conversation and you're left with lewis. "what about you, soon-to-be seven-time world champion?"

"nervous. with the track being such a high-speed circuit and the rain, it's going to be hard to not spin out."

"aw, come on. you'll do great."

and he does. after multiple rain clouds, fluctuations in temperature, and so many close calls that could've resulted in spins or crashes, you're clapping in the mercedes garage, hugging every mechanic that's overwhelmed with glee alongside you. your headset is over your ears, and you tear up a little bit hearing lewis' voice over the radio.

"what a way to win your seventh world title," bono says next to you, and you laugh when you hear lewis squealing with joy. "mate, you have got to be proud of that. what an awesome drive."

lewis has tears in his voice when he replies, and you can't tell if he's breathing heavily because of the race or because of the fact that he just equalled michael schumacher's record for seven world titles. "thank you so much, guys! woo! that's for all the kids out there that dream the impossible. you can do it too, man. i believe in you guys. thank you so much, everyone, for your support." sebastian is the first person to congratulate him, running over in parc fermé after pulling off his own helmet, brushing away a scarlet team kit-clad ferrari employee trying to bring him to the weigh station in favor of kneeling just in front of the halo, reaching his hand through, and clasping it tightly with lewis' own. when he manages to climb out of the car and run over to the crowd of mercedes employees waiting for him, he's absorbed by arms and hands patting him on the back, jumping up and down with glee. you're hanging back in the crowd and doing your best to avoid the cameras, but when lewis pulls away from the giant hug and spots you, wearing his colors supporting his team, he's struck by an abrupt realization--one he's been deliberately avoiding admitting to himself for months, instead opting to shift his focus to any other topic.

yeah.

he's in love with you.

the love we make is poison, it's like my only vice

you don't see him again until after the podium ceremony. he stands between sebastian and sergio, and the crowd roars when he steps out onto the platform, the words "seven-time world champion" ringing in your ears as the british national anthem begins to play. you giggle when you notice that the wrong digital flags hang above sergio and sebastian's heads despite the drivers standing on the correct steps, and you're pretty sure it's a laugh to stop yourself from crying because if you stop smiling you will cry.

after he's handed the trophy, he steps forward off of the podium and tosses it in the air as the crowd below cheers. following the remaining three trophies being handed to their respective recipients, champagne sprays, the toreador march plays, and you couldn't be happier. as soon as lewis steps off the podium, you're the first person he looks for, but he's herded towards the media pen where he's held captive for the next hour, but all he wants to do is get back to you and celebrate his victory. when he does find you, hours later, you're curled into a ball on his couch, a pile of teal fabric and your hair splayed out behind you, and lewis is pretty sure his heart melts.

he sets his phone down on the massage table next to your hijab and squats in front of the couch, laying a gentle hand on your shoulder and shaking slightly. despite the only light in the room being the glow from the light outside the door, your eyes still briefly struggle to adjust to it, and lewis has to hold your hands to stop you from rubbing at them- your eyeliner looks especially perfect today.

"hey there, seven-time world champion," you murmur, sitting up and taking his face in your hands. "how was media?"

"agonizingly slow, as always. but i'm here with you now, and that's what matters." you smile, leaning in to kiss him softly, and lewis gladly accepts, kissing you softly. all too soon, though, he remembers the realization he had after the race, and pulls back, a pout finding your lips in response. "can we talk about something?" your heart rate spikes upon hearing the words, and lewis must see how your eyebrows rise slightly and your lips part in confusion, because he's quick to quell your anxieties. "it's nothing bad, don't worry. it's just... weird to think about this conversation."

"i've got time," you reply, patting the spot next to you on the couch and shifting so that you're looking directly at him when he takes his seat. "what's on your mind?"

lewis hesitates, his eyes shifting uneasily and his hands fidgeting in his lap. on instinct, you reach forward and take his hands in yours, stopping him from picking at his nails the way he does when he's nervous. "i don't really know why i haven't asked you this before, and it's really weird saying this out loud because i don't think i've ever had to do this, but do you... do you want to go out on a proper date?"

you're a bit gobsmacked, if you're being entirely honest. of all the things you'd expected him to say, that was probably the last thing on your list. your jaw drops open a bit, and lewis looks like he's about to backpedal, but your reflexes, in this one instance, are faster. "i'd love to, lewis." relief immediately floods his face, and you laugh, watching as every tense muscle in his body releases and he exhales a dramatic sigh of relief.

"oh, thank god. i don't know what i would've done if you'd said no."

"lewis, are you crazy? why would i ever say no?" you lower your voice just slightly, still aware of the open door, and, despite most of the team having already returned to their hotels, some people are still milling about, and you don't exactly want the entire paddock hearing what you're about to say. "not only are you the most kind and attentive person i've ever met, you're incredibly attractive, and i'd be lying if i said that the sex with you hasn't been the best in my entire life." lewis laughs, leaning forward and resting his head on your knuckles where they still clutch his hands.

"how does dinner sound?" he sits up again, still smiling brightly.

"dinner sounds lovely. i'm not sure when we'll be in the same area next, though."

"why not tonight?"

"i'm hardly dressed for getting dinner with the lewis hamilton," you begin, but lewis cuts you off with a kiss.

"you look stunning. i couldn't outshine you if i tried." it's your turn to hide your face in your hands, a dumb, teenager-in-love smile spreading across your face. "let me shower and get dressed, and then we'll head out?" you nod, and lewis leans forward to kiss you quickly before standing and heading towards the door to his bathroom.

you're wearing nothing but your perfume it's one hell of a view

"you're absolutely beautiful." you aren't sure how many times lewis has murmured those words in your ear since you left the mercedes motorhome, but this time, it's your chance to say it. you've both removed every article of clothing you wore out to dinner, your abaya and hijab abandoned somewhere on the floor and, dropped between them somewhere, lie lewis' shirt and slacks.

when he pushes into you, your mouth falls open in a breathy moan that lewis swallows greedily, his lips a comforting touch on your own, and your arms wrap around his broad shoulders to hold him as close as possible. his thrusts are slow and deliberate, pressing against every spot deep inside of you that makes you see stars. "you like it deep like that?"

the only response you're able to form is a whiny "yeah" that just sounds downright pathetic to your ears.

lewis tucks his head into the crook of your neck, mouthing at the sensitive skin there, kissing and licking softly, letting his teeth occasionally graze gently. you're engulfed in the smell of his cologne, a delicate mix of rose, cumin, and cedarwood that you wish you could bathe in. his thrusts take a slow pace, one that has your orgasm creeping up on you slowly but surely, and when it hits you, your fingers dig into his shoulders as you cum with a cry of his name on your lips, the faint sting of tears in your eyes.

the next morning, you're curled up against lewis' side in his jet, looking out onto istanbul as you fly out of the beautiful city. roscoe's head is laid in your lap, and your fingers idly scratch along his head. if dogs purred, roscoe would be doing just that. lewis' left hand holds your right, his thumb gently running along your own, and your head rests in the crook between his neck and shoulder.

for the first time in a week, you feel peaceful. you don't have to keep up appearances for anyone, you don't have to worry about running into any cameras, and you can just... exist. the fact that lewis is by your side, his form protective over you, only brings you further comfort.

it's you who speaks up first. "what're you thinking about?"

"hm?"

"you've got something on your mind. you need to talk about it?"

"just thinking about you."

"what about me?"

"will you be my partner?"

your kiss against his lips gives him a very enthusiastic answer that he can only hope to assume means yes. when you part, your cheeks burning from smiling and tears stinging your waterline, you laugh lightly.

"you made me an offer i can't refuse. i got it bad for you, baby."

and that's a wrap! i hope you guys liked the story <3 as always, all my love to every single one of you that stuck around to see this through. i know i'm over a month late on this final chapter but it took me forever to find an ending that i actually liked. thank you for reading and pls pls check out my other stories.

all my best,

stella

75 notes · View notes

justagalwhowrites · 2 days ago

Text

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 4: Past and Present

Being in Los Angeles is a challenge - and an opportunity - for you and Joel. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 2 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Depiction of someone experiencing a trigger. Remembered child death. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 12.6k

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Previous Chapter

September 26, 2019

“Joel.”

The sound of his brother’s voice pulled him out of his own head. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, half sitting, half leaning against the window ledge, staring at his daughter’s body. The blood on his skin was drying now, starting to flake off in some places and get caught on the hair of his arms and chest in others. It pulled slightly when he moved, an odd sensation that tied him to his body in a way he could hardly stand.

It was still dark outside, which made sense. He wasn’t sure the sun was going to rise. Such a thing seemed impossible now, that the earth would still be turning at a time like this.

“Did you hear me?” Tommy asked, coming and standing next to him.

It took him a moment to process that question. Tommy sounded so far away, like he was speaking to him above water while Joel was deep below it.

That would be a welcome change, he thought. Then he could just open his mouth and pull all that water into his lungs and never have to breathe or think or be ever again.

He couldn’t do that here. The window behind him couldn’t even open – he’d tried. Just to see if he could get some fresh air, he told himself. The fact that he was 10 stories up, that the fall would almost certainly kill him, was just a fringe benefit.

He couldn’t keep going like this, he knew that already. He kept picturing it in his head, over and over and over again.

Him and Tommy leaving the bar. Tommy driving him home. Stopping a few blocks away from his house, finding the car a tangled mass of metal in the street.

He’d just frowned at first, things not quite clicking. There was something familiar about the car, something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“Jesus,” Tommy said, pulling over and getting out his cell phone, already moving to call 9-1-1. “Be a miracle if anyone survived that…”

Joel saw it then, the bumper sticker on the back of the sedan. Red with white lettering, “Blow it hard & finger it fast” with a clarinet in the middle. He remembered it because, the first time he saw it, he told Sarah he didn’t think that kind of bumper sticker was appropriate for a teenaged girl’s car.

“Dad,” she’d rolled her eyes. “It’s just a joke. Emma plays clarinet, don’t be so lame.”

He’d just sighed and dropped it. It’s not like he could tell the girl to take it off, she wasn’t his daughter. Besides, what trouble was one bumper sticker?

He knew that bumper sticker. Sarah had gotten in the car with that bumper sticker this morning. The car with that bumper sticker was supposed to be taking her home.

Joel was out of the truck before he really knew what he was doing, running toward the accident as fast as he could, praying that Sarah was already safely at the house, that Emma had dropped her off and was going home herself when she was hit.

“Joel!” Tommy yelled after him, getting out of the car, too. “What…”

“That’s Sarah’s friend’s car!” He yelled back to his brother, making it to the passenger side door – the side with the worst of the damage – swearing up and down to every god he’d ever known that he would do anything – anything they asked, anything at all – if that seat was empty, if Sarah was safely at home waiting for him.

His prayers went unanswered.

“No,” Joel breathed, his heart pounding. He pulled at the door but it wouldn’t move, locked shut. He went to the back seat and threw himself against the window until the spidering glass caved. He thrust his arm inside, ignoring the cuts from the glass on his skin, fumbling for the handle until he forced the warped door open. He wasn’t sure where to touch her, a bloody splotch on her stomach that seemed to be spreading. One of her arms was at an odd angle, one of her legs too. But she was breathing, almost hyperventilating, her eyes closed, one hand tight to her stomach. “You’re OK baby girl, you’re OK, just move your hand for me, just…”

“Dad?” She opened her eyes, wide and afraid. “Dad, I…”

“I know,” he said quickly, fighting to keep his voice calm. “I know, I know, just move your hand baby girl, just…”

She pulled her trembling palm away from her stomach and he saw the wound, a chunk of metal embedded into her skin so deep he could barely see it. She reached for him, the blood on her hand soaking into his shirt so he could feel it on his skin.

“You’re gonna be OK,” he said, looking from her stomach to her face. “It’s OK, you’re gonna be OK.”

He had to stop the bleeding. He unbuckled her seatbelt so he could get clearer access to her and pressed his hand into her stomach, making her cry out.

“I know,” he said. “I know it hurts, I know baby, I know. Just gotta hang on for me, OK? Just hang on, you’re gonna be OK.”

Her fingers twisted in the collar of his shirt and she pulled herself against him. He could smell the blood and gasoline and smoke. He had to move her, before a fire started and made this worse he had to get her away from here.

“Just hold on,” he said. “I gotta move you…” He pulled her tight against his body and she screamed, her shallow breaths coming quicker. “I know baby girl, I know, I know, it hurts, I know, I just…”

He looked behind him to find Tommy, hoping to have some idea of when help was coming. But his brother was just standing there, watching Joel, a broken look on his face.

“Tommy,” Joel looked at him, holding Sarah as tight as he could to his chest. Her blood was warm on his skin. “Tommy, help me!”

“Joel,” he said softly. “I… I can’t, I’m sorry, there’s nothing…”

His eyes were on Sarah and Joel realized, suddenly, that she was quiet.

He looked down to her and she had gone still in his arms, her head lolling back lifelessly. Her fingers weren’t clutching his shirt anymore, she wasn’t crying. She wasn’t even breathing.

“No,” he said, his grip on her tightening. “No, no, no, no, no! C’mon baby girl, you’re OK, you’re gonna be OK, you’re…”

He looked back to his brother, Tommy crying silently. There had to be something he could do, something one of them could do.

But there wasn’t. Joel just clung to his daughter’s body until the police and EMTs came, a paramedic pulling her body from his arms before trying to revive her.

It was no use.

Joel stayed with her on the ambulance ride to the hospital. No lights, no sirens, no racing through the streets. There was just quiet as he looked at the sheet that covered his only child, the little girl he’d held when she first came into the world, the one who had wrapped one tiny, perfect hand around his finger when she was just hours old.

She was still there, just a few feet away from him. He’d refused to let them take her to the morgue, the outline of her visible through the sheet. He needed to be next to her as long as possible, he couldn’t let them just take her away and put her somewhere cold and dark. He needed to be next to her, take care of her.

They left him alone with her when he made it clear he wasn’t going to just let them take her away from him. Tommy took over then, talking with police and people at the hospital. Joel wasn’t sure why he bothered.

What did any of this matter without her?

Joel cleared his throat, Tommy still watching him cautiously.

“No,” he said. “M’sorry. What’s happenin’?”

“Said I got some news,” he said. “Some good. Sounds like Emma’s gonna make it, her parents are here…”

Joel nodded. Part of him knew he should feel good about that but he was having a hard time doing it. Of course it was good that another child hadn’t died but fuck, he hated how much he’d do anything - including sacrifice that other child - to bring his own back.

“What else,” Joel said when Tommy didn’t continue.

“Well,” he said before he sighed and crossed his arms. “Sounds like we know the car that hit ‘em…”

Joel stood up straight then, suddenly alert, ready to take care of it. Whoever it was had been in good enough shape to drive away from the scene which meant they were probably still alive. He’d change that. He’d like changing that.

“They got some video from security cameras and shit nearby,” he said. “Some SUV just barreling through, swervin’ all over the road, probably drunk but…”

He trailed off.

“But?” Joel asked, his voice dark.

“But,” Tommy said again. “The plate they pulled was reported stolen three days ago, they got no idea who’s driving it. That asshole ditches the car, they got no way of finding ‘em.”

“What’s that mean?” Joel asked, looking toward where Sarah lay, still and cold under the sheet. “Are they not gonna even fuckin’ look?”

“No, they’re lookin’,” Tommy said, putting his hand on Joel’s shoulder. “Just… not sure what they’ll be able to actually find.”

Joel clenched his jaw, his arms crossed, fingers digging almost painfully into his biceps, his eyes never leaving the place where is daughter lay.

If the police wouldn’t get justice, fine, he would. He’d find it and he’d take it. He’d find it and he’d take it from anyone who deserved it. As long as it protected someone who needed it, he didn’t care if it killed him.

October, 2024

There was an Oscar in his closet.

He stood there, the t-shirts from his duffle dangling from his hand, staring at the smudged and dusty but still glimmering gold of the statuette sitting in the middle of a high shelf at the back.

There was a fucking Oscar in his closet.

Was this your idea of a joke? Were you trying to be fucking funny, leaving it here for him to find?

