#and what should i subject him too next!!!!!!!

[oliviablancmom]

"Enemies - Pablo Gavi (Part IV)"

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x OC!reader

A/N: And finally, we have the fourth part. I hope you enjoy it. It’s so hard to write them, but I feel so happy seeing the path they take. I hope you like it.

Gavi realized he still hated the cameras, and the media side of football was something he had carried with him since he was just a kid. Yes, he was only 17 years old, and as he grew, people always said that his shyness around cameras would eventually pass, but it wasn’t. He still got embarrassed during interviews, felt equally uncomfortable in photo shoots, and, above all, it was still strange to see his name in newspapers and gossip pages. That’s why he had mentally cursed the person responsible for the chaos he had been dealing with in the past weeks.

Journalists kept speculating about the nature of his relationship with her, weeks after the confusion during El Clásico. He had hoped it would have blown over, but on the contrary, people loved talking and making things up. What comforted him was that maybe she was also suffering from the incident, as she had locked her Instagram account, which was previously public.

"What are you thinking about?" Pedri asked. Gavi looked up at his friend, who had an inquisitive look on his face. That was another thing he had to deal with—Pedri had been a little annoying lately, especially when the subject involved the Madrileña.

"Don't you think this should have blown over by now?" Gavi asked. "I’ve already made it clear that I was just helping her, and people keep making things up. It’s annoying," Gavi huffed.

"Well, it’s a hot topic—‘Barcelona’s son and Madrid’s daughter,’" Pedri said dramatically, referencing a magazine headline. Gavi's scowl was immediate as if the title itself had struck him. He hated the way those words sounded like they were trying to tie something between him and Florence. It was ridiculous and infuriating. Not just because it was a media invention, but because there was something uncomfortably real about how people insisted on placing him next to the girl. Gavi huffed, frustrated with himself.

"Why do I care so much about this?" he asked almost unconsciously. It was just a stupid phrase from a magazine, but his mind kept returning to his interactions with Florence as if trying to decipher something beyond his understanding.

"So, what’s your thing with her, anyway?" Pedri pressed.

"There’s no thing," Gavi said quickly.

"That’s not what it looks like. You get all worked up about her," Pedri pushed further.

"I don’t!" His voice came out louder than he intended, but he couldn’t let Pedri think he was right. Not when even he didn’t fully understand what was going on. The silence that followed made his stomach twist. He glanced at Pedri, who had raised his eyebrows.

"Your reaction proves my point," Pedri laughed, and Gavi rolled his eyes.

"Why are you being so annoying about this?" Gavi asked defensively.

"I’m just worried. You get too affected by what she says." Gavi abruptly stopped his workout, his mind flashing back to a similar accusation Florence herself had made.

He didn’t care that much about what she said; she was just... Boring, and someone had to tell her. Now that he knew who she was, she probably didn’t hear it enough. So, if the task fell to him, he would make sure she knew.

"If it were just a back-and-forth of insults, I wouldn’t be worried. But the problem is, it bothers you. I’m concerned it might start affecting your game," Pedri said with honest concern. Gavi swallowed hard. To him, Pedri’s worry was exaggerated. He didn’t care about what she said, quite the opposite, so he didn’t see how it could affect his performance. "I think you should ignore it if you want my advice."

Gavi thought about it and suppressed the urge to say he didn’t want the advice, but he didn’t want to be rude to Pedri. He understood his friend’s concern, but it was unwarranted. He wasn’t affected, and he wouldn’t let it impact his performance on the field.

"Yeah, I think I’ll just ignore it," Gavi said, avoiding Pedri's attentive gaze. Gavi remained silent for the rest of the training, lost in his thoughts.

******************************************

Florence used to love parties and gala dinners. Since she was a child, she was used to attending these events with her grandfather. They were her playground, where her favorite characters—football players from all over—were the main stars. She was always walking around, paying attention to conversations and taking photos.

But since her grandfather had turned it into a professional obligation, the events had become dull. Especially now, Florence felt he was still punishing her for the mess she had caused during the last El Clásico, which had drawn the kind of attention Florentino hated.

The King was hosting a special dinner for the Spanish national team, a sort of good luck in advance for the Nations League finals.

Florence was accompanying Carvajal, the Real Madrid player who had been called up. Both were greeting the royal family and had engaged in conversation. Florence listened carefully to what the princess was saying, but she wasn’t paying attention. There was something about her that got on her nerves, though she couldn’t explain what it was. That’s why she internally celebrated when others approached, allowing her to step aside.

"A little more of your visible irritation with the royal family, and I think we’d be kicked out," Carvajal whispered as they sat at their assigned table. "Princess rivalries," he joked, and Florence laughed.

"I’m not in the mood to be social tonight," Florence shrugged.

"Is your grandfather still making your life difficult?" He asked with concern, knowing well the expectations the man placed on his heir. Florence shrugged, choosing not to respond so the conversation would end quickly. She didn’t want to be there, and she didn’t want to talk about her grandfather.

Carvajal started a conversation with other players sitting at the same table, and Florence looked around the room, noticing a few important people. Her grandfather always said these events were about being noticed and building connections, and she was sure that when he saw her, he would ask for a summary, so that's why she walked gracefully around the room, greeting some important people.

But before she could venture further into the hall, she stopped as some speeches began, including one from the king. The man and his family loved sports and were always present when the Spanish national team was playing, so there was always a higher level of formality. Florence sighed in boredom; at other times, she would have loved all of this. As she watched the king’s speech intently, she felt an irritatingly familiar presence beside her and didn’t suppress the urge to roll her eyes. As if she had developed a sixth sense for noticing the player’s presence, she could use that to avoid running into him. After all, Florence was furious; because of him, she was at odds with her grandfather and had to deal with stupid, baseless rumors.

Gavi stopped next to the girl, and though she didn’t bother to look at him, the way she took a deep breath showed that she had noticed his presence.

"Is your mood bad because your team is doing poorly this season?" Gavi teased, and she finally looked at him.

"We’ll eventually find our way back, unlike you guys, who start well and then it’s a complete disaster." Gavi’s expression hardened, and a smile appeared on the girl’s face as he rolled his eyes and looked forward again.

"Have you figured it out yet?" Gavi looked at her again, his brows furrowed.

"What?" He asked, confused.

"The last time I saw you, you had that same confused look on your face. Have you figured out what it was?" She asked with a shrug, and Gavi’s mouth dropped in surprise at how well she had read him. Gavi quickly glanced back, seeing that Pedri had a watchful eye on him. Gavi gave a small smile to his friend and turned his attention back to the girl beside him, ignoring the memory of the conversation he had with Pedri.

"No," she concluded, turning to face forward with a smug smile.

"It wasn’t anything important." Gavi replied, trying not to lose face, and she looked at him, surprised.

"Are you sure? You seemed really bothered," she insisted.

"Oh, querida, is this concern for me?" Gavi joked, watching Florence grimace.

"Never," the girl quickly retorted. Gavi nodded with a smug smile, raising his glass to his mouth.

"Why aren’t you over there with your girlfriend?" Gavi choked on the liquid he was drinking, drawing attention from a few people, and felt his face heat up. He looked up at the girl in front of him, eyebrows raised and an amused smile on her face.

"What are you talking about?" Gavi asked, clearing his throat. Florence tilted her head in a direction, and Gavi followed it, seeing the king and his family in the distance. This time, Gavi's face twisted into a grimace.

"Your fans attacked me for days, claiming I was ruining their couple," Florence said humorously, remembering the numerous hateful messages she received after the confusion in the last El Clásico. Gavi had seen some fan pages sharing things along those lines—it was funny. The player looked at Florence, who remained focused on the royal family’s table, and then looked back at him.

"Would you leave your career for her?" Gavi resisted the urge to choke on his air.

"What are you talking about?" He asked indignantly.

"For you to date someone from the royal family, you wouldn’t be able to be a football player anymore. Because of all the rules they have to follow and everything," Florence explained. Gavi scanned the girl’s face for any sign of mockery, but she was serious. For the first time, they were having more than just teasing conversations, and it stirred an odd sensation deep in his stomach.