He went to it, setting the shirts on top of the chest of drawers before getting the statue down. It was high enough that he had to stretch to reach it, and he was almost surprised when his fingers closed around cool metal. He’d half expected it to be fake, some plastic bullshit you’d put there to try to taunt him in some way, but if it was a fake, it was a damn good one. It was metal and far heavier than he was expecting as he pulled it down to examine it. You’d set it so it was facing the wall and he turned it over to see the front of it, a plaque on the base.

Your name was engraved on it, as well as “Academy Award” and “Best Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role” and “The District.”

It’s not like he knew a goddamn thing about things like Oscars but this seemed real. And as much pleasure as you seemed to take in annoying - or even just puzzling - him, Joel couldn’t come up with a reason why you’d go through the trouble of making a fake one to stick in his closet for whatever reason.

You’d just… left your Oscar in his closet.

A while ago, from the look of the damn thing. Upon closer inspection, it was obvious it had been sitting there for awhile. It was tarnished in places and dust had settled heavily into the crevices. It didn’t seem like someone had moved it here recently. It seemed like you’d just put it here one day and left it for him to find years later.

He just shook his head a little, going and dropping the statuette on the bed - the thing bouncing heavily before settling into the mattress - before unpacking the rest of his bag.

He’d only been in LA a few hours and he already missed Texas.

You’d been mobbed at the airport, swarms of photographers descending on you as you left the secured area.

Here, at least, security and police seemed to expect this behavior. Celebrities flew in and out all the time, and it didn’t take much for Joel to usher you through the crowd, your chin tucked into your chest, your carryon bag over your arm.

A car with a driver was waiting for you and the two of you went straight for it, you climbing in first and Joel sliding it next to you, snapping the door shut as quickly as he could. But, as badly as he wanted to get away from the chaos of this place, he was surprised when the car started moving almost immediately.

“They’ll deliver the luggage to the house,” you said, apparently reading his mind. “Not exactly smart to just stand there at baggage claim and wait for it as I’m sure you can imagine.”

He scoffed at that, crossing his arms and settling into his corner of the back seat of whatever fucking luxury SUV this was.

“Someone just takes care of everything for you, don’t they?” He asked, probably sharper than he should have.

You laughed once, derisively.

“Something like that.”

In truth, this whole thing made him uncomfortable. He was in a place he didn’t know, one full of people who were obsessed with his charge - not just whoever was stalking you but the whole of the world, it seemed - and he didn’t even have his fucking gun.

He planted his feet more firmly on the floor of the car before texting Tommy that the two of you had made it to LA and were en route to your house.

You relaxed more, now that it was just you, Joel, and an oddly silent driver. You just watched out the window, the streetlights casting a glow on your skin as the car made its way slowly through the gridlock of Los Angeles. Joel ground his teeth, his whole body drawn tight and tense, waiting for some release after the chaos of the airport set him on edge.

But none came, the driver eventually pulling up to a surprisingly modest house in nice neighborhood.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but it was more than this - a house that looked not much bigger than his own back in Austin. Unlike your place back in Texas that sat on several acres and had no immediate neighbors, there were other houses close to yours on this quiet street. It wasn’t a gated community, there was no full fence around the place, it was just a suburban house on a suburban street.

Joel followed you inside, the lights on and jazz playing somewhere. He frowned, looking around, half expecting someone to come out and greet you.

No one did, though, and he just hovered in the entry way, watching as you set down your bag and lit candles.

“Can I help you?” You asked after a moment, your brows raised.

“No,” he said, a little defensive. But you didn’t move, just raised your brows further and he sighed. “This place just… ain’t what I was expecting.”

“Oh,” you said, relaxing a little. “Before I had Ellie, it was just me, I didn’t need anything insane. When I moved to Texas, I just wanted a place where Ellie would have plenty of space and want to invite her friends to.”

Joel nodded slowly.

“That’s… nice.”

You shrugged.

“Your room is down the hall,” you said. “There are only three bedrooms here, I’m not sure which of the spares they set up for you but one should be made up. They stocked the kitchen, too, but there’s no one here all the time like Esmo is so you’ll have to look after yourself. Just… make yourself at home.”

The luggage was delivered not long after - his gun safely inside - and Joel went to get settled in when he found the damn Oscar.

It stared him down as he talked with Tommy about logistics, about exactly what the hell he was getting into out here.

“There’s fuckin’ nothing here infrastructure wise,” Joel said, his foot bouncing impatiently. The statuette rolled into his side as he sat on the bed and he glared at it before moving it to a bookshelf covered in impersonal knick knacks that sat opposite the bed. “Not even a goddamn chain link fence between the front door and the street, Tommy.”

“Yeah, well, I told you it was a different set up,” he said, at least having the dignity to sound sheepish as he did.

“Different,” Joel said. “Not a security risk.”

“She’s kept where she lives pretty private and you have the resources you need to handle it. You’ve got the driver,” Tommy said. “And the auxiliary guards outside. And you know what you’re doing. You’ll be fine.”

Once they were off the phone, Tommy sent Joel a roundup of tabloid coverage about your arrival to LA and, once he got past the surreal moment of seeing pictures of himself online like that, he tried to analyze what he was seeing. Speculation was rampant about where you’d been, screenshots of tweets sharing photos of you - or someone people thought was you - scattered throughout the coverage.

People seemed to have pinpointed the reason you were back in LA but no one seemed to know why you’d left or where, exactly, you’d been. He sighed, staring at the picture of him walking behind you, trying to shield you from camera flashes as much as possible.

What the hell was he getting into?

He was exhausted but it took him a while to fall asleep in the too comfortable bed, your Oscar watching him from the shelf nearby.

So it was a rude awakening when he was jerked back into consciousness by a twangy guitar. It took him a moment to realize where he was, still dark outside, but the music loud enough that he heard the rattle of the lightbulb in the lamp by his bed.

“What the…” he forced himself up, grabbing is gun and loading it before moving quickly but cautiously toward the main part of the house, the music growing louder as he went.

“And it didn’t take ‘em long to decide, that Earl had to die!”

You were more yelling the lyrics than actually singing them and Joel found you in the kitchen with a blonde woman who was also singing, the two of you jumping around like you were at a fucking concert at six in the goddamn morning.

“You’re feelin’ weak?” The two of you sang at each other, you using the handle of a spatula as a microphone. “Why don’t you lay down and sleep, Earl?”

He rolled his eyes, lowering the gun.

“Hey!” He yelled over the music.

The two of you stopped and turned to face him, both of you in skintight athletic wear and covered in a sheen of sweat. You laughed and winced and reached out and tapped some touch screen, making the music stop.

“The hell are you doin’?” He asked, looking you over and trying to ignore how fucking good you looked right then.

“Babe,” the woman - who Joel suddenly realized he knew, a singer that Sarah had been obsessed with - leaned over and half whispered, half said to you. “There’s a shirtless man with a gun in your kitchen.”

“Yeah, that’d be Big Miller,” you said, looking him up and down. “Shirtless but pajama pants? Interesting, totally thought you’d be a boxers and nothing else guy…”

He narrowed his eyes.

“What’s a Big Miller?” The woman asked, her blonde ponytail reaching almost to her waist.

“My bodyguard,” you said. “He’s a bit over the top, though because, really? A gun? Come on.”

“You’re the one who’s got some psycho writin’ her letters,” he snapped. “The hell was I supposed to know it was you acting like a fucking teenager?”

“This isn’t a teenager thing,” you said. “This is a ‘your friend just go dumped so you sing about murdering him and then running away to start a small business’ thing. Which you wouldn’t understand because you have no friends.”

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Why are you up this early? I got your itinerary, you don’t have anywhere to be until ten.”

“Well actually, we have a pap walk in about,” you looked at your smart watch. “Forty-five minutes. Which is why Tanya is here. By the way, Tanya, that’s Big Miller but you can call him Joel if you really want.”

She looked at him from head to toe and then shrugged before looking at you.

“I’m single again,” she said. “I’d be down to find out just how big Miller is…”

He looked quickly between the two of you and then the two of you laughed, practically falling over, hanging on each other to stay upright.

“The look on your face!” You were still laughing, gasping for breath. “Oh my God!”

“That’s not funny,” he scowled.

“No, it’s hilarious,” Tanya said, straightening up. “Who knew we were such a threat?”

“Oh, shit,” you said, turning to the stove and doing something Joel couldn’t see with a pan. “Almost burned it… Want some egg whites, Big Miller?”

“What?” He asked. “No, I…” He looked between the two of you again. “Did you work out?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said, looking back over your shoulder toward him. “We went for a run.”

“Went?” He asked. “Went where.”

“Just a few miles around the neighborhood,” Tanya waved him off. “Nothing crazy.”

He put the gun down on the counter with a little too much force.

“You went out without me?” He stalked over to you. “The hell were you thinking!”

“That I needed to go for a run,” you said, brows raised, incredulous. “And it’s best to go before the sun is up because then it’s too hot.”

“Do you really think you’re safe here?” He asked. “That the guy who’s been sending shit to your house just ain’t gonna come by when everyone on the fuckin’ planet knows you got here last night?”

“I think this whole thing is overblown and that there isn’t a threat,” you said. “And Ellie isn’t here so it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“It’s really not bad,” Tanya said, looking between the two of you. “It’s a quiet neighborhood, no paparazzi or fans or anything…”

“But we do have that pap walk in a few,” you said, pulling the egg whites off the burner and tipping them onto plates. “And we still need to drive there.”

“The fuck is a pap walk,” Joel asked, looking between the two of you.

“Oh, it’s where we tell the paparazzi where we’ll be and when we’ll be there so they can grab their photos,” Tanya said. “In exchange, they don’t follow us all the time. With the two of us there, there’s going to be a lot of them.”

“And were you planning to say anything about this?” Joel asked, incredulous. “Or were you just gonna take off without telling your fuckin’ security team?”

“You seem mad,” you said, spearing some eggs on the end of your fork.

“I seem mad,” Joel said, grinding his teeth, his eyes narrowing.

“You seem mad,” you again, eating the eggs. “You should work on that.”

He clenched his jaw, trying to resist the urge to yell before stalking off to his room to get dressed. Because if he was going with you on this fucking pap walk or whatever the fuck it was called, he’d need to be dressed.

The whole thing was a surprisingly simple affair. He followed behind you and Tanya with one of the auxiliary guards, a man named Nick who’d been camped in front of your house, to some smoothie place in the city.

He watched as the two of you got out of Tanya’s car, laughing and touching each other as you angled your bodies toward the flashing cameras while pretending like they weren’t there. It was a strange dance, Joel sitting in the car with his nails digging into his palm, his jaw clenched tight, the sense that he should be between you and the photographers you were putting on some strange performance for all but taking over. His heart raced, his chest getting tight. He was so out of control in this situation, you were so far away from him that there was very little he could do to reach you if he needed to.

Yes, the whole thing was - relatively - safe. It was early, there was almost no one here but you, the paparazzi and a few other overly dedicated men and women in workout gear. He’d texted Tommy while he got dressed and Tommy assured him that he’d gone over this with your manager, that this was fairly typical and that, no, Joel shouldn’t go inside with you but it didn’t make him any less uneasy.

What if something happened, right now? What if the man who’d been sending you letters found you here? What if something else happened like a shooting or a robbery or any number of other, mundane evils that happened every day? He’d be too far away to get to you in time, too far away to save you and, for some reason, that terrified him.

He’d just decided to ignore you and his brother and your damn manager and go after you, anyway, when you and Tanya came outside again, clear plastic cups filled with green shit in your hands. Joel took a deep breath then, trying to calm himself down.

But then, a paparazzo darted forward, camera raised, getting in your face, making you flinch back. A thrill of fear shot through him, the feeling shocking and foreign now. He was too far from you, he couldn’t get to you fast enough from here. He was supposed to be keeping you safe, he didn’t have much left he felt like he had to do in this life but that was one of them and, right here, right now, he could fail.

Joel moved quickly, throwing open the door and starting for you, but your eyes met his and you gave a subtle shake of your head, navigating around the photographer and moving quickly for the car, the illusion of you ignoring them shattered.

Tanya drove quickly and Joel’s car followed, the only thing keeping him from beating the shit out of that photographer the fact that you were only getting further away from him.

Joel slammed the door behind him as he stalked into your house to find you, standing in the kitchen, scrolling through your phone.

“I got you a smoothie,” you said, glancing up for a second and looking back at your phone before you frowned and actually looked at him. “Are you OK?”

“You are not doing that shit again, understand?” He snapped.

“Not… getting you a smoothie?” You asked.

“You know what the hell I mean,” he said. “You can’t just go off on your own like that, I don’t give a shit what your manager says, I don’t care how fuckin’ typical it is, you’re staying close to me. End of story.”

You watched him for a moment before you smiled, looking like you were trying not to laugh.

“What.”

“You were worried,” you said. “Big Miller, afraid! Who knew it was possible…”

“I was not afraid,” he said, probably too quickly. “I just don’t want you dying on my damn watch. If you’re outside, I’m next to you. Deal with it.”

He stalked off to his bedroom, your stupid Oscar there in his face when got there. He grabbed it and went back to the kitchen, smacking it down on the counter, making you jump.

“I don’t need you to remind me how fuckin’ great you are,” he said. “Put that in your damn trophy case. And don’t leave this house without me.”

He retreated to his room and heard your shower start a few minutes later and he felt like he could relax then. He wouldn’t put it past you to try and sneak out of your own fucking house, just to spite him. If you weren’t careful, your obsession with being right and being in control was going to get you fucking killed.

He tried not to think about how uneasy that thought made him.

Joel stayed in his room, listening for you as you moved through the house, until it was almost time to leave for your first appointment of the day, some lunch with your agent. He found you in the kitchen again, the Oscar nowhere to be seen.

Your hair and makeup were done and you were wearing jeans and some shirt that looked more like a corset or some kind of lingerie and it forced Joel to notice just how fucking beautiful you were.

It still caught him off guard, these moments where he couldn’t avoid that cold fact. You were beautiful, unquestionably so, but he’d grown blind to it in certain ways. He was around you all the time now so it was a fact that faded to the background more often than not. Especially since, most of the time he saw you, you weren’t trying to be beautiful, you were just existing in the form you had.

Now, though, you were clearly trying and it hit him hard. The sculpture of your face, the glow of your skin, the curve of your body was right there, impossible to ignore.

“Am I allowed to leave the house now?” You asked, an almost smug look on your face.

“No,” Joel said, more to be an asshole than anything else.

“You’re insufferable,” you said, ignoring him and stalking toward the door, the spikes of your heels loud on the hardwood floor, throwing a leather jacket on over your all too exposing top. “The driver’s here, are you coming or not.”

You were silent beside him until the pair of you got into the gridlock of the city.

“You’ll have to wait in the car,” you began but he cut you off.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

You looked at him, a stern expression on your face.

“There are going to be photographers there,” you said. “I’ve already been seen with you at the airport, I really don’t need someone making up some bullshit story about why you’re with me if we’re trying to keep the extra security bit quiet.”

“Too bad,” he shrugged. “Your optics aren’t my concern. Your safety is.”

“Because I’m sure people at the fucking Ivy are such a threat,” you snapped.

“We either do this the easy way or the hard way,” he said. “The easy way is I come inside with you and you can say I’m a friend or some asshole on your team, I don’t really care. The other way is I put you over my shoulder and haul your ass back to the car because you don’t listen. Don’t make much difference to me.”

“Why do you hate me so much?” You twisted to face him now, your painfully beautiful face tight in anger. “What did I ever do to you?”

“I’m just trying to do my job,” he replied. “Don’t make it difficult and we won’t have a problem.”

“Fine,” you sat back in your seat forcefully. “Come inside then, just don’t come crying to me when the press starts to bother you.”

He resisted the urge to smirk. He might be in your territory but that didn’t mean he was just going to let you win every damn conflict.

The car dropped you off in front of the restaurant and the photographers were waiting for you. Joel watched as your expression went blank for a moment and then you painted a carefree smile on your face before you opened the door, smiling and waving with Joel following close behind.

Of course, the hostess led you directly to your table without needing to ask anything because everyone was always just ready to do exactly what you needed, all the time. Joel wondered what that must be like, to be so beautiful and so rich and so famous that the entire world shifted just to please you.

There was a man already seated there, watching as the waiter set up an ice bucket and showed him the bottle of wine. He nodded and then noticed you there, looking you up and down in a way that set Joel’s teeth on edge before standing up and calling your name in an almost sing song voice that grated on him.

“Hey Leo,” you smiled and he reached to hug you. You hugged him back, kissing his cheek as you did, the man seeming to notice Joel then, his face falling a little as he did.

“And who is this you’ve brought me?” He asked. “I’m sure he’s not some hopeful…”

“I’m sure Quinn mentioned some additional…” you trailed off.

“Ah,” he said, seeming to understand but then frowning. “I didn’t think they’d be quite so… hands on.”

“Neither did I,” you smiled, a little self satisfied. “But, Joel, this is my agent, Leo Musgrave. Leo, this is Joel, my shadow for the last few weeks.”

“Good to meet you,” Leo said, offering Joel his hand. He took it, an odd satisfaction settling over him at the way his palm dwarfed Leo’s and the way the other man had to tilt his chin up to meet Joel’s gaze. “But I can assure you, she’s perfectly safe with me.”

“Ain’t you I’m worried about,” Joel said, gripping the man’s hand a little too tightly, looking him up and down in a pointed way. An odd expression flitted over the man’s face, one Joel couldn’t place, but it passed quickly.

“Good,” he said, smiling again before going to pull your chair out for you. “Because I know we both just want what’s best for our girl here. Speaking of which, I got that rosé you like…”

“Thank God,” you smiled, taking your seat. Joel sat beside you, surveying the area quickly, noting the points of entry and egress, where people could be concealed. “I’ve got media at one, I could use a drink.”

The two of you talked and you ordered a salad and Joel got a steak just to spite the asshole sitting across from him. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t like him but he didn’t. Something about this man rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered on your breasts when you were talking to the waiter, maybe it was the way he sat back in his seat, lounging like he owned the place, Joel didn’t like him.

“Oh,” Leo said, just as the waiter turned to leave. “We’ve got one more joining, if you could bring an old fashioned when you can, whatever’s top shelf.”

Joel watched your face fall for a fraction of a second, the moment so fast he probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all if he wasn’t so used to you now.

“Who’s joining us?” You asked once the waiter was out of earshot.

“Remember how I said I was working on bringing in another producer for Savage Starlight?” He asked. “Someone who can make sure it doesn’t turn into the typical superhero bullshit and keeps its strong narrative structure, doesn’t ditch the character development in favor of big set pieces?”

“Right,” you said slowly, your hand clenching around the stem of your wine glass.

“Well, we’re bringing in the best man for the job,” he smiled, proud. “And you were a big selling point, he’s been dying to work with you again… Henry!”

Joel didn’t turn to see who was making his way toward the table, Leo standing up to greet him. Instead, his eyes were on you. Your eyes were wide, your hands in your lap, fingers pressed tight into your thighs, breaths coming in fearful little pants.

“Leo!” A booming voice at Joel’s shoulder said. “It’s been too long.”

“We really should do this more,” Leo hugged the new arrival, clapping him on the back. “Everything you touch is magic, swear to God.”

“Could say the same thing about you,” the man said, stepping back from Leo and turning to face you and Joel, though he didn’t seem to be paying Joel any mind at all. It didn’t make a difference. Joel immediately disliked him, too. He was older, in his 50s at least, wearing a sport coat and an ostentatious ring, his bald head shining and he was looking at you like you were something he could consume. “You’ve got the best talent in the industry right here. How’ve you been, sweetheart?”

“Oh, you know me,” you said, a casual and cool smile on your face, almost no sign of your momentary discomfort from just a second earlier. You got up and went to greet him, keeping your hands at his biceps but kissing both his cheeks all the same. His hand went around your back, spreading over you, his pinky slipping inside the waist of your jeans before you pulled back from him. Joel’s hands tightened into fists. “Same as ever.”

“So, causing trouble,” he said, taking his seat.

You laughed.

“Something like that,” you said, sitting down and relaxing back into your chair. But the hand closest to Joel went back in your lap, clenched into a fist so tight he could see the strain of your skin over your knuckles.

The man seemed to actually notice Joel then, looking him up and down.

“And who’s this?” He asked, directing the question at you and Leo, not Joel.

“Just a little added security,” your smile shifted to something almost daring and triumphant, the hand in your lap still drawn tight. “Never can be too careful anymore. Don’t worry, he’s got a very thorough NDA.”

“Not worried about anything in particular, are you?” He asked, brows raised. “Because you could always come stay with me, my security is very good and my door is always open for you, you know that.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” you said. “But let’s not bog things down. Tell me, Henry, what brings you into this project? It doesn’t seem like your area of expertise.”

“Not cerebral enough for me?” He asked, an almost teasing edge to his voice.

“I’d say not up its own ass, but…” you said in a winking tone but something told Joel you meant it differently than that.

Henry laughed all the same, as though he was in on the joke.

“You always knew my taste,” he said. “But, truth is, I’ve been seeking out some projects that look to have the prospect of greater commercial success without sacrificing the art of storytelling. This seemed like the perfect project, especially once I knew you were attached.”

You hummed, nodding slowly, and Joel just sat there and watched as you and your agent and this new asshole discussed creative choices and shit like points on the back end, the whole time some part of you stiff and strained. Something was off. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or irritation or that you were just caught off guard by someone else being added to the mix but something about this was bothering you. He just wasn’t sure what it was.

Regardless, it set him on edge. He tried to focus on the potential threats from around you as you picked at your salad, more moving the food around than eating it, until it was time to go.

Henry moved around Joel to you as you draped your jacket over your bare shoulders and Joel wanted to fucking punch him, the way he pressed into your space as you shifted away, your fingers tight on the back of your chair.

“Now we can’t go almost 20 years without working together again, sweetheart,” he said, his hand at your waist as he held you to his side, his thick fingers pressing into the sheer parts of your top. “What we make together is too beautiful to let a little history get in the way.”

“Let’s see if we still have it,” you smiled politely. “Then we’ll talk.”

Henry pulled you out front with him, something Joel was cursing as the flashes started going off again, the paparazzi screaming your name. Had these assholes just camped out here for the last hour? Doing fuck all besides waiting for you to come outside again?

“This is me,” Henry said as a car pulled up to the curb. “We’ll chat soon, yeah?”

“Oh I have no doubt that you’ll make sure we will,” you said, a sour smile on your face.

An odd expression passed over Henry then and he leaned in to kiss you on the cheek but Joel caught him whisper something in your ear, something that made you freeze against him, your hands on his arms to force some distance. You stayed like that as he got in the car, the flashes still going like crazy. Joel looked around for a moment, your driver nowhere to be seen in the immediate traffic, and you were out here - exposed.

Shit.

“C’mon,” Joel said, tucking you below his arm and steering you back in the restaurant, putting you out of sight of the windows. You were breathing fast and shallow again, your eyes wide as you stared into space. “Hey, look at me.”

You obeyed, those wide eyes meeting his.

“You OK?” He asked. “He hurt you?”

“No,” you shook your head and swallowed. “No, I’m fine, just… I’m fine.”

He wasn’t sure he believed that.

“Can you sit tight for one minute?” Joel asked. “I’m going to find your driver, get you out of here, OK?”

You just nodded quickly and Joel reluctantly stepped away from you to a place he could see outside, calling the driver. It took a moment for the call to connect but he reached him and stayed on until he was close enough that Joel could see him out the window before he went back to find you, his chest oddly tight at the distance, a strange relief in him knowing that you’d be where he could properly protect you again in just a second.

But he couldn’t.

You were gone.

***

You weren’t really thinking when you left The Ivy. At least, not consciously.

Something else had taken over your mind, something animalistic and protective, and it only had one thought: Go.

So you went. You found a back way out, dodging servers and cooks who did doubletakes as you wove your way through kitchen until you were outside, the sunlight bright and harsh. You’d just walked after that, not picking any direction in particular, just desperate for some distance.

You weren’t really sure where you’d wound up when you finally seemed to come back into yourself enough to make yourself just stop walking. Your feet ached, there was a dumpster next to you that absolutely reeked and you realized then that you’d ditched your shoes at some point but you weren’t quite sure when. You vaguely remembered running for a bit and your shoes making you stumble but you didn’t remember taking them off. You also didn’t have your purse, probably left behind at the damn restaurant because you hadn’t been thinking, so you had no phone, no ID and no money.

Perfect. Just perfect.

You walked to the end of the alley and looked around, asphalt cutting into the soles of your feet, and peered out to the street. It was mercifully fairly quiet, a bar across from you open, the soft sound of a guitar drifting out from the open door. You darted across the road and into the bar, thankful that no photographers had managed to catch you on your unhinged run through Los Angeles.

Inside the bar was quiet, too, just a few patrons hunched over drinks and a man playing guitar at a small stage in the corner. A few of them looked up when you came in and you realized you were breathing hard. You tried to slow it, clearing your throat awkwardly as someone seemed to clock you, his eyebrows drawing together like he was trying to place you before his eyes went wide and he quickly looked back to his drink.

“Hi,” you smiled at the bartender as you came up. “I was wondering…”

“Need shoes,” he said gruffly.

You frowned.

“What?”

“You need shoes,” he said. “Can’t be barefoot in here. Not sure why anyone would want to walk around barefoot out there anyway, but…”

“Sorry,” you said, smiling again as best you could even though all you really wanted to do was cry. But you’d acted through worse. “They broke. I was hoping I could use a phone to see if I can get someone to pick me up? I lost mine.”

“You can use mine!” The man who’d spotted you before said quickly before clearing his throat. “Um… if… if you wanted.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, relieved, and taking the phone he held out to you.

It took you a moment to figure out who to call.

You wanted to call Anna. She was the only person who would get it, she was the only person who knew all of it. She was who would make you feel like it was all going to be OK.

But you didn’t have her anymore, so you ran down the list of numbers you had memorized. You knew Tanya’s but you didn’t want to leave the number of the world’s biggest musician in some random man’s phone. Justice, one of your closest friends and former costar, was out for the same reason. But you knew Quinn’s number and you did pay her to get you out of situations like this.

Well, maybe not exactly like this, but still. It was better than the alternatives.

It took a few tries before she answered the phone and, when she did, she was clearly pissed.

“What!” She snapped. “Whoever this is, it had better be good because I’m dealing with a crisis right now.”

“Hi Quinn,” you winced a little. “I think I might be your crisis.”

“Oh, thank God,” she said, sounding like she was about to cry with relief. “What the hell happened? Where are you? Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” you lied. “Just needed a walk. Can you send Joel to come get me? I’m at…”

You paused, realizing you weren’t sure where you were. You covered the receiver on the phone and were about to ask the bartender when he gruffly answered your unspoken question.

“O’Shea’s Pub.”

“Thank you,” you smiled at him before repeating it back to Quinn. “Can you tell Joel?”

“I can,” she said. “You know, you could have just told him yourself if you’d fucking said what you were doing!”

“I know,” you flinched. “Sorry.”

She sighed.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Just… don’t do it again. I’m sure he’ll be there soon.”

You returned the phone and got a glass of water from the bartender, who still looked none too happy about the fact that you were in his bar without shoes. But he was, at least, not forcing you to leave. You’d take that.

You tucked yourself into the corner booth, your feet on the seat next to you to get them off the floor, and stared out at the bar, listening to the guitarist as he played, letting your mind drift.

It had been so long since you’d been in the same room as Henry, even longer since it was close quarters. Years. Maybe a decade, even. You’d avoided him and he, mostly, let you. Every few years, a script would wind up in front of you with him attached and you never even read it, your stomach turning just seeing him listed as a producer. You just passed and he’d go back to leaving you alone.

You should have known he’d have done something like this eventually. You usually insisted on producer approval in your contracts but you’d foregone that to land Savage Starlight. You’d wanted the part so badly, wanted to be someone Ellie liked and looked up to and thought was cool, you’d made concessions. Henry was not the superhero movie type, you’d never even considered that he’d try to attach himself to this. A mistake on your part, it seemed.

“I still own you.”

That’s what he’d whispered in your ear as he was leaving, when he had you far enough from Leo and Joel to get away with saying whatever he wanted. Just the memory of it sent a chill up your spine and made your stomach churn. You fidgeted with the water cup, trying not to cry. You couldn’t cry, not in public, not before you had press, not when you were about to be crying in front of fucking Joel. You had to focus, not let things that happened more than a decade ago get under your skin.

It seemed like you’d hardly been sitting there any time at all when, suddenly, Joel was there, his large, broad frame blotting out the sun from the open door of the bar.

“What the fuck were you thinkin’?” He snapped.

You couldn’t make out the expression on his face from your spot in the corner of the booth, just a silhouette, but you looked up at him anyway, not really sure what to say.

“Where the hell are your shoes?” He asked, his voice softening slightly.

“I’m not sure,” you said. “I lost them somewhere…”

He sighed and then took the seat across from you and you blinked in surprise, watching him as he crossed his arms on the tabletop, leaning in and looking you over, his eyes strangely soft.

“Want to tell me what happened.”

“Not really,” you said, leaning back against the wall behind you.

He nodded to your cup.

“What’re you drinking?”

“Water,” you said. “I didn’t have my wallet, so…”

Joel snorted.

“You tellin’ me they’re not bending over backwards to give the biggest movie star in the world free booze?”

You laughed, too, the sound thick in your throat.

“Not exactly,” you said. “But I shouldn’t be drinking, anyway, I have press in… fuck, what time is it?”

“About noon,” Joel said. “We got a few minutes. What do you want?”

“Whisky?” You asked, brows raised.

Joel looked surprised for a moment before he nodded.

“Whisky it is.”

You watched him go to the bar and bring back two glasses, setting one in front of you before taking his place across from you again, taking a sip himself.

“Thank you,” you said.

Joel shrugged and the two of you sat there in silence, sipping your drinks. The whisky was shitty but you kind of liked it that way for a change, the burn of it strangely satisfying, grounding you in your own body.

“Who was that guy?” Joel asked eventually, looking more at his glass than at you.

“Henry Wilde,” you said. Just saying his name made your stomach turn. “He’s a producer.”

“Seemed like he was more than that,” Joel said, looking at you now.

You watched him for a moment. One of the strange things about being famous was the fact that it seemed like the entire planet new your romantic history. It was disorienting, talking with someone who didn’t.

“We dated for a while,” you said. “A long time ago.”

Joel frowned.

“Seems old for you.”

You snorted.

“Yeah, well,” you said. “It is what it is, I suppose. I haven’t seen him in a while except at awards shows and things. The breakup… it wasn’t great.”

Joel nodded slowly, downing the last of his whisky before looking you in the eye.

“You know it’s my job to protect you,” he said. “Someone shoots at you, it’s my job to take the bullet. Someone tries to grab you, it’s my job to grab them first. Thing is… it don’t really matter who the threat is. If he’s a threat, it’s my job to protect you from him. I will keep you safe. Understand?”

You looked at him across the table, the seriousness of his expression, the uncanny openness of his gaze, the breadth and strength of his shoulders. There was something about him that made you believe him. He might hate you for some unknown reason but you trusted him. He would keep you safe, that you knew.

The thought made your throat get tight and you smiled a little at him.

“I understand,” you said. “Thank you, Joel.”

He just gave you a stiff nod and you polished off your whisky and Joel helped you to the car that was waiting outside. Joel, at least, had thought to grab your purse and you texted Quinn about the shoes. You made a quick detour to Christian Louboutin, a sales woman running a pair of pumps in your size out to the car so you made it to your call time on time. They ushered you right into hair and makeup to touch up what you’d done to yourself that morning before bringing you in to the studio, a craft services table set up at the back.

“There she is!” Your costar, Chris Reese, greeted you with open arms, a beaming smile on his face. You fought the urge to grimace as he hugged you, kissing you on both cheeks. “My God you look incredible, you really ought to have mercy on us mere mortals and have an off day sometime, love.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” You asked, brows raised. “Besides, you look pretty good yourself.”

Which wasn’t a lie. Chris was almost unnaturally handsome - you wondered if he’d had some work done but, if he had, it was done well - with a sculpted face, dimpled chin, thick hair. He was good looking and he knew it but he seemed to love you admitting it, anyway.