"I’m not going to stop being a football player," Gavi said impatiently, just thinking about it gave him a headache. Florence tilted her head, analyzing him.

"So how are you going to be with your princess?" Gavi rolled his eyes.

"Stop it," he said, feeling frustrated, his face heat up. A mocking smile appeared on Florence's face.

"Or, she’d have to stop being a princess to be with you, which honestly would be a mistake. Imagine, giving up being a princess for you." Florence looked him up and down, and the action deeply infuriates Gavi.

"Have you stopped being a disappointment to your grandfather?" Gavi asked all at once. The words flew out of his mouth so quickly that even he was surprised. Here's the thing: she pushed a nerve in him, something that drove him crazy, something he only felt at the height of adrenaline in a tight game. Gavi had seen that her grandfather’s approval was important to her, and the silent, hidden crying he had also witnessed, told him that he had hit a sensitive topic. The girl looked at him in shock, her eyes wide for a moment as if he had just struck an exposed nerve. Anger flashed across her face, hardening her expression. For a moment, her lips trembled as if she were about to say something, but the words failed to come out. Instead, Florence clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, and with a sharp motion, she pushed Gavi. She spun on her heels, her legs rigid as she marched toward the exit, each step echoing on the floor like a relentless beat. Involuntarily, Gavi found himself following her.

"Leave me alone," Florence said over her shoulder, visible irritation in her voice.

"You’re losing your talent for insulting me," Gavi said, more annoyed than he wanted to admit. Florence turned to face him.

"Don’t worry about that. You’re an idiot, a terrible player, with a huge ego," Florence said all at once, and Gavi laughed.

"If I’m such a terrible player and I still beat your team, what does that make them?" Gavi asked humorously, and Florence rolled her eyes.

"You got lucky. You can’t rely on luck forever, Pablo," she said with a shrug, and Gavi was a bit shocked because up until then, she had never mentioned his name.

"Oh sure, when you lose it’s the other team’s luck, but when you win, you’re extraordinary, practically a Renaissance masterpiece," Florence furrowed her brows and let out a small laugh at the insult but quickly tried to hide it, turning away and continuing her escape from the hall. Gavi promptly continued following her to a distant area. On the way, they bumped into someone. An older man, accompanied by what was probably his family, looked familiar—some director of one of the leagues or something like that, Gavi couldn’t quite remember.

"Miss Perez, your grandfather hasn’t replied to my emails," the man said bluntly. Florence took a step back, bumping into Gavi, visibly uncomfortable.

"He’s busy," Florence said simply, ignoring the man’s outstretched hand, and then he turned his attention to the player.

"Gavi, you’re having a brilliant season."

"Thank you, sir," Gavi replied, returning the gesture. The player couldn’t see Florence’s expression clearly, but he was sure she was rolling her eyes.

"My daughter is a fan, Charlotte," the man turned to the shy girl behind him, who took a step forward. Gavi extended his hand to greet the girl, who blushed. Florence rolled her eyes—seriously, what was it with girls and their fascination with him? Florence impatiently poked him, and the player quickly turned, seeing a disapproving look on Florence’s face.

"Oh, so the rumors are true," the man pointed to the two of them. "I thought Florentino Perez would never allow it, but it’s good for the new generations to understand that rivalry is only on the field." Gavi frowned, trying to decipher the director’s words. Gavi turned his attention back to the man, visibly confused by the direction of the conversation. "A beautiful couple."

"Yes, we have to go," Florence quickly interrupted, grabbing Gavi’s arm and dragging him away from the conversation before he could process what was happening.

"What was that?" Gavi asked, his voice filled with irritation and confusion. "You just implied we’re together. Have you lost your mind?"

Florence gave him an impassive look. "He was going to ask for a picture, and believe me, you don’t want to be associated with that man. I did you a favor."

"Favor? You’re just making everything more complicated," Gavi shot back, his eyes fixed on Florence, searching for an explanation. There was something more behind that gesture, something he couldn’t quite grasp but that made him uncomfortable.