“Well, if you say so,” he winked. “Still say we’d make a beautiful couple. C’mon, just for a few weeks. We wouldn’t even need to fuck. Unless you wanted to, of course, because who am I to deny a beautiful woman what she wants…”

“I think I’ll pass,” you said.

“On the PR relationship or on the sex?” He asked, his British accent thick. “Because I’m happy to offer the sex with no strings attached.”

“Oh I’m sure you are,” you clapped him on the shoulder before going to get yourself a Diet Coke.

A production assistant came in then, calling you and Chris over to show you examples of some TikTok trends they wanted you to recreate for promos.

It was hard to focus on them. You felt like you needed to play a character for things like this, some version of yourself that the public might want to see and be friends with, the kind of person they’d want to see on their social media feed instead of just on a movie screen. But it was hard to fall into it today. You had to say “Chris, this is the media day for ‘As We Know It’” three times before you finally settled on a take to use.

Chris, to his credit, was good natured about it, willingly saying “I hope she plays Hot to Go” again and again until you were both happy with it. He did the same thing for some choreographed dance after you fucked it up more than you cared to admit and you tried not to feel completely humiliated by it all.

After you posed for some photos - so many with your head on Chris’ chest or your face close to his, the faked intimacy making your jaw clench tight - you settled in for the interviews and you were already exhausted. You hadn’t counted on seeing Henry that day and, even if you had, you wouldn’t have known how much it would take out of you.

“You alright, love?” Chris asked as you had a few minutes between interview three and four. “Seem like you’re not quite yourself.”

“Fine,” you said, taking a sip of Diet Coke. “Just a long day.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, taking a swig of water. “God, this is the worst part of the job.”

“Not the night shoot where we were covered in mud and it was 40 degrees outside?” You asked, brows raised.

He barked a laugh.

“Yeah, alright,” he said. “That might have been worse.”

The next reporter came in and introduced himself and settled in across from the two of you and everything seemed normal, the usual questions about research and challenges and favorite parts of the film when he turned is focus to you and you had to fight the urge to frown at that.

“This one is just for you,” he said. “Sorry, Chris.”

“Don’t worry, I know where I stand when this one’s involved,” he smiled jovially. “Rightfully so, I might add.”

“Such a charmer,” you smiled at him before turning back to the reporter.

“As We Know It is familiar territory for you in a few ways,” he said, making you frown slightly. “Not so much in plot but more in the awards aspect. You famously won your Oscar - your first Oscar, I should say, since you’re the favorite this season - when you were just 20. You were the frontrunner then, too, because you were such a standout…”

“I mean if you want to talk about how great I am, I won’t argue too much,” you smiled, hoping to change the subject.

“Oh, I could,” he smiled back. “But more what I’m getting at… The District, which was about a teenaged prostitute working in a red light district, was a very different film from As We Know It. This is much bigger in scope while also being very intimate - framing the dissolution of a marriage around the end of the world - while The District was much more of a character study, one that caught a lot of flack for the rampant nudity and graphic sex scenes.

“But you also had a very different connection to The District, didn’t you?” He continued. “Your boyfriend at the time, Henry Wilde, developed it as a vehicle to launch that era of your career. The movie really existed because of you, didn’t it?”

Your eyes darted toward where Joel was standing, your fingers pressing down into your thigh. You could feel his gaze on you, could sense the tension drawn tight between you, like he was waiting there for something to shift just enough for him to jump in.

“Well…”

“I was wondering what that was like for you,” he said. “Being in on the ground floor like that and having something built around you and your skills versus what the process looks like when you don’t have someone in that director/producer role crafting a film specifically for you? And how does that change awards season for you?”

You dug your nails into your leg.

“Well, I…”

“I’ll take this one, love,” Chris said, his hand coming to cover yours and you turned to look at him and you realized that he was watching you, intently, before turning his attention to the reporter. “I’m going to lay this out for you as clearly as I can: we aren’t doing that.”

The reporter opened his mouth to argue but Chris cut him off.

“No, you asked your question, I’m giving you the bloody answer,” he said. “First of all, my costar here is the most beautiful woman on the planet and the single most talented actor I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with so you will treat her with the respect she’s due. She’s also a lot kinder than I am because she would just answer your bullshit question which is why I’m not letting her. Someone needs to teach you some manners.

“I’m not going to let you sit there and say - to her fucking face - that you think she slept her way to the top,” he said, tone heated. “Because that’s bullshit. You’ve seen her films, you’ve seen her act, if you think she got here off anything beyond talent and incredibly hard work, you’re insane but, more importantly, even if she DID fuck her way to the top, who cares? Why would that be on her? She was, what, 18 when making that film? Henry Wilde was pushing 50? Never mind the fact that he bragged about recognizing her talent when he first met her when she was all of - what was it, love? 13?”

He looked at you again, giving you a chance to answer.

“Twelve,” you said, your grip on your leg easing.

“Fucking 12!” He turned his attention back toward the reporter. “Can you imagine meeting someone who is 12 years old when you’re in your fucking 40s and then DATING THEM six years later? If she slept with him for the part - which I highly doubt since she wouldn’t even pretend to date me to get good PR for this movie, I know because I asked - why would that be on her? That’s on him, ask him why he was going after fucking teenagers, don’t ask her.”

“Alright, I think that’s all the time we have,” Chris’ publicist all but jumped in between him and the reporter, cutting him off before he could go any further. “Thank you so much for coming, why don’t we just see what I can answer for you over here…”

She guided the still dumbfounded looking man away, leaving just you and Chris sitting there in awkward silence.

“Sorry about that,” he said after a moment. “Just think if I had to sit there and let that jackass keep going I was going to lose my bloody mind.”

“No, I…” You looked at him for a moment. “Thank you. Why did you do that?”

He shrugged.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asked. “Meant what I said. You are supremely talented and an all around lovely person. You may not be too fond of me…”

“I never said that,” you said quickly but he gave you a look.

“But that’s really my own fault,” he said. “Something tells me if I came on a little less strong when we met, you and I might be friends.”

You smiled a little.

“We still can be,” you said.

“As long as you don’t hold it against me,” he gave you a wink. “Even if I do deserve it.”

You reached a hand out for him and he took it, giving your fingers a squeeze.

“My publicist is going to kill me,” he said cheerfully. “Maybe I’ll never have to do press again.”

You barked a laugh, already feeling lighter.

“Let me know if it works,” you said. “I’ve got a few screeds stashed away, think I could be just unhinged enough to pull it off.”

The rest of the media day was calm, the same basic questions just asked in slightly different ways, things handled easily by your years of media training.

There was just one other moment that set you on edge, probably because of the moment with Joel earlier in the day, the one where he brought your Oscar out from his room and forced you to look at it for the first time in years.

“So,” the reporter asked, smiling conspiratorially. “You each have an Academy Award and I’ve always wondered: where on earth do you keep something like that?”

“Oh that’s easy,” Chris said. “Keep mine on the bedside table but not on my side of the bed. Like to make sure the people I bring home know I’ve got one.”

He gave the reporter a wink and she giggled and you tried not to laugh.

“And you?” She asked when you weren’t quite so forthcoming.

“Oh,” you said, your fingers pressing down into your thigh again, keenly aware of Joel’s eyes on you. “Currently, it’s in the back of my pantry.”

“Your pantry?” Chris looked at you, incredulous. “What on earth is it doing there?”

You laughed and hoped it didn’t sound too fake.

“I just like keeping myself humble,” you said. “If it’s out of sight, it’s out of mind. Gives me something to work towards.”

“Not me,” Chris said. “I’d wear that thing on a chain if it wasn’t so bloody heavy.”

“I’ve got an Emmy that’s a paperweight in my office,” you smiled. “That one’s lighter if you want to borrow it…”

“Not nearly as impressive for me if it’s got your name on it, love. Guess I’ll need to do some TV,” he said. “Get one of my own. Will you do it with me?”

You laughed a little, more genuinely than you ever really had with Chris before. You liked it.

“Of course,” you said. “I’d love to work with you again.”

“And we’d love to see it,” the reporter smiled.

Once the final reporter left, you got up, taking a moment to stretch as best you could in your outfit, the boning of the corseted top keeping you from doing too much and you were ready to be out of the damn thing, back in the comfort of your home where you could peel back the carefully packaged version of yourself that existed for public consumption and just exist without the artifice of it all.

“Christ, media days are so long,” Chris said, cracking his back, too. “Give me back to back night shoots any day.”

“Tell me about it,” you said. “Are you staying in town at least or are you heading out tonight?”

“I’ll be here through the premier,” he said. “Want to walk the carpet with me? As friends, of course.”

“Yeah,” you smiled a little. “That would be nice.”

He gave you a peck on the cheek and a squeeze before the two of you went your separate ways, Joel sitting beside you in the back of the SUV as you stared out the window, watching the city go past.

You did a FaceTime call with Ellie after you got changed and had something to eat, not too long before her bedtime. She told you about school, excited about making friends with a girl named Dina and proud of her grade on her latest science test. You’d promised to take her to the space center in Houston if she actually studied, so you made a mental note to see if Quinn could make some calls and get you a tour. You usually didn’t like leveraging your celebrity status for things like that - you’d gone to DisneyLand plenty of times and just worn a baseball cap and sunglasses all day, doing your best to blend in while waiting in line like everybody else - but, for something that would help keep Ellie engaged in learning, you’d pull some strings.

Talking to her was good but it was also hard. You sat there for a minute, staring into space when the call was over. Something in you was so hollow in that moment, as though someone and wrenched your ribs apart and carved out your insides, leaving you totally empty.

You missed Ellie. You missed Anna. You missed a life you’d never had, one that was quiet and still and let you exist in a way that didn’t include people like fucking Henry or reporters asking about some of the worst parts of your life so everyone else could know about them, too.

When that feeling stuck around a little too long, you unfolded yourself from the couch and padded back toward your bedroom, pausing for a second at Joel’s door. The light was on in his room but it was quiet. Not that you should be bothering him, anyway. Just because he’d been kind to you that afternoon didn’t mean that the two of you were suddenly friends.

You sighed before going to your room and getting your guitar from its place in the corner.

You took it out back to sit by the pool, tuning it quickly before strumming a few chords, trying to think of what to play.

Eventually, you settled on Landslide. It had been a while since you’d played, it took you a little while to find a groove, but it still felt good. You’d never been an incredible guitarist by any means, but you loved playing. It felt like something you did just for you, something that no one else expected out of you.

That was the problem with acting for a living. It helped you think and process and understand yourself and the people around you but it wasn’t something you could do on your own terms anymore, it was always something made for someone else, so someone else could profit or be entertained. No one expected you to play guitar for them, this was something you could do just for you.

You played the song twice to get a feel for things again and just started playing music that felt right, not always whole songs, sometimes just bits and pieces, sometimes singing sometimes not as you watched the glow from the pool light ripple on the water.

“Didn’t know you played.”

You jumped, whipping your head around to find Joel hovering near the door, his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants with a t-shirt on this time.

“Sorry,” he said. “Wasn’t… didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“It’s alright,” you said, looking back toward the water. “I forgot you were here for a minute is all.”

“It OK if I join you?” He asked and you looked back at him again.

You shrugged.

“If you want.”

He came and sat on the lounge chair next to yours, staring straight ahead at the water, too, his hands clasped between his knees.

“Don’t gotta stop just because of me,” he said after a moment. “You ain’t bad.”

You laughed once.

“I’m not great,” you said.

He shrugged.

“Definitely heard worse. Where’d you learn to play?”

“I had to learn the basics for Siren,” you said. “They almost never used my real playing on the show but I needed to at least look like I knew what I was doing. I just kept learning after that. I know I’m not very good but it feels good, you know?”

Joel nodded slowly, looking like he wanted to say something but seeming to think better of it.

“You doing OK?” He asked after a minute.

You looked at him, examining him closely.

“Why?” You asked. “Do you actually care or are you trying to find something to use against me.”

He examined you back, his gaze sharp and exacting before softening.

“Just seemed like you had a shit day,” he said.

You nodded slowly, looking back to the water again.

“I just miss my friend,” you said quietly. “Ellie’s mom, I mean. She was my person, she was my person for my whole life and I just want to talk to her again. I want to tell her about lunch and about Chris and I want her to know that Ellie got an A on her science test…”

“She did?” Joel asked and you looked over at him, his expression oddly earnest.

“She did,” you smiled a little. “I called her a little while ago, she was very proud.”

“She should be,” Joel said. “She worked hard.”

“She did,” you said again and then you sighed. “It just seems so impossible that Anna’s gone. She doesn’t get to see these things, I don’t have her to talk to, I can’t get drunk with her or laugh with her or… “

Mid-sentence, Joel just got up and walked away. You sat there, blinking at the empty space for a moment before you huffed derisively.

“Figures,” you muttered to yourself, before picking at the guitar strings again. But, unexpectedly, Joel was back just a minute later, two glasses of whisky in his hands and a bottle of water tucked under his arm. He handed you a glass and set the bottle on the ground next to your foot.

“Sorry,” he said. “Just… think we need it.”

You considered him for a moment before nodding and taking a sip. He did the same before frowning a little, holding the glass away from himself and examining it.

“What?” You frowned.

“Nothin’,” he said. “Just never had shit this good before. Probably should have asked before taking it.”

“Nah,” you waved him off. “It’s there to be taken, I don’t mind.”

“Wouldn’t have taken you for a whisky girl,” he said, taking another sip. “This is damn good.”

“I picked it up when I was young,” you said. “Meeting with producers, they liked when a girl drank like them and seemed to know her shit. I had to force it at first but… well, I guess I acquired the taste. Course, that means I’m picky now. That’s a Macallan 25.”

Joel whistled, long and low.

“Explains why it’s so damn good,” he said.

You smiled a little.

“That it does.”

You sipped the liquor in silence for a bit, savoring the feel of it on your tongue, the heat as it slipped into your stomach.

“What Chris was sayin’,” Joel said eventually, his voice trailing off before he continued. “That all true?”

You looked over at him, watching him for a moment. Joel puzzled you. There were times he seemed to relish being cold or even cruel. Others - like this one - where he seemed to genuinely care.

You weren’t sure what to make of it.

“Yeah,” you said after a minute. “Yeah, it is. But it’s not… Look, this is Hollywood. Producers and men with power date young women because they can and the young women date them because we know it can help us get ahead. Tale as old as time.”

“That why you did it?” He asked.

You didn’t really feel like giving him the real answer, so you just looked back at your pool and shrugged, taking another drink.

“Meant what I said before,” he said after a minute. “I will keep you safe. Don’t matter who, don’t matter why. If you don’t want to ever talk to him again, fine, you don’t have to.”

You laughed once, darkly.

“That’s very sweet, Joel, but he’s producing the movie I’m on,” you said. “I’m going to have to deal with him, that’s just how it works.”

“Well, then, it won’t be alone,” he said. “Not while I’m around, anyway.”

“Because you’re going to fight the most powerful producer in Hollywood?” You asked, teasing a little, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Joel shrugged.

“Don’t much care who he is,” Joel said. “But why not. I’d win.”

You laughed and then sighed and, before you were really thinking about it, your head drifted over to Joel’s shoulder. He stiffened and you were about to pull yourself back and apologize but then he relaxed a little, his arm slipping around you, his hand settling into the curve of your waist.

“You’ll be safe,” he said, so quietly that you weren’t sure you were even supposed to hear it. “I’ll keep you safe.”

You smiled a little, the light dancing on the water. For some reason, you believed him.

A/N: I swear, I'm not trying to only publish once a month! Thank you for waiting for this chapter. I really am so happy you're here.

I hope you're all taking care of yourselves right now. There's been a lot going on lately, please spend some time looking after yourself. You deserve it (and Joel would want you to.)

Love you ❤️

Taglist: @christinamadsen @eff4freddie @brittmb115 @copperhalfcent @r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler @lilyevanstan1325 @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @wintersquirrel @missladym1981 @mellymbee @canthinkof1user @inept-the-magnificent

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #The Savage and the Sanctuary #tsats

77 notes · View notes

the-winter-spider · 1 day ago

Text

Invisible | Part 9

Pairing: Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Attempted SA, Angst, language

A/N: So i have like 4 other parts done but i wanted to do more of an insight on Bucky and her relationship, so this is strictly just a chapter filled with Flashbacks!