Before he could press her further, Pedri appeared beside them, a mischievous smile on his face. "Hey, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?" He asked, clearly curious about the tension between them.

Gavi averted his gaze from Florence, his blood boiling with frustration. "No, she’s leaving," he responded brusquely, his tone colder than he intended.

Florence raised an eyebrow, defiant. "I’m not. Nice to meet you, I’m Flo..." She extended her hand to Pedri, but before she could finish the introduction, Gavi grabbed her hand and dragged her away, his touch firm and decisive.

As they moved away from Pedri, Gavi led her to the table where a player from her club was sitting, but when they got there, he hesitated. There was a palpable tension in the air, a heavy silence that neither of them knew how to break. Florence looked at him, perplexed, her expression shifting between confusion and frustration.

Gavi abruptly let go of her hand, the warmth of the contact still pulsing on his skin. "Why do you feel the need to disrupt my life?" he muttered, more to himself than to her, but Florence heard him.

She took a step closer, narrowing the distance between them, her eyes shining with an intensity that made him hold his breath. "Isn't that what we both do?" she replied quietly, her voice laced with something deeper, something Gavi wasn’t ready to face. "Why are you so upset about this?" Her eyebrows furrowed in clear confusion.

Gavi stared at her for a long moment, lost in the intensity of that gaze. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words failed him. The strange sensation in his stomach that he had felt earlier was now almost unbearable. He knew he should say something, anything, but all he could do was shake his head and walk away, leaving Florence behind, unsure if he was running from her or himself.

Gavi walked away, the feeling of disorientation growing with each step. As he moved further, he realized that contrary to what he had imagined, Florence's presence still lingered in his mind, like a persistent echo. He tried to convince himself that the discomfort was just irritation, but the image of her intense gaze wouldn't leave his thoughts, her voice was imprinted deep in his mind. It was deafening and maddening, the space she had occupied in his head, and he couldn’t understand or control the effects she had on him.

**********************************************

Gavi walked quickly through the hallway leading to the box where his family was. For the past few weeks, he had been avoiding the people who knew him so well, especially his sister, who could read his mind with just one look. With the mess inside his head, he decided he didn’t want to face them, which is why he hadn’t been going to his family house. Instead, he hid away in his apartment in the city center, so he could be alone with his confusion without anyone asking him about it.

He hugged his family quickly and exchanged a few words, a slight discomfort hanging in the air. Then he said goodbye just as quickly, but not before his sister Aurora stepped in front of him and looked at him intently.

“What’s going on?” she asked directly. Gavi frowned and grimaced.

“Nothing, Aurorita.” Gavi forced a smile and saw the frown deepen on his sister’s face.

“You only call me that when you want something or are hiding something from me,” she concluded.

“I’m not hiding anything,” Gavi shrugged.

“But something is going on. You’ve been avoiding us, you look exhausted, and according to your friends, you’re more annoying than usual.” His sister looked at him with concern. Gavi swallowed hard, feeling the anger rising within him, but he knew it wasn’t fair to take it out on his own family.

“I swear, it’s not—” Gavi didn’t finish his sentence, because the voice he heard echoing from the hallway caught his attention. He looked back so fast he felt a strain in his neck, but there was no one there. Great, that damned voice was stuck in his head.

He turned his attention back to his sister, who was watching him curiously, but before he could continue speaking, the voice echoed again, this time louder. “I have to go,” he said quickly, kissing his sister on the cheek before pulling away.

He walked fast down the corridor, but his steps were cautious, once again that feeling that a monster might jump at him at any moment crept in. In an involuntary gesture, Gavi clenched his fists, a growing anger, a strange sensation burning in his chest. As he rounded the corner in the hallway, he saw the monster that had been haunting his mind.

She was leaning against the wall, her phone pressed to her ear, one hand on her hip. Florence’s eyes were closed as she listened attentively to the voice on the other end of the line. She seemed completely absorbed in the conversation, her face drawn in visible frustration. Gavi, leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway, watched the scene with a sick satisfaction. Seeing her suffer comforted him in a way he refused to admit. It was a relief to know that, like him, she was also under pressure.

“What do you want me to do?” she said in a louder tone, breaking the bubble of concentration she was in. Gavi narrowed his eyes, realizing she hadn’t yet noticed his presence. A sly smile formed on his lips as he impulsively decided he wanted to interrupt whatever was happening.

“You’re not at your home to be yelling like that,” he said casually, not caring if the person on the other end of the line could hear him. And there it was, big blue eyes, looking straight at him. Florence’s response was an eye roll as if his presence was insignificant.

“No, I’m not,” she said into the phone, completely ignoring Gavi, which instantly irritated him.

.“I can’t do that, and I won’t,” she continued, her eyes now fixed on his. He saw impatience growing in her, but he also noticed something deeper, something he rarely saw: her eyes began to shine with a repressed emotion. She was becoming emotional, and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

Without thinking twice, Gavi crossed the hallway with firm steps, snatching the phone from Florence’s hand and ending the call without ceremony. The gesture was brusque and impulsive, but seeing the surprise and anger in her eyes made him feel... Something.

“What did you do?” Florence practically shouted, her voice filled with disbelief. Gavi froze for a second, only then realizing what he had done. Her expression grew even more perplexed when, out of pure reflex, he covered her mouth with one hand.

“I already told you, you’re not at your home to be yelling like that,” he said quickly, trying to maintain control. She frowned, and with a swift movement, pushed his hands away, her blue eyes sparkling with fury. Gavi felt a current of electricity run through his body at the brief contact, and he hated how that kept happening. His eyes locked on hers for a second longer than necessary, and he found himself wondering if she felt it too.

“Have you gone mad? He’s going to be furious,” she muttered, more to herself than to him, which only increased the tension. Florence made a desperate attempt to retrieve her phone, but Gavi lifted it out of her reach.

She grunted, frustrated and visibly exhausted. “Can you stop being so annoying?” she asked, almost in exasperation. For a brief moment, Gavi let his eyes wander over her face, and suddenly he understood. The weight of the conversation. It was about her grandfather. Of course it was about him.

Florence rarely showed vulnerability, especially not in front of him. But whenever her grandfather was involved, it was like an invisible wall came crashing down around her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, her voice lower now, but still full of tension. Gavi frowned, confused.

“I don’t need your pity,” she snapped, crossing her arms in front of her body in a gesture of self-protection. Gavi noticed the movement. It was subtle but clear. A barrier. He knew that gesture; he had seen it many times. Maybe she wasn’t as impenetrable as she wanted to seem. And knowing that made him feel a mix of power and discomfort.

“I don’t pity you,” he replied, letting out a short laugh. She rolled her eyes again, but this time, without the same force. When she didn’t throw a quick retort, he decided to press her. “Quite the opposite... I’m just making sure you behave. Like I said, you’re not at home.”

“Thank God I’m not,” Florence shot back. “I’d be extremely upset if this were my house.”

Gavi narrowed his eyes. “Are you ready to lose?” he asked, his voice dripping with provocation.

“Vinicius is going to destroy you today,” she replied confidently, making Gavi laugh out loud.

“You wish, querida,” he said with disdain. At that moment, Florence’s phone vibrated in his hand, and without thinking, Gavi glanced at the screen. The sight of a photo of Florence with the other player, he felt anger someway...

“Of course...” he muttered to himself before tossing the phone back to her, his irritation now evident.

Florence caught it in the air and looked at him for a moment before shaking her head, clearly exhausted from the exchange. Gavi, on the other hand, felt something shift inside him. He was eager for the game, not just because it would be the last El Clásico at Camp Nou before the stadium renovations, but because, somehow, something else was consuming him from within. Something he couldn’t name.

When the ball started rolling, Gavi played with unmatched intensity. He was truly having the game of his life, but his teammates didn’t seem to keep up with his pace. Misplaced passes, missed goals—it all piled up. He was furious.