P.S i do plan on updating my links to my masterlist & masterposts but links arent fricking working for me rn

1 Year ago

It was a Saturday night, and you, Bucky, Sam, and a few others had headed out to one of your favorite bars. The place was packed, neon lights casting a warm, vibrant glow over the tables and booths, music pulsing just loud enough to fill the space without drowning out conversation. After a few drinks, the energy in the room had settled into that perfect, cozy buzz.

You and Bucky were at the bar, leaning against the counter, laughing as you recounted a ridiculous story from your college days. He was right next to you, his arm resting on the bar behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him. His gaze hadn’t left you, his blue eyes alight with that look he sometimes had—a mix of mischief and something softer, something that made your heart race.

“You’re the worst,” you say, shaking your head with a grin. “I still can’t believe you did that.”

He laughs, his hand brushing against your arm as he shifts closer, his voice low. “Oh, come on. You’re not that surprised. You know I’d do anything for a laugh, especially yours"

You roll your eyes warmth creeping up your neck to your cheeks, trying to ignore the thrill that sparks at the brush of his fingers. “You just like the attention, Barnes.”

He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. “And you don’t?”

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “Please, I’m a saint compared to you.”

“Oh, really?” His grin widens, and he leans in, his face so close you can feel his breath against your cheek. “Guess we’ll have to see who’s the real troublemaker tonight, won’t we?”

For a moment, your breath catches, your heart pounding as you meet his gaze, feeling the air between you grow thick with anticipation. His hand lingers on the bar behind you, fingers inching just a little closer to your arm. You’re not sure if it’s the drinks, the atmosphere, or just the way he’s looking at you, but there’s a flicker of hope in your chest—a spark that maybe, just maybe, tonight could be different. Maybe this time, he might see you the way you see him.

Just as you’re about to say something, to lean into the moment a little more, Sam walks up, nudging Bucky with an all-too-knowing grin before tossing his arm over your shoulder.

“Hey, Buck,” Sam says, nodding toward the other end of the bar. “Girl over there by the corner table? She asked for your number.” Sam winks, then jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “I just kept her friend busy for you, told her our little Stevie was single.”

You glance over to the area Sam pointed to, and sure enough, Steve gives you a polite smile while he’s in the middle of what seems to be a very animated conversation with a brunette.

Bucky pulls back slightly, and you feel the shift immediately, that warm intensity slipping away. He turns to glance over his shoulder, a grin tugging at his lips. “Did she now?” he asks, smirking at Sam.

Sam shrugs. “You know how it is. She’s cute too. Don’t keep her waiting.”

Bucky chuckles, then turns back to you, his gaze meeting yours, and there’s a glint in his eye—a playful lightness that makes your heart drop. “Well,” he says, his voice low, his eyes lingering on yours for just a beat too long, something swimming in those blue depths that you can’t quite decipher. “Duty calls.”

Your stomach twists, and you force yourself to smile, giving a small shrug as you try to brush it off. “Yeah, go work your charm,” you say, injecting as much playfulness into your voice as you can manage. “Wouldn’t want to keep the girl waiting.”

He stares at you for a second, almost like he wants to say something else, like he’s about to—but then he gives you a small, regretful smile, and the moment slips away. “Catch you in a bit,” he says, squeezing your shoulder before he turns and heads toward the girl waiting across the bar.

You watch him go, the hope you’d felt moments ago dissolving into something familiar—a quiet, persistent ache that you know all too well. As he laughs with the girl, you turn back to your drink, forcing a smile as you remind yourself that this is just the way it is. He’s Bucky, your best friend, and that’s all you’ll ever be.

Sam steps in front of you, raising an eyebrow. “If you want, I can be your wingman too. Can’t be that hard to find someone for you.”

You let out a soft sigh, shaking your head. “I’m good, Sammy. Thanks, though. I think I’m just gonna go over and gossip with the girls,” you say, nodding toward Natasha and Wanda, who seem deep in a debate about something.

He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

You grab your beer and, with one last glance over your shoulder, your eyes meet Bucky’s. He’s looking at you again, even as the girl next to him leans in closer, talking animatedly. For a second, it’s just the two of you, caught in the kind of look that makes your heart ache with everything unsaid.

But then he blinks, turning back to the girl with a charming smile, and the spell is broken. You swallow hard, blinking back the sting of tears as you head toward Natasha and Wanda, already preparing to laugh and distract yourself from the quiet ache in your chest.

6 months ago

You and Bucky had the apartment to yourselves, waiting for the others to arrive for a long-promised game night. The coffee table was scattered with board games and cards, and you were already a couple of drinks in, feeling that familiar warmth that made everything just a little funnier, a little sweeter, a little more electric.

“Alright, your move,” you say with a grin, watching him frown as he studies the board like it’s the most serious puzzle in the world.

Bucky groans, running a hand through his hair. “You think you’re gonna beat me at this, but you’re dead wrong.”

“Oh, yeah?” You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward. “Pretty sure I’m about to wipe the floor with you, Barnes.”

His eyes light up, and he leans forward to match your energy, his face only inches from yours. “Big talk for someone who’s two turns away from total disaster,” he teases, his voice low and playful. There’s a sparkle in his eye, something mischievous and warm, and for a split second, you wonder if you’re imagining it.

You laugh, taking another sip of your drink as you try to focus on the game instead of the way his gaze lingers on you. “I don’t know, you look pretty nervous to me,” you say, flicking a card onto the table. “Face it, Buck. I’m the game night champion.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I’d like to see you prove it.”

The banter flows easily, a familiar back-and-forth that makes your heart race in a way you can’t fully control. You’ve been friends for so long, but there are nights like this, nights where you’re alone, laughing, sharing drinks, and leaning just a bit closer than usual. Nights where you feel that little flicker of something more, and you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he feels it too.

As the game goes on, Bucky’s hand finds its way to the back of the couch, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. You’re hyper-aware of every small shift, every slight brush of his hand against your shoulder when he leans in to check the board, and your heart races each time, a small thrill sparking at the possibility that this could be… more.

Suddenly, he looks over at you, his face serious, his voice softer. “You know… we make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

Your breath catches, and for a second, you think you see something in his gaze—something that feels as real as the pounding in your chest, as tangible as the way his arm brushes against yours. You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips, feeling bold and just tipsy enough to flirt back.

“Maybe,” you murmur, meeting his gaze. “But I think I’m the one carrying this team.”

Bucky laughs, a soft, warm sound, and he leans a little closer, his eyes locked on yours. “Is that so?”

Bucky’s voice is low, teasing, but there’s something different in the way he’s looking at you now. The playful edge in his grin softens, his gaze dipping briefly to your lips before flicking back up to your eyes. The space between you feels smaller, more intimate, and the usual banter takes on a weight that makes your pulse quicken.

You tilt your head slightly, your smile turning sly. “Yeah, pretty sure I’ve been carrying this whole operation.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling low in his chest, and then, almost without thinking, his hand shifts. His fingers brush against your knee, just a light, casual touch, but it sends a spark through you. You glance down briefly, then back up at him, your heart pounding.

“Well, maybe I just like letting you think you’re in charge,” Bucky says, his voice softer now, almost a murmur.

You can’t help but smile at that, leaning in just a fraction, testing the waters. “Oh, is that it? You’re just letting me win?”

“Maybe,” he replies, his hand sliding just a bit further along your knee, his thumb brushing gently against the fabric of your jeans. It’s subtle, but the warmth of his touch is undeniable.

Your breath catches, and you lean closer, your faces now only inches apart. His eyes flicker between yours, searching, and for a moment, it feels like the entire world has narrowed down to just the two of you. His hand moves from your knee, trailing up to lightly rest on your arm, his fingers grazing your skin in a way that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Bucky…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper, but he cuts you off with a soft smile, his tone earnest.

“There’s no one else I’d rather be doing this with,” he says, his eyes locking onto yours. “You know that, right?”

Your heart swells, the words hitting you in a way that feels both comforting and exhilarating. “Yeah,” you murmur, your voice shaky but steady. “I know.”

His hand drifts up, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering as his fingers graze your cheek. His gaze dips to your lips again, and you swear he’s leaning in. The air between you is electric, charged with everything you’ve never said but have always felt.

Just as his nose brushes against yours, the front door bursts open with a loud bang.

“We’re here!” Sam’s voice echoes through the apartment, followed by the sound of boots thudding on the floor.

You and Bucky pull apart instantly, the moment shattering as Steve, Natasha, and Wanda pile in behind Sam, all carrying snacks and drinks, their laughter filling the room.

Bucky lets out a quiet, frustrated sigh, his hand falling away as he leans back, plastering on a grin. “About time,” he calls out, his voice slightly strained. “Thought you guys got lost.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you as she sets a bag of chips on the counter. “Interrupt something?” she asks, her tone playful but curious.

You quickly shake your head, forcing a laugh as you grab your drink. “Just Bucky losing at game night already.”

“Losing?” Bucky scoffs, giving you a pointed look that’s equal parts teasing and frustrated. “We both know who’s winning here.”

Natasha smirks but doesn’t push further, and soon everyone is settling in, chattering and laughing as the game night kicks off. But as you glance at Bucky across the room, catching the way his gaze lingers on you for just a moment too long, you can’t help but wonder what might have happened if you’d had just a few more minutes alone.

For the rest of the night, you can’t shake the lingering feeling, the memory of his voice, of that look in his eyes. It was just a moment—one small moment—but it was enough to spark the hope that maybe, just maybe, he feels it too.

2 Years ago

The apartment was still in chaos, boxes piled high and scattered across the floor, but it didn’t matter. You and Bucky sat in the middle of it all, the weight of the day settling into a calm, contented silence. The others had just left—Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Wanda had helped you haul everything up, cracking jokes and making the place feel alive. But now it was just you two, sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by your new life together.

Bucky let out a long breath, leaning back on his hands as he looked around. “We did it,” he said, a soft grin spreading across his face. “We finally did it, doll.”

You smiled, watching the way his eyes lit up despite the exhaustion written across his features. “Yeah, we did,” you said, your voice filled with quiet pride. “Out of that shithole town, finally graduated university… and now we’ve got our own place.”

“Our own place,” Bucky repeated, like he was tasting the words. He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Feels like we’ve been talking about this forever. And now we’re here.”

You nodded, leaning back against one of the boxes. “Feels kinda surreal.”

Bucky shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours, and you felt your heart skip a beat. His eyes softened as he looked at you, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “There’s no one else I’d rather do life with than you, you know that, right?”

His words sent a warm flutter through your chest, and you could barely breathe as his hand reached up, grazing your cheek lightly. His touch was soft, almost reverent, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged with something unspoken, something deeper.

You swallowed, leaning into his touch, your voice barely above a whisper. “Best friends for life,” you said, trying to keep your tone light even as your heart raced.

Bucky smiled, his thumb brushing against your skin for a second longer before he pulled his hand back. “Yeah,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on yours. “Or… something like that.”

For a moment, it felt like time slowed, the weight of his words hanging between you. You wondered if he felt it too, this quiet pull that seemed to draw you closer every time you were alone together.

But before you could say anything more, the buzzer rang loudly, breaking the spell. Bucky blinked, then let out a laugh, standing up quickly. “Must be the pizza,” he said, shooting you a grin as he walked over to the intercom.

You stayed where you were, heart still beating fast as you watched him, the warmth of his earlier words still lingering in the room. But of course, that's all it would ever do…linger.

High School Junior Year

The school hallways buzzed with the usual Friday afternoon energy. Lockers slammed, laughter echoed, and plans for the weekend floated through the air. You were at your locker, pretending to search for a book, but really you were just trying to hold it together. The tears that threatened to fall were barely contained, your heart still raw from the breakup that had blindsided you during lunch.

You’d thought he was different. Ryan, the quiet, sweet boy from your English class, had seemed so perfect. But today, he’d told you it wasn’t working, that he wanted to see other people, well that he already had been seeing other people, well that you caught him with said other person…..Trina.

You took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. The lump in your throat only grew as you heard his laugh down the hall, carefree as if nothing had happened.

“Hey, you okay?” Natasha’s voice pulled you from your spiralling thoughts. She leaned casually against the locker next to yours, her sharp green eyes studying you.

You quickly wiped at your eyes, forcing a smile. “Yeah, fine. Just tired.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Tired or heartbroken?”

You let out a shaky laugh, but before you could answer, Steve appeared, his face immediately softening when he saw you.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, glancing between you and Natasha.

“Ryan,” Natasha said bluntly, crossing her arms.

Steve’s face darkened, his usual calm demeanor shifting into protective mode. “That idiot. You want me to talk to him?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, Steve, please don’t. It’s not worth it.”

Before he could argue, Natasha’s gaze flicked down the hall. “Uh-oh. Here comes Bucky.”

Your stomach twisted as you turned to see Bucky walking toward you, hand in hand with Stacy, his girlfriend. Stacy was all smiles, tossing her long hair over her shoulder as she talked animatedly. Bucky’s expression softened the second he saw you, his sharp blue eyes narrowing with concern.

“You look like you’ve been crying,” Bucky said the moment he reached you, his voice low and familiar in a way that made your defenses crumble.

“I’m fine,” you lied, trying to brush past him. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Hey, wait—” Bucky grabbed your arm gently, his eyes searching yours. “What happened?”

“Bucky,” Stacy said, clearly annoyed, tugging on his hand. “We’re gonna miss the movie.”

Bucky ignored her, his full attention on you. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilling over. “It’s nothing. Just… Ryan cheated on me, okay? It doesn’t matter.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his gaze flicking over to where Ryan was laughing with his friends. His protective instincts kicked in immediately, but before he could say anything, you pulled your arm free.

“I just need to be alone,” you said, your voice cracking as you turned and rushed down the hall, ignoring the concerned calls from Steve and Natasha.

You made it outside, the cool autumn air biting against your skin as you walked aimlessly down the street, the tears falling freely now. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the footsteps behind you until a familiar voice called out.

“Hey, stop.”

You turned to see Bucky jogging toward you, his face filled with worry. Stacy was nowhere in sight.

“Bucky, what are you doing? You’re supposed to be with Stacy, its movie night"

“Forget Stacy, forget the stupid movie” he said, his voice firm as he closed the distance between you. Without another word, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as you broke down completely.

You clung to him, the weight of your heartbreak finally crashing over you. “Why does it hurt so much?” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest.

Bucky stroked your hair gently, his voice soft. “Because you cared. But you’re gonna be okay, doll. I promise.”

For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world disappeared. Bucky’s presence was steady and grounding, and for the first time that day, you felt like you could breathe again.

“Bucky!” Stacy’s voice cut through the moment like a knife. You looked up to see her standing a few feet away, her arms crossed, her face a mixture of anger and hurt. “What the hell is this?”

Bucky sighed, but he didn’t let go of you. “Stacy, not now.”

“Not now?” she repeated, her voice rising. “I’m your girlfriend, Bucky! And I’m so sick of being second to her.” She jabbed a finger in your direction, her voice trembling with frustration. “It’s always about her. You’re always running after her, putting her first.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, and he finally released you, stepping forward. His voice was calm but firm. “Stacy, you knew how important she was to me when we started this. She’s my best friend.”

“She’s not just your best friend! Not the way i see it!” Stacy snapped, her eyes filling with tears. “If you’re not willing to put me first, then maybe we shouldn’t be together.”

Bucky hesitated for a moment, his face unreadable. Then he spoke, his voice steady and certain. “If it’s between you and her, Stacy, I’ll always choose her.”

Stacy’s face crumpled, and she let out a bitter laugh. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, shaking her head before turning and walking away, her footsteps echoing down the street.

Bucky stood there for a moment, watching her go, then turned back to you. His expression softened as he reached out, gently wiping a tear from your cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “You didn’t need to see that.”

You shook your head, your heart aching in a different way now. “Bucky, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” he said firmly. “You’ve always been the most important person in my life. I’m not gonna let anyone change that.”

You stared at him, your heart full of emotions you couldn’t quite put into words. Finally, you managed a small, shaky smile. “Best friends for life, right?”