"You need to tone down your intensity, or you’ll end up getting sent off," Xavi warned during the halftime break.

Gavi let out a sarcastic chuckle. "If the rest of the team was playing, I wouldn’t have to," he muttered. The locker room fell silent for a brief moment. He waited for some reaction, but nothing came. Xavi kept talking, and everyone started getting ready for the second half.

As he put on his jersey, he felt Pedri’s gaze on his back, watching his every move.

“What?” Gavi asked, frustrated.

“I thought we agreed you’d ignore her,” said Pedri, reminding him of the last conversation they had. Gavi rolled his eyes.

“I am,” he replied, frowning.

“Then why did Aurora text me asking what you had with her?” Pedri turned his phone, showing a picture of Gavi and Florence in the hallway.

“Aurora are being nosy. And so are you,” Gavi said, his patience running thin. “And why are you so interested? Are you interested in her?”

Pedri laughed. “As if you’d let that happen.”

That phrase hit him in a way he hadn’t expected. It bothered him deeply. “Man, I’m not trying to push your buttons,” Pedri started, but Gavi cut him off.

“Then don’t,” he shot back, his voice cold. “You’re annoying me with this. Nothing is going on, so stop getting involved.”

Pedri raised his hands in surrender, stepping back. But Gavi was already at his limit. He stormed out of the locker room, bursting with pent-up energy.

In the second half, his intensity only grew. The frustration with Pedri, the confusion about Florence, the team’s mediocre performance—all of it boiled inside him. When Vinicius Jr. ran down the left side of the field. Gavi didn’t think. He slid in, taking the player down aggressively.

Chaos ensued. Real Madrid players rushed at him, and Gavi, of course, didn’t back down. He shoved Benzema, who was yelling in his face until the referee intervened. Vinicius got up with a mocking smile, and Gavi tried to go at him again, only to be held back by his teammates.

The red card was inevitable.

Laughing in disdain, he walked off the field. His eyes drifted toward the box seats as if trying to spot Florence. The anger boiled inside him. As he shrugged off Xavi, who was both trying to confront and reprimand him, he headed straight for the locker room, ignoring everything and everyone.

When he turned the corner, there she was, sitting on a bench. He huffed, frustrated.

He huffed, frustrated. "Not now, Florence. I’m not in the mood for your provocations." His words came out harsher than he intended, but it was the truth. Her presence stirred something in him that he didn’t know how to deal with. She slowly raised her gaze from her phone, with an expression he couldn’t read. The air between them suddenly felt heavier, as if something unspoken hung in the space between them.

"Not everything I do is about you, querido." Florence shot back, but this time, there was no teasing. The absence of mockery in her tone threw him off. It was rare to see her like this, without her usual wall of sarcasm. And for a second, he felt an opening, a crack in the wall she kept so high. "But if you want some advice..."

"I don’t," Gavi said sharply. What was it with the people close to him today wanting to give him advice and tell him what to do? Florence stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and Gavi felt his throat go dry at the sudden closeness. His eyes ran over her face—there was no sign of irony, no sign of irritation, but still, Gavi could see that lingering glimmer in her eyes, the one he had promised himself he would strip away so he could see it more clearly.

"Your intensity and provocation on the field will be appreciated up to a certain point. But at some point, it’s going to get annoying, to the point where even your fans will start to hate it," she said in a surprisingly calm tone. That caught him off guard. Florence rarely spoke with such gentleness. She looked him straight in the eyes, and Gavi felt a discomfort growing in his chest.

That was new, and he didn’t know how to handle it. His mind immediately went back to when he saw her at the gala dinner hosted by the king, and she stopped him from taking pictures with a guest, someone Gavi later realized wouldn’t have been a good association. He looked at her, confused.

Florence raised her eyebrows, waiting for a response. He wanted to speak, but he didn’t know what to say. Could she be right? The doubt appeared quickly and annoyingly, but he pushed it away. No. He was playing well, and giving it his all. There was nothing wrong with that. Still, the uneasiness grew.

Ignoring how he felt, he turned his back on her and headed for the locker room. But no matter how hard he tried, her words echoed in his head. The discomfort increased. Why was this bothering him so much? Maybe she wasn’t wrong. Maybe he was so surprised by the calm and honest tone that he didn’t know how to react. That wasn’t her, that wasn’t them. The player stopped on his heel and turned back. Immediately, a smirk appeared on the girl's face.

"You know what, I don’t need your advice. You can’t just sit on your pedestal and think you have any superiority to talk to me." Gavi snapped, completely annoyed.

“Okay...” she replied with amusement. “I told you I wasn’t your good luck charm.” She raised her brows. Gavi furrowed his, confused, and then his mind recalled when he had made that connection. There it was—the provocation, the irony. That he could handle, that he could push back against. Gavi chose not to respond, so he turned and continued on his way without saying another word.

Gavi had declined his usual ride with Pedri, still embarrassed by the way he had treated his friend. He also didn’t want to go with his family because they would ask questions about his mood and his expulsion, especially his sister, who would bombard him with comments, and the last thing he wanted was to be rude to yet another person that night.

So now he was with his friend Chris, about to enter his friend’s girlfriend’s house. It was funny how Chris had a key to her parents’ house and everything, for someone who swore the relationship wasn’t serious, it was at quite an advanced stage.

“Baby,” Danielle said as soon as Chris walked in, kissing and hugging him. Gavi quickly looked away from the scene, feeling awkward for a few minutes. “Oh, you brought company,” Danielle said, stepping away from her boyfriend and greeting Gavi with a quick hug.

“You're okay with it, right?” Chris asked, and Gavi wanted to kill him because he had sworn he had already talked to her.

“Yeah, it’s just... well, I had to bring someone too,” Danielle said, somewhat hesitant.

“Oh, it’s fine, it’s not like we’re short on rooms. If it’s a cute girl, they could even share a room, and Gavi could finally get out of his rut.” Gavi flipped his friend off while Danielle let out an overly loud and awkward laugh. Chris looked at her, confused.

“They’d kill each other before that happens...” she muttered under her breath, but Gavi heard it, which confused him until he heard footsteps coming from the stairs and a familiar voice that had been haunting him everywhere.

“Dani, are these the only towels you have?” Silence fell when the figure appeared at the top of the stairs, distracted by something on her phone, not even bothering to look up. Danielle quickly glanced between her boyfriend and Gavi.

“Florence, darling, I told you we don’t have 500-thread Egyptian cotton towels or anything like that. We’re mere mortals. My mom was hoping you’d bring some so she could steal them from you,” Danielle said, walking toward what Gavi now realized was her friend. The girl finally lifted her eyes to her friend and then noticed there were more people there.

“Oh, hi, Chris...” She came down the last step and then got a full view of Gavi. “You’ve got to be kidding me...” she said, shocked. Gavi rolled his eyes.

“Oh, right,” Chris said, finally catching on. “You guys are enemies and all that,” he said, moving to stand next to his girlfriend. Gavi was in his bubble of shock. He quickly glanced around and realized that Danielle’s house was the same one where Chris had hosted his last party, where he had also ended up running into Florence. Gavi had always wanted to ask how his friend knew Florence but had never had the chance—or needed to.

Florence crossed her arms in front of her body and raised an eyebrow at Gavi. If she expected him to greet her, she could keep waiting. All he wanted was to end the night in peace; she had already disturbed his life enough that day. He must have seriously offended the universe with how it was playing tricks on him. With the distance between Madrid and Barcelona, and considering the teams only had four Clásicos that year, their encounters were becoming strangely frequent.

It was almost as if his hatred for her had the power to transport her directly into his reality.

Gavi looked at his friend and saw him whispering something to Danielle, who was watching the scene, concerned. Before anyone could say anything, the doorbell rang.

“Thank God...” Danielle exhaled. “It must be the pizza.” She laughed awkwardly and walked past everyone to the door. Before Gavi could see who it was, he noticed Florence’s eyes widen, her mouth dropping open in shock, which made him turn quickly, seeing a tall man dressed in a suit.