Bucky’s lips curved into a soft smile, and he nodded. “Yeah, doll. Best friends for life.”

And for that moment, it was enough.

University Year 2

The air was thick with the mingling scents of bonfire smoke, cheap beer, and the faint tang of weed. Laughter and music drifted through the clearing, blending into a chaotic symphony that pulsed through the crowd. The college bush party was in full swing, and you'd thought being here with your friends-and Nick-would be a good way to unwind.

But now, you were far from the warm glow of the fire, your back pressed against the rough bark of a tree as Nick leaned in, his hands sliding lower and lower. At first, you didn't think much of it. A kiss here, a touch there. But then his hands started to roam places you weren't ready for.

"Nick, no... I'm not ready," you murmured, pulling back slightly.

"Come on," he whispered, his lips brushing against your neck, ignoring your words. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer. "We've been together for a month. You trust me, right?"

You stiffened, your heart starting to race-not with excitement, but with unease. "Nick, I'm serious. Stop," you said, your voice firmer now.

But he didn't stop. His hands moved to your chest, squeezing, and you froze for a moment, shock and panic locking you in place.

"I said no!" you shouted, your voice shaking as you shoved at his chest.

He barely budged, his grip tightening.

"Relax," he muttered, his tone annoyed now. "Stop being so uptight."

Fear and anger surged through you, and you pushed harder, your voice cracking. "Get off me!"

Before he could respond, Nick was suddenly yanked backward, ripped away from you with such force that he stumbled and fell to the ground. "What the hell?" Nick gasped, but his words were cut off as

Bucky loomed over him, his jaw tight, eyes blazing with fury. "She said no," Bucky growled, his voice low and deadly as he grabbed Nick by the collar. "You don't fucking touch her when she says no."

Without waiting for a response, Bucky's fist connected with Nick's face, the crack of bone meeting bone cutting through the night. Nick's head snapped back, and he let out a strangled curse, but Bucky didn't stop. He landed another punch, his face twisted with rage.

"Bucky, stop!" you cried, your voice trembling as you stumbled forward, tears streaming down your face. "Please, stop!"

Nick raised his arms in a feeble attempt to shield himself. "What the fuck, man? Get off me!" he shouted, his voice muffled by Bucky's relentless assault.

The commotion quickly drew attention. Steve appeared out of nowhere, his face a mix of confusion and alarm as he grabbed Bucky's shoulders, yanking him off of Nick. "Buck, what the hell are you doing?" Steve demanded, holding him back.

Bucky's chest heaved, his fists still clenched, his knuckles already bruised. "He wouldn't stop, Steve," Bucky spat, his voice raw with fury. "She told him to stop, and he wouldn't fucking stop."

Steve froze, his eyes darting to you. The second he saw your tear-streaked face, his expression shifted, the anger fading into something colder, sharper. "Is that true?" he asked softly, his voice low.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself as a fresh wave of tears spilled over. Steve's jaw tightened, his fists clenching as he turned back to Nick, who was still lying on the ground, blood trickling from his nose. "You piece of shit," Steve muttered, starting to step forward.

Bucky caught Steve's arm, holding him back this time. "Don't," Bucky said, his voice steadier now but no less dangerous. "He's not worth it."

Nick groaned, sitting up and wiping at his nose. "You're both fucking crazy," he muttered, staggering to his feet. "All this for some prude?"

Bucky's grip on Steve tightened, but he stayed rooted in place as Nick continued. "She's not worth it," Nick sneered, his voice laced with bitterness. "A month of dating, and she won't even put out? She's not even that hot. Stupid bitch."

You flinched at his words, but before you could react, Bucky's jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened. He turned on his heel, closing the distance between you in two quick strides. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. "It's okay," Bucky murmured, his voice soft now, his hand cradling the back of your head. "You're safe. I've got you."

You broke down completely, your hands clutching at his shirt as sobs wracked your body. His hold was steady, grounding, and you felt the tension in your chest start to ease, even as the pain of Nick's words lingered.

Steve, meanwhile, kept his eyes locked on Nick, his expression cold. "You need to leave. Now," Steve said, his voice like steel.

Nick scoffed, spitting blood onto the ground. "Whatever," he muttered, turning and staggering away into the darkness.

Steve let out a breath, his fists slowly unclenching as he turned back to you and Bucky. "You okay?" he asked quietly, his voice filled with concern.

You nodded weakly, your voice barely audible. "I will be."

Bucky tightened his hold on you, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head. "You'll never have to go through that again," he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear. "I promise."

Bucky continued to hold you, his hand gently stroking your hair as your breathing began to even out. His heart was still racing beneath your cheek, but his touch was steady, grounding you as the fear and panic slowly ebbed away. For a long moment, the two of you stood there, wrapped in a cocoon of quiet comfort, the distant sounds of the party fading into the background.

Finally, you pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His face was softer now, the sharp edges of his anger replaced with a quiet concern that made your chest ache. “Thank you, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice still shaky but full of sincerity. “For everything.”

Bucky’s eyes searched yours, his expression unreadable for a moment before he gave you a small, gentle smile. He reached up, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly, his voice low and steady. “I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?”

Your heart swelled at his words, the weight of them settling over you in a way that felt both comforting and overwhelming. You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah… I know.”

Bucky held your gaze for a moment longer, his hand lingering on your cheek before he finally let it fall. He glanced over at Steve, who stood a few feet away, still watching you both with quiet concern.

“You good?” Steve asked, his tone softer now.

You nodded again, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah… I think so.”

Steve gave a small nod, his jaw still tight, but he didn’t push further. “Let’s get you home,” he said. “This party’s over.”

Bucky wrapped an arm around your shoulders, keeping you close as the three of you made your way back toward the clearing. The warmth of his touch, the quiet strength in his presence, reminded you once again that with him by your side, you were never truly alone.

And as you walked away from the chaos of the night, you couldn’t help but feel a little more whole, knowing that no matter what, Bucky would always have your back

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader angst #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfiction #bucky banres #james barnes fanfiction #james barnes x you #the winter soldier #bucky fanfic

79 notes · View notes

strnilolover · 1 day ago

Note

ditzy!reader and player!chris first date 😔

i could definitely see player!chris taking ditsy!reader to a place she’s been wanting to go to for a while because he just likes seeing her happy.

(i suck at writing in third person, so y’all are getting second person)

Your hands nervously smoothed over your outfit, your frame standing in front of your mirror. Earlier in the day, chris had asked you if you wanted to go somewhere with him. And you hesitantly agreed, but were happy he asked you to go somewhere.

When you felt like you were ready, you made your way out your front door — quickly locking the door. When you turned back around, chris was already there. His body leaning against his passenger side door.

“There ya are angel — thought you bailed on me last second.” He said, smiling as he opened the car door for you. You laughed nervously, ducking your head as you tucked yourself into his car. “Sorry… I just… um…” your words tampering off.

“Relax,” he said, leaning down in the doors frame as he watched you buckle yourself. “no need to be nervous, you know me.” he stated before closing your door and swiftly making his way to the drivers side.

Once you were on the road, you couldn’t help but wonder where he was taking you. You wanted to ask, but every time you opened your mouth, your nerves got the best of you. After a few minutes of silence, chris glanced over at you, grinning.

His hand reached over, placing it on top of your own before giving it a gentle squeeze. “You can ask where we’re going, you know.” You flushed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Oh… right. Where are we going?”

He chuckled, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “It’s a surprise. But I think you’ll like it.”

He drove a little longer, the city lights giving way to quieter streets until he pulled up to a cozy little bookstore nestled between two cafes. You eyes widened in surprise, a small gasp escaping your lips as you recognized it.

“This… this is a place i’ve been wanting to come to for a while.” you exclaimed, turning to him, your eyes sparkling. “How did you…?”

He shrugged, trying to look casual, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You might’ve mentioned it once or twice. Figured it was worth checking out.” he said, getting out of the car as he made his way to your side, opening the door for you.

The bookstore was small and dimly lit, shelves packed tightly with books of all kinds, from fantasy novels to historical memoirs. The smell of old paper and coffee filled the air, instantly making you feel at home. You glanced at him, still in awe, and he just nodded toward the door.

“After you, darlin’”

Inside, you wandered through the aisles, fingers brushing over the spines of books. You stopped at a shelf lined with fantasy novels, picking up one you’d been wanting to read. You turned it over in your hands, momentarily lost in the synopsis.

When you looked up, chris was leaning against the shelf, arms crossed, watching you with a smirk. “You’re seriously just going to read? Didn’t know you’d ditch me for a book.” he said, faking a pout.

You blushed, hands fumbling with the book. “No! I just… I really like this one. I’ve been wanting to read it for a while.”

“Then get it,” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. When you hesitated, he rolled his eyes and snatched it out of your hands, heading toward the counter. “Consider it a gift, yeah?”

Your cheeks flushed a deeper pink. “Chris, you don’t have to—” He gave you a look, cutting you off. “I know. But I want to.” and you stopped, figuring he probably wouldn’t budge.

While he bought the book, you wandered toward the small coffee shop section at the back, feeling her heart race. You weren’t sure if it was because you had never been here before or if it was because he had brought her here. Chris, who you thought barely listened when you rambled about books, had actually remembered something you’d mentioned in passing. It was more thoughtful than you’d ever expected.

When he returned, book in hand, he nodded toward the coffee counter. “Go on, order whatever you want.” you opened your mouth to protest, but he gave you another ‘don’t start’ look and quickly dropped it.

So you picked a simple drink, something warm and comforting, and you sat down in the corner by a small round table, surrounded by shelves of books on all sides. You took a sip, feeling the warmth spread through you, and looked up to find chris already looking at you.

“So,” he said, leaning back, his arms folding behind his head. “have you been wanting to come here for a while? i know you mentioned it like, oh i don’t know, a billion times.” He teased, smirking.

You nodded, glancing around. “I saw this place on a post a friend of mine made… it looked so wonderful and it honestly doesn’t disappoint.” You admitted.

He chuckled. “I can tell. You look like you’re in heaven.” You looked down, blushing. “I just… really like books. They’re like… little worlds, you know? Places you can escape to.”

“Can’t say I get it, but… I don’t mind seeing you happy,” he said, his usual teasing tone gone. You glanced up, “So, what’s that one about?” he asked, nodding toward the book he’d just bought you.

You started to explain, describing the plot with growing excitement, your nerves forgotten. You were so absorbed in telling him about the story that you didn’t notice the way he was watching you. His usual smirk was now a smile. Something that only you really did to him.

As you finished, you glanced up, catching his gaze, and felt your face grow warm again. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to go on like that.” He shook his head, a faint smile still lingering. “Nah, it’s cute. Always seeing you get so excited over some books.”

You looked down, biting you lip to hide your smile. “I’m just… really happy you brought me here. I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t think you’d even remember.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just because I don’t spend all day reading doesn’t mean I don’t listen. Besides,” he added, leaning in closer, “I like seeing you like this.”

Your breath caught, heart pounding as you managed a soft, “Thank you… really.” He reached over, taking the book from your hands and flipping through the pages casually. “Guess I’ll have to read it, see what all the fuss is about.”

You laughed nervously, unsure if he was serious or just teasing. “I… think you might actually like it.” He smirked, setting the book down, his gaze steady on you. “Maybe I will. Maybe you’ll just have to tell me more about it.”

You stayed a while longer, sipping coffee and talking in quiet voices, surrounded by books and the warm, cozy ambiance of the shop. When it was time to go, he held the door open for you, walking you back to his car. You hugged the book close to your chest, a smile lingering on your face as you drove back in comfortable silence.

When you got home and reached your doorstep, he turned to you with that familiar smirk.

For a second, you thought he might lean in — and when he did, you froze. Quickly putting your hand up to rest on his chest. He stopped, a puzzled look coming across his face — but he just smiled. Opting to take your hand and press a small peck to it.

“s’okay angel.” he said as he pulled back. When he turned to walk away, he looked back at you. “see ya tomorrow, yeah?” and at that, all you did was nod.

72 notes · View notes

teddypines · 3 days ago

Text

Drop off's and pick up's

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

Summary: A week of drop off's and pick up's for the younger's Wayne. Y/N is around 5-6 years old.

Note: This wrote itself when i was supposed to work on a different story. Small disclaimer, i have no idea how the American school system works or the one in the DC comic's, so it's all based on the school system i know. And yes i did use a picture of a 1967 Chevy Impala, because there were no fun ones of the batmobile.

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

Drop off and pick up were never the same in the Wayne household. Sometimes Bruce would do it, other times Alfred did it, or Dick and Jason picked the others up. Even Cas or Barbara did it every once in a while. They tried putting routine into it to help Y/N, but that didn’t really work with all the mixed scedules and unexpected events. The older ones made sure they got to school by themselves, but Y/N was still a bit too young for that. So the Drop off and pick up struggle continued,

Monday

Y/N waited by the door with her bag, Alfred packed her lunch and a snack, and Fleepy. Her brothers, besides Damian, had already left for school but she was still waiting on Bruce. “Daddy!! Hurry!!” She yelled as Bruce stumbled through the hallway. “Yes, I'm coming, pumpkin, just give daddy a minute.” Bruce answered as he struggled to put on his shoes. He looked at the waiting Y/N and Damian, sighing he quickly takes out the car keys from his pocket. “Here, go and wait in the car, I won't be long.” He instructed them.

Y/N listened and grabbed her jacket before going to the car outside. She unlocked the car and quickly got in. Damian following closely behind her. Putting their seatbelts on when Bruce got there. “Let’s get you two to school.” Bruce smiled at Y/N.

“You'll pick me up too?” Y/N asked, wanting to make sure who to expect at pick up. “Yes, I'll pick you up today.” Bruce answered with a nod. “Yeeey!! Daddy pick up!” Damian just rolled his eyes, but understood Y/N liked to know things before hand, he liked it too.

Tuesday

“It was the heat of the moment. Telling me what my heart meant! The heat of the moment showed in your eyes!” Both Y/N and Jason sang. Jason picked her up from school today, which meant bonding time after. Since Y/N was still a bit too young for Jason’s bike he ‘borrowed’ one of Dick’s cars. Damian went home with a friend from school, so Alfred would pick him up later.

The two of them were just singing as Jason drove them to the best burger place in Gotham. “And now you find yourself in '83. The disco hot spots hold no charm for me. You can concern yourself with bigger things. You catch a pearl and ride the dragon's wings.” Jason sang, looking at Y/N as they stopped in front of a traffic light. “ 'Cause it's the heat of the moment. The heat of the moment. The heat of the moment showed in your eyes!” Y/N sang back with a big smile on her face. The two of them having so much fun that even Cas and Steph would be jealous of the fun they had.

After burgers the two of them went to the record store and Y/N got to pick out a cd for her collection. She chose ABBA, a bit to Jason’s dislike. He didn't get her love for the Swedish band, wanting her to try and listen to one of his personal favorites, but okay. When they left the record store on their way to the bookstore for some comic's,- Bruce called and ruined their fun a bit, wanting Y/N home in the next 30 minutes. So Jason had no choice and had to take Y/N home, but she didn’t mind, she had fun with her brother and that’s what mattered more to her.

Wednesday

Pick up was a big mess on wednesday. Drop went okay, Bruce brought her and Damian to school with the promise that he would pick her up too, or Dick would be there instead. Damian had to stay longer because he was a grade or two higher then her and he would go home with Tim.

But now here Y/N sat, next to her teacher, at 4 p.m. Her teacher tried to reach someone, but no one answered. Tim and Damian had suddenly disappeared from class too, so that was suspisious. This of course made Y/N upset but it wasn’t like this didn’t happen before. She opened her backpack and pulled out the emergency number and handed it to her teacher. “My uncle Clark, for emergencier.” She explained and went silent again.

Clark was there in no time, but normal human time as to not be suspicious. The teacher didn't need to be more worried then she already was. Clark was a bit worried about Y/N too, so instead of taking her back to Wayne manor he just said ‘Fuck it, sleep over in Kansas.’ And with that Y/N spent the night in Kansas with the Kent’s.

Thursday

Since Y/N spent the night in Kansas with the Kent's, Clark dropped her off at school, making sure to be at the school on time and to not be noticed while flying back and forth. Lois made Y/N lunch for the day, not wanting her to be depended on the teachers or the crappy school lunches. Giving both Y/N and Jon something extra in their lunches to make the little emergency feel more like a special short sleep over. At pickup Alfred showed up, when Y/N asked what happened he didn’t have a clear answer. Trying to talk around the questions Y/N had and doing his best to distract her for the time being. Just saying everything will be explained at home. Nothing was explained when they got home.

Friday

Shit hit the fan Thursday afternoon so instead of going to school Y/N spent the day in the hospital. Sitting by Bruce’s side as Dick and Alfred tried to take care of everything else. Turned out that Bruce, as Batman, got into a bigger mess than he could handle alone, even with the help of his Robin's. He has two broken ribs, a concussion and a broken arm. All some villain of the week’s fault, they were stronger then expected so everything went tits up. Of course they told the doctors that Bruce had a work related accident. Something about falling down the stairs, because the elevator not working at Wayne Enterprise.

Going home that night was hard since both Damian, Y/N and Tim , not wanting to leave Bruce’s side. Jason and Dick finally got the three home once they fell asleep on Bruce’s hospital bed. It was a tight fit on that hospital bed, bur Bruce would be in discomfort if it ment for his kids to be comfortable and safe. Bruce gave his eldest boy’s a tired smile as they went home, making them promise to at least get Y/N to school on time next week with him not being able to drive. He didn’t want to deal with the angry teachers if Y/N didn’t go again because of him.

<----------------------------------------------------->

That weekend the whole family made sure to go to Bruce and visit him a lot. Sometimes not even leaving or only leaving when one of the nurses told them it was really time to leave their father alone to sleep. They made sure the press didn't know a lot about the accident and that Dick knew what to do for Wayne Enterprise until Bruce got better. The older siblings had a lot on their shoulders, but with the help of Alfred and the Kent family everything went as good as it could get.

Y/N made a promise on sunday to be on her best behavior the next few weeks for drop off and pick up. As long as it was Alfred or Barbara who picked her up at the right time and the right place. So there wouldn’t be any confusion, emergencies or waiting. Making sure to at least visit Bruce 3 times a week in the hospital until he got better.

57 notes · View notes

jaegeraether · 14 hours ago

Text

Sunsets and footballers (Part 98)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (74) / Alexia Putellas x Character (50)

Masterlist (other parts here)

((6.2k))

Due to popular demand, I'm going to post a chapter every Sunday night until we hit Part 100!

YFN POV

YFN felt sick. She looked over at Ridley who was having far too many conversations with Beckett and Duce without saying words. It was fascinating, and terrifying just how well they communicated.

They were both such intimidating people also, though they felt safe. Like protectors. Even of her and Lucy. She’d caught eyes with them a few times since they met, and they were always polite yet on edge. Sort of like Ridley. Something that years of horrors would do to a person.

“Any other information?” Ridley asked, and she knew it was for their sake more than the military personnel standing around the table.

“From the intelligence… he’s travelling. Departed Spain.” She looked up and to Alexia. “As he is the head of his father’s cartel now, he has a wide network of people. We’ll keep protection on your family and friends in Spain.”

Silence. Alexia looked as if she didn’t know what to say but at least that was a little peace of mind for her.

Ridley looked at her watch. “It’s 11pm. He’ll be here early hours this morning.”

“I’ve got it covered,” Duce said, hard, her eyes focussing back on the screen.

Ridley and Beckett shared another look, and he took out his phone to make a call.

“You should enjoy your party,” he murmured to the three he didn’t know so well.

Ridley took Alexia’s hand and entwined their fingers. Her eyes caught Alexia’s reflecting an adoration she’d never seen from her before. YFN couldn’t help feel so overwhelmed with happiness for her friend, and Alexia, who she had grown close to. It was clear that their time away together had been exactly what was needed for the both of them to explore each other.

She subconsciously pressed her body back into Lucy to feel her there. Lucy reacted like she always did and reciprocated, finding her hips and holding on.

Her hands were so soft yet strong. Warm. Comforting. She felt… safe.

Ridley looked at the pair over Alexia’s shoulder.

“Blue, Bronze – come.” She directed.

She immediately followed as she knew it was to give Duce and Beckett privacy to do what they needed to do. Ridley walked slow so YFN could keep up, slowly stepping to press weight onto her braced leg and rolling through it, Lucy’s hands steady on her hips as she did so.

Ridley led them towards the dance floor in the crowded room. As they started moving through the sea of people dancing, Alexia reached back to take YFN’s good hand; and Lucy was right behind her, hands now around her waist and elbows out to make sure no one would accidentally bump into her with her sling.

They reached the middle of the dance floor and Ridley stopped, turned to Alexia and surprised them all by putting her hands on her waist and pulling her so close their bodies were pressed up against each other. After the surprise passed, Alexia draped her hands around her neck, leant into her and pressed her cheek against Ridley’s, closing her eyes as they swayed.

Christ, they really were going all out. God, they were so perfect for each other.

Lucy got the idea and came around YFN, wrapping her arms around her and pulling her close as possible with her arm in the way. Her head pressed against Lucy’s strong collarbone. She smelt like home.

“Everything will be okay, little one.” She murmured quietly, knowing she was worrying about the situation.

It seemed like a cut and dry operation. A false location. The best of the best in the country closing around Bashir to capture him. Lumos’s event would go untouched. Everyone would be safe.

She turned her head slightly to see the couple next to her. Ridley’s head was still on Alexia’s, and her eyes still closed as they swayed. She wondered if Alexia knew how important that little detail was for the Australian.

Ridley trusted her. Completely.

Alexia was looking over at them with furrowed eyebrows, the worry was clear in her eyes, and she knew why.

Ridley was worried. And that scared them both.

“Riddles…”

Ridley sighed softly and opened her eyes. “Mmn?”

“Talk to me…”

Ridley didn’t want to talk, and she knew that. But she’d also grown lately, and in particular, as of late with Alexia. “I just want to be around the people important to me at the moment…”

YFN’s heart softened similar to how Alexia’s face did. She turned her head and pressed her lips to her cheek, holding them there for a time. “I love you,” she whispered, nuzzling her cheek lightly.

Ridley gripped her tighter, her arms wrapping around the footballer as if trying to protect her with her own body. Exactly how Lucy did with her.

It felt like… Ridley knew something they didn’t.

The couple’s swayed together a little longer until YFN’s leg was getting tired and she needed to stop.

“What is it, little one?” Lucy asked, always knowing when she was uncomfortable. She pulled back and looked down. “Is it your leg?”

“It’s getting sore.” She admitted. She looked around at the drunk football players and friends of who were dancing around them and didn’t like her chance of escaping the area.

“Come here.” Lucy cooed. She pulled YFN’s good arm around her neck and bent down to grab the back of her thighs, hoisting her up onto her.

“Luce.. your knee.”

Lucy only responded with a reassuring kiss to her jaw as she carried her from the dance floor. She exchanged glances over Lucy’s shoulder with Ridley and Alexia and when they started to follow, YFN gestured to stay where they were. To stay in their happy place. She gave Ridley a wink which was responded to with small smile full of conflicting emotion.

Oh, Riddles.

“Everything okay?” Jordan asked, coming over worried when she saw Lucy carrying her.

“I’m just getting a little sore.” She admitted, a bit embarrassed as her footballer placed her gently on a high stool at their table and started to knead the tense areas of her thigh. She immediately changed the subject. “How’s your night, Dory?”

“Leah’s had a bit..”

YFN followed her gaze across the room to the England Captain with a cowboy hat on, singing loudly next to Beth into a microphone.

They chuckled at the image.

“You’re really happy, hm?”

She already knew the answer. Jordan went slightly redder than usual, the alcohol being a small reason for that.

“It’s everything I’ve ever wanted and more. Which reminds me..” she stepped forward and took her hand gently.

YFN let Jordan catch her eye. “I wanted to talk to you both.”

“What’s up, Jords?” Lucy asked.

“Well… Lucy you’ve been a big part of my life since we were kids.. and YFN, you and I have grown this amazing, life-long friendship.. and I’d both really like you to be in my wedding party.” She seemed a little nervous and cleared her throat. “A…and I don’t mean want to upset anyone.. because YFN is one of the newer friends in my life, but we’re just so close and get along so well, and both Leah and I know that we’re only together because of you and what you’ve done, but I love you both so much and…”

Lucy chuckled, catching on. “Spit it out Jords. Just ask her.”

YFN looked from Jordan to Lucy and back, confused for once.

Jordan sighed and squeezed her hand. “YFN.. will you be my maid of honour?”

“Oh… Jesus Dory. I didn’t expect that.” Was her initial response. Followed by silence. And then, she cried.

She turned towards Lucy to hide herself and stopped herself, turning to Jordan instead and leaning into her. Jordan wrapped her arms around her friend tenderly.

“Is that a yes?” Jordan sniffled, YFN able to feel her chest stutter also.

She nodded into her and felt Lucy squeeze her thigh.

Jordan leaned back and the two smiled at each other.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you asked her then?” Leah slurred, her arms going around Jordan’s waist.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Mmn.”

“I take it Keira is yours?” Lucy asked.

Leah nodded. “Asked her yesterday.”

“Is everything okay?” Ridley asked, scanning their faces.

YFN realised she was worried because they were crying. “It’s all good, Riddles.”

Ridley nodded, and then disappeared. Alexia extended her phone towards YFN who gave her a confused look. “It’s Ona… she wants to talk to you.”

“Oh!” YFN took the phone. “Ona! How are you?”

“Hola, YFN.” YFN could hear the smile in her voice. The thing with Ona was that even her voice was attractive.

Because the room was so loud, YFN had to press her free hand over her ear. “Hola, Ona. Everything okay..?”

Alexia and Lucy were looking at her quizzically as it was so unusual for Ona of all people to want to speak to YFN.

“Yes. I took your advice and uh… I think I met someone, but I don’t know what to do.”

ALEXIA POV

Alexia was curious of why Blau of all people was the one Ona wanted to speak to. She cocked her head as she watched Blau talk on the phone. At that time, she noticed that she was empty and cold, almost. She’d been so used to Ridley around her that she noticed her lack of presence immediately.

She looked straight to where she knew she would be, with her team. They were having what seemed to be an intense discussion.

Ridley looked up, spotted her, and looked back down. Alexia knew she was checking to make sure she was safe. She did it often, even before they were together, but even more so now.

“Ale?” Blau said, breaking her from her daze.

She turned to see her extended arm with Alexia’s phone.

“Thank you. Everything okay?”

“With Ona? Everything is more than okay.” She replied with her cute, dimpled smile.

Alexia smiled in return and decided not to push. She was too focused on Ridley who was now making her way back over to the group.

“Home time, I think.”

“Already?!” Leah whined.

“You two stay and have fun!” Blau eased. “Thank you for the invite..”

“You want to go, little one?” Lucy asked.

“I think it’s for the best, Luce. My body is getting tired.”

“Okay, my girl. You two want a lift home?”

The car ride was mostly silent. Blau and Lucy were in the front holding hands and murmuring to each other while Ridley and Alexia were sat in the back in silence. It wasn’t tense, she was just deep in thought and staring out the window. Behind them, Duke and Beckett were following closely.

Alexia let her have a little time to herself, but halfway home, she unclipped her belt and moved across to sit closer to the Australian. Ridley broke from her stupor and turned to her.

Alexia didn’t say anything. She simply raised her arm and let Ridley come to her. She always felt better with her close.

To her surprise, Ridley put her arms around her waist, pulling her close and finding Alexia’s neck with her mouth.

She sucked the skin there into her mouth, her tongue gliding over it before sucking.

Alexia felt it in her clit. She shivered and tried to turn her head so Lucy couldn’t see too much in the rearview mirror.

Ridley marked her neck and Alexia’s first thought should have been how to cover it for the event the next day, but instead all she could think about was getting home and fucking the distraction out of Ridley.

She felt fingertips slide down and under the hem of her shirt, gliding along her skin.

Ridley’s mouth kept exploring her neck with hot, tickly breath and lot of gentle teasing. Her fingers moved down, stroking the skin under the waist of her pants, teasingly and Alexia felt her legs automatically part. She could feel Ridley’s smile against her neck. Her mouth moved up to her ear and Alexia shivered at the feel of her breathing there.

“Tonight, you’re mine.” She murmured huskily in Spanish with just a tinge of Australian accent.

All she could think was that she was always hers.

“Are you two fucking in my car?”

Alexia’s back hit the door of Ridley’s bedroom as soon as it closed. Ridley’s hand came up to grasp her jaw as her tongue slid in her mouth. Alexia moaned out of reaction and pushed back against her, sliding the jacket down her arms and pinning them there. Ridley managed to rip one hand out and grab her throat, squeezing as she pressed her harder against the door.

Alexia dropped her grip on the jacket and instead ripped open her shirt, buttons flying as she wrenched it off of the Australian. Just when her arms were about to be immobilised again, she growled and ripped it off herself, throwing it across the room. Her hands found Alexia’s tits through her shirt and squeezed just rough enough that Alexia had to pull her mouth away just to gasp. In that short break, her shirt was up over her head and gone. Ridley was sliding down her body, hands and mouth trailing, marking, exploring aggressively. She slipped her shoes off and with one hand, she unbuttoned her jeans, sliding them down over her hips. That was the most patient part of her, when she held Alexia’s calves one by one to stop out of her jeans before tossing them away.

She’d assumed her underwear was next, but no. Ridley’s hands gripped the back of Alexia’s thighs where they met her ass, her mouth coming down on her clit over her underwear. They were already stuck to her with the excitement she’d built up in the car, but this was something else. Somehow, Ridley’s tongue was just as effective through the fabric, first sliding left and right to work her way between her folds until the flat of her tongue was directly over her clit.

Her tongue teased, making Alexia’s legs tremble and feel unsure. While she tasted her, her hands slid up over her ass, under her underwear and squeezed as if it was hers. Because it was. Ridley was obsessed with her hips and ass, and Alexia knew it.

The Spaniard swore in Catalan, and just before she lost all of her dominance, she reached down to grab Ridley around the throat and squeeze, dragging her back up to her mouth. She tasted herself in her mouth, her hands fisting that dark, shaggy bob of hers which was getting too long, and turning her head to better taste her.

Ridley’s knee replaced her mouth, pressing onto her cunt expectingly. She couldn’t help but give her what she wanted, rocking hard against it and shivering at the feel of that pressure on her clit. She could feel herself ruining Ridley’s pants but knew they both didn't give a fuck. Regardless, she reached down and unbuttoned her pants, pulling them open. Before she could drag them down, Ridley caught her hands.

“Patience, la Reina.”

Alexia grumbled, shoving her. Ridley stumbled backwards and the footballer followed, shoving her again. She caught up to her at the bed, managing to catch her off guard again before she’d caught herself. Alexia picked her up, throwing her onto the bedside table and knocking off the lamp which shattered on the floor. Her mouth landed on hers again, hands on her face, desperate to touch and taste her. Ridley groaned into her gripping wall with one hand and her blonde hair with the other. Alexia’s hands moved down to Ridley’s tits squeezing and kneading before getting so frustrated at the sports bra that it was up and over her head, thrown somewhere across the room.

Her tongue glided down over her jaw, neck, chest, stopping only to suck her nipple to a peak before moving onto her abs. She grabbed the waist of Ridley’s pants and ripped them off, shoes with it. She came back up, her eyes falling onto her underwear slickly attached to her cunt but Ridley was having none of it.

She found her way to her feet, taking Alexia by the face and kissing her. It was amazing. Personal. And then she was falling backwards onto the bed. She sat up on her elbows just in time to watch Ridley not just take her underwear off, but snap each band at the hips, ripping it from her. She took it and tied it around her own wrist as a prize. Alexia’s mouth dropped open and she felt her eyes darken. She knew she was just about to be fucked. Hard. All goddamn night.

Ridley caught her eye. “Stay.”

She turned and walked away as Alexia lay there panting, watching after her and admiring her physique, scars, and those muscular shoulders of hers.

She returned quickly, and Alexia was focusing so hard on her face, that she didn’t see what she was carrying. Toys landed on the bed next to her. A harness with a dildo, a magic wand, vibrator, hand cuffs, lube, and a bar with cuffs on the ends.

Oh shit, she was in for it.

Her eyes widened and she looked back to Ridley who was watching her reaction, and perfectly in her comfort zone. Holding that eye contact, she removed her rings one by one, and placed them on the night stand.

Alexia swallowed.

Ridley adjusted Alexia on the bed exactly where she wanted her and, holding her eyes the entire time, she knelt down, taking each of her knees and placing them over her shoulders as her mouth again, found her cunt. This time it was hungry and unimpeded. She sunk down and slid her tongue around the entrance to her hole first, darting just the tip in and out a few times before moving back up and taking hold of her clit. She didn’t even work up to it. She teased, hard, as if she knew just how turned on she was.

Alexia didn’t want to come so quickly, because she felt it showed weakness, but she did within a few minutes. She cried out and what’s worse is that Ridley didn’t stop. She continued through it, dragging that shuddering orgasm from her body.

Ridley worked her mouth up over her body, taking her time to mark and suck her nipples into peaks before her mouth landed on hers needily.

One of her hands disappeared and reappeared with the magic wand. Ridley spit on the head and extended it towards Alexia. She took it in her mouth without question, sucking and tonguing the rounded head to lube it up as much as possible. Her body was still shuddering from her orgasm and worsened when it touched her body. Ridley watched her expression as she placed the side of the head on her nipples, circling and taking her time. She worked it down her body, over her sensitive lats and then pressed the body of it against her inner thigh, working right up to her pussy.

She stroked it over her lips first, up and down gathering that excited, slickness of her. Working left and right, she eased it between her folds, pressing it against her hole and holding it there, feeling Alexia’s body react by shuddering and keening. She worked it up towards her swollen bundle on nerves but didn’t touch it. She vibrated every single piece around it, enjoying the frustration building in her girlfriend.

“Please, Ridley… please.”

The Australian hummed happily, and gave her what she wanted, smiling when her body jerked at the feel of the vibrations on her clit.

Ridley lips traced her face: her temple, cheek, jaw, ear, neck, all while she worked the wand on her clit.

Alexia wanted to say she lasted longer than last time, but she didn’t. In fact, she came quicker than the time before, gripping onto Ridley’s hand to hold the pressure of the wand against her clit, vibrating her through a violent orgasm as she cried out and her body shuddered uncontrollably.

Just as she was getting sensitive, the wand disappeared. She gathered her breath, spent and sweaty. Angry almost, her hand dipped into Ridley’s underwear and found her there. Ridley tried to stop her, but to no avail. She was determined. She spread Ridley’s legs with her own, holding them apart as she rubbed her clit, dragging out of her exactly what she’d just done to her.

She was fighting at first, until she wasn’t. Until she was rocking against her hand, swearing into her mouth as she came close.

“Not yet. No. You can come around my fucking fingers.” Alexia snapped, two fingers moving down and sliding into Ridley, stretching her while her palm finished the job. In retaliation, Ridley came crying into her ear, gasping and shuddering. Fuck. Ridley’s orgasm was something else.

Even more frustrated now and trying to take her power back, she grabbed Ridley, their mouths crashing together hot, heavy, and salty as she flipped her onto her back.

She needed more.

They moved desperately and shakily. She grabbed at the harness and worked it up onto Ridley while the Australian took the dildo and lubed it up. Alexia tightened the strap harshly and as soon as she slipped it in, Alexia was sinking down onto it, groaning at the feeling.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

She fucked herself on her girlfriend like she was being paid.

For the first time in her life, she didn't give a fuck about her knee. She didn’t care if she hurt it more, or even if she never played football again. All she cared about was the woman below her, and the feel of that strap sliding in and out of her.

Well it was sliding, until Ridley took hold of her hips and started thrusting up. Then it was fucking up into her. She didn't know if it was more of her riding, or more of her taking what she was given. Regardless, it made her eyes roll to the back of her head as she cried out through it, not even sure what words were coming from her mouth.

Ridley. Fuck. Ridley. Fuck me. I love you. Fuck me. Ridley. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m yours. Fuck.

Once again, her power was being overtaken by Ridley controlling the situation. She wasn’t mad, but it was frustrating, and so she needed to get some of that out. She grabbed her by the throat as she rode, squeezing the sides and limited the blood flow to her brain. Ridley’s eyelids fluttered and she groaned, her head and eyes rolling back as she became lightheaded. Alexia made her horniness known.

“Fuck yes.” She said through her teeth. “Take it, Lee. Fucking take it until I come.”

She reached down and tightened the harness of the strap as she rode, which put more pressure onto Ridley’s clit. Alexia adjusted the way she rode, leaning backwards more and watching Ridley’s body reacting, knowing she was hitting that good spot.

She was dripping down the strap, covering her girlfriends hips, but it didn’t phase her. Ridley was losing it and she knew that. Her orgasm was glorious. Ridley came first, having been so pent up and gripped hard onto Alexia’s hips as she shuddered. As she came down, Alexia released her grip on her throat and watched the colour come back into her face as a result. The Spaniard chased her orgasm, finding her own creeping up shortly after Ridley’s.

Ridley, however, had other plans. She flipped Alexia when she wasn’t prepared and pulled out, grabbing the pole Alexia had never seen before.

Panting and frustrated over being denied her orgasm, she sat up on her elbows to protest as Ridley grabbed each ankle and cuffed it to the pole.

“What is this?” She argued, wrenching her legs against it. The pole split apart, widening her legs and keeping them there.

She’d fucked up. Ridley grinned and Alexia’s eyes widened. “Shit!”

Ridley grabbed the pole in the middle and flipped it, in turn flipping the footballer with it. Shit. She tried to wriggle away and Ridley caught her hips, lifting them and placing several pillows under her to prop her ass up.

Shit.

She was so exposed.

Ridley’s knelt behind her and bent down, her tongue swiping through her folds. She shivered. Alexia heard her spit into her cunt, and then cried out as two of her fingers pushed into her. She grabbed the closest pillow and dragged it down to have something to grab and bite onto as she took it.

“Aaaargh fuck. Lee.”

Ridley’s free hand slid up her spine to the back of her neck, and then into her hair. She collected her hair into a ponytail, twisting it around her hand and pulling her head back towards her as she pumped her fingers back into her again.

She’d never been in such a vulnerable position, but she felt comfortable. So comfortable that she was unconsciously pushing her ass back in offering. Ridley would never hurt her. She just wanted to give her all of the pleasure in the world.

Her fingers came around in front of her and Alexia sucked just as she'd wanted, her head movements controlled by Ridley’s hand on her ponytail. She moaned onto her fingers.

Then Ridley pushed her legs again further, the pole extending and locking. Her bodyweight pressed down onto her as she buried the cock back into Alexia, pulling her head back at the same time.

They managed to sleep maybe four hours in total. After the roughness, the desperation, the chaotic love expressed as aggressive fucking, they’d showered, cuddled, kissed each other to sleep. Alexia had been worried she’d wake alone, but she didn’t. Ridley was there, fully clothed and holding her, with a warm Chiquito purring against her back.

“Good morning, Lex. Welcome to your day.” She murmured, kissing her forehead.

Alexia groaned, hating mornings. She took a deep breath and pressed her body further into her girlfriend.

It was then that she noticed the clothes. She woke quickly, pulling back.

“Planning with Duke and Becks.”

She looked around sleepily for a clock.

“It’s 9am, love.”

Alexia yawned and laid her head back down onto Ridley, enjoying her warmth and softness.

The Australian held her for a while and let Alexia drift in an out of sleep. Eventually she spoke.

“Blue and Lucy will be here soon, Lex.”

“Mmn?”

“Mmn.” She chuckled in response. “In about ten minutes. Brunch is ready soon. I need you to eat before you go. So I need you to get up, please.”

Alexia sighed and nodded. “I need a shower.”

“I’ll be downstairs.” Ridley went to move and was stopped by Alexia’s tight grip on her shirt. She turned back and was captured by those worried, hazel eyes of hers. As if Alexia had just realised what today was. “I’ll stay with you.”

Ridley stayed while Alexia showered. She was there with her towel when she’d finished, and she’d laid out both her wardrobe for the day and her clothes for their brunch.

Lucy and Blau were there when they came downstairs. They all greeted each other sombrely. Blau did try to cheer the mood, though she only managed to a little. Alexia tried to ignore the startling image of Duke and Beckett along with other military members ready for what seemed to be a battle. The weapons both concealed and otherwise were enough to start a war. Even Chiquito seemed to watch from afar, picking up on the dark mood.

Ridley caught her chin when she noticed, turning it away from them and to her. “Stay here, with me.” She said before kissing her gently.

After brunch, their stylists arrived along with hair and makeup. It was more of a laid-back event, but then again, everyone always expected fashion from Alexia. Ridley stayed close as she got ready, always within eyesight, though getting a little more fidgety and tense. Her eyes kept flickering over to her team.

Just as Alexia was having the finishing touches of her outfit checked, she came over. “I need to go now, Lex.”

Alexia’s blood ran cold. Her hand paused where it was patting Chiquito and she felt her face drop.

“You’re leaving?” Blau asked from next to her.

Ridley nodded.

“Don’t leave without saying bye, Riddles.”

Ridley chuckled and went over to say goodbye to their friends, hugging Blau for what seemed like a long time. She came back over to Alexia and bent down to say her goodbyes to Chiquito first before standing in front of her.

“It’ll be over soon, Lex. Derek’s team will keep you on time. Remember, you’re leaving 30 minutes after us, and in the opposite direction. Same cars, tinted windows. They’ll follow us, not you.”

But Alexia wasn’t worried about that. She felt helpless.

Ridley stepped forward and cupped her face between her hands. “I’ll come to you when it’s done. We do this for a living.”

“I know,” she murmured.

Ridley watched her eyes and the emotions flicker through them. Her thumbs stroked Alexia’s cheeks softly. Only when Alexia felt her body calming a little, did Ridley step forward slowly into her face, their bodies pressed together lightly, and kissed her the complete opposite to how she did the night before. Loving. Gentle. Tender.

And against her lips she whispered. “I love you, Alexia.”

Alexia fidgeted every single second that Ridley was gone. The 30 minutes felt like 3 hours. Eventually, the other team told them it was time.

“It’ll be okay,” Blau comforted. “They’ve done this a thousand times. She’ll be okay.”

But what if she was caught unawares, or in the crossfire?

She kissed Chiquito goodbye and they drove in the opposite direction to the others. The event was in a place where they hosted gala dinners. It was more of a casual event, though, with high tables and a cocktail set up. They were the first to arrive, of course, as Blau had to arrive early and make sure all was set up correctly.

As they walked into the building, Alexia checked her phone. Nothing.

They were introduced to the building’s security team who looked like amateurs compared to the SAS, because they were. They were to stay close to the group, while the SAS team patrolled the building.

Leah and Jordan arrived next with Caitlin and Katie, along with a few Lumos crew. Blau walked them through the event and how it would be run when suddenly, there was a loud banging sound. She jumped. Everybody froze, because everybody in the room knew about the operation.

She caught Blau’s eye and they were startled.

The lights cut out and there was silence for a few seconds, until the gunshots sounded in the darkness.

“GET DOWN!” Lucy shouted. They all dropped and Alexia felt someone pushing her backwards into other people.

When the emergency lighting came on, the gunfire stopped. She realised that it was the security guards ushering them back into against the wall so they could protect them, but there were only five of them.

Two went to check on what happened, and didn’t come back. More shots rang out. She scrambled for her phone and saw multiple missed calls from Ridley. She started calling her again, and Alexia answered. Before she could talk, a group of men burst into the room with rifles. She quickly turned down the volume, clicked facetime and sat it on the ground next to her on loudspeaker.

One security guard stepped forward with his hands up and was shot in the head. Blood sprayed onto Alexia’s face and she jumped, eyes wide and terrified. She dared not to speak to the phone. One of the Lumos workers screamed and covered her ears, squeezing her eyes shut.

Lucy put her body in front of Blau and pressed her against the wall. Blau reached out to take Alexia’s hand and she grabbed it, squeezing tightly.

The men approached and screamed in broken English to the two remaining security guards. They did as they were told and placed their weapons down, sliding them over and lying face down on the ground.

Once on the ground, one of the men looked straight to Alexia and pointed, his eyes lighting up. Then he found Blau and pointed to her, and back to Alexia, speaking in another language to the team.

They were dark skinned and there was no remorse in their eyes. They enjoyed this. She wondered which one was Bashir. The taller man approached Alexia, hand extended to grab her when more shots rang out. Multiple. Screaming.

The lights flickered, and then went off again.

She saw the silhouettes of the men backing off and spinning around, trying to work out what was happening.

And then a bullet sounded so loud that she knew it came from inside the room. What’s worse, is the sound of it piercing through a skull. Then the thud of a body.

Another bullet, and the sound of another body hitting the ground.

As they were all pressed up against each other, Alexia could feel the trembling of the people around them. The Lumos workers hiding behind her. Caitlin and Katie to her left. Lucy and Blau to her right. And Leah with Jordan next to them.

The lights came back on and a figure appeared. The men with guns spun to shoot but they were too slow. The first fell to his knees and Alexia watched wide-eyed as a knife went in and out of his neck almost quicker than she could see. The next two lunged and the figure dropped, slicing at their ankles with one swift movement, leaping up and shooting them both in the head without a second glance.

The taller man and one other were directly in the way of her being able to see this figure as they approached. The shorter man shot and missed. The figure approached closer, moving like an animal, so confident and swiftly. The man swung his fist with a scream and the figure ducked, slicing across his body and in the same move, coming back across to slice across his throat in a quick, methodical move.

The sound of ripping flesh was outdone only by the smell of blood.

The taller man dropped his gun and fell to the floor, his arms up in surrender. Over him, Alexia locked eyes with Ridley. Her eyes were wild, though calmed when seeing her. She was safe. She looked her up and down thoroughly, before assessing the group.

Alexia felt her body start to move towards her, and Ridley's eyes stopped her. “Stay.”

She kicked the guns back towards the security guards. “There are more coming, I need to go. Tie him up and strip him of weapons. Protect this fucking group like your life depends on it. Shoot anyone who isn’t me.”

A creak sounded from above them and Ridley looked up. The panels in the roof started moving and she tracked where they were. When she was sure, she shot up and heard a groan. Blood seeped through the hole in the roof. She waited for movement, and then she was gone again.

The security tied the man awkwardly and took his gun. More shots rang out in the halls. She couldn’t stand what was happening. She went to move and Lucy caught her. She was watching her hard, and shook her head. “Don’t.”

She was still of two minds when Blau whispered. “Please don’t. She’ll never forgive us if we let you leave.”

“We have to run..” Katie stressed.

Blau shook her head. “No, the safest place is here. Riddles would have gotten us out if she could.”

The group stared at the bodies laid in front of them. They flinched with each gunshot or scream they heard.

Minutes felt like hours.

The door smashed open again and they all tensed. Ridley entered at a jog, coming back around to the front of the group.

“Tell us what the fuck is happening!” Katie almost screamed.

“There’s more. They’re coming. But my team are almost here too.”

“W… what happened?” Lucy asked, even her voice trembling.

“Snitch. One of ours.”

Alexia caught Ridley’s eye.

“Not my team,” she clarified, and then her face dropped. “He came for you… to get to me… I’m so sorry.”

Gunshots. Her head snapped up, and her gun raised as she eyed the door.

Watching her like this was eye-opening. She was so methodical. A difference person, almost. And the way she moved… was terrifying. Everything she did was with purpose and clear that she'd done it many, many times before.

But it was nothing she hadn’t expected.

It was the part of Ridley she’d never seen.

“Riddles?” Came Blau’s quiet voice.

Ridley’s face twitched. “I’m sorry, Blue.” She turned her head and her face dropped with her gun when she saw her. “I’m so sor-”

A gunshot sounded out. Everything felt like it was in slow motion.

Ridley’s head snapped back and she collapsed in a sickening thud.

The security guards jumped onto the man they’d failed to tie up properly as they wrenched the gun from his hand.

Blood pooled around Ridley’s head where she lay, unmoving.

And then, Alexia screamed.

67 notes · View notes