“I’m not going back,” she said, her voice rising, with something Gavi couldn’t identify as anger or disappointment.

“Come on, Florence, your grandfather told me not to leave here without you. And if necessary, to carry you.” The man sounded impatient. Gavi looked back at Florence; her eyes were bright, and her face was turning red. That strange feeling inside Gavi returned.

“Well, tell him you didn’t find me,” Florence said simply.

“Your grandfather knows this is the only place you’d come. He asked me to remind you that you’re still a minor, and he’s responsible for you when your parents aren’t around.” The man continued. Florence let out a bitter laugh.

“Well, you’ll have to carry me then because I’m not going voluntarily,” Florence retorted, defiant. Gavi glanced at the man by the door. Despite his cold posture, Gavi could sense worry and hesitation in his face.

“He said if you don’t come with me, he’ll disinherit you, and you’re fired from your club duties.” Silence fell over the room to the point where even breathing could no longer be heard. Gavi lowered his eyes to the floor, somewhat shocked by the direction the conversation had taken, and also refused to look at Florence because he knew if he did, that strange feeling inside him would return to haunt him.

“Incredible,” she said with a shaky breath, and it was impossible not to look at her. She swallowed hard, her eyes briefly falling on Gavi’s, and he saw her face turn red again. Gavi wanted to make some sarcastic comment, maybe smirk at the situation, but he just couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to; he just kept his eyes on hers.

“Florence, your grandfather will disinherit you when he finds out about this,” the man said more firmly, noticing the exchange of looks between the two. Gavi looked at him, confused about what he was referring to. Florence sighed heavily and walked past everyone, grabbing the bag that was on the couch. She quickly hugged Danielle.

“I’ll see you in Madrid,” she said, kissing her friend on the cheek and heading out the door, bumping into the driver.

Danielle quickly closed the door and then turned to Gavi.

“I know you love provoking her, but if you tell anyone about this or use it against her, I’ll kill you myself,” she said firmly to Gavi, who widened his eyes. He didn’t know if he was more shocked by the way she had spoken to him or by the fact that Florence had talked about him with someone and even blamed him for their situation. If it was her who provoked him, ironically, Danielle’s words had no effect, as Gavi couldn’t suppress the internal laugh at the thought that he now had something to continue his exchange with Florence.

**********************************************

a/n: I hope you guys have like this one, let me know... We probably won't have the same scheme as it was with pedriii, with three chapters, and bonus ones.

[souenkun]

Bagged plushie aoki-kun during a discount and I have no regrets at all!!! 💸

[luck-of-the-drawings]

FOR A BEAT OF HEART, THE BREATH IS SHOT. AND WITHIN A BREATH, THE HEART IS CAUGHT. THE PIPES ARE BURSTING, UNDER GREAT STRESS, BOLTS TORN ASUNDER, MAKING A MESS. A FINAL COUGH, A FINAL RETCH, A GOREY SLOUGH, CLAIMED BY WRETCH.

[mixed-up-metaphors]

weird practice doodle comic thing idk 2/2

(first one is over here)

in case you are bamboozled and missed the first post this is just me ranting/rambling abt dimitri and ashe and ghosts in comic form

huzzah, the rest of the first one featuring uhhhhhhh idk lol its like the first one. But Now With A Brief Appearance From Our Special Guest, Dedue!!!!!!!!

[arhvste]

“this is killing me.” kuroo mumbled as he tossed his phone to his side. “just trust me bro,” his best friend-turned roommate bokuto grinned. “this works everytime for me i swear!”

kuroo sighed before grabbing phone again to refresh his instagram story views once more. several people had already viewed the post-gym mirror selfie he’d taken in attempts to garner attention from one particular follower of his; you. “maybe it’s too cringe…” he muttered while over analysing the photo that had already gained a couple of likes within the twenty minutes it had already been up for. “nah.” bokuto reassured him and pat his friend on the shoulder. “you look sexy.” kuroo stared back at the two-toned haired boy. “… thanks bro.”

this isn’t something kuroo would typically post but times were tough and he was desperate. he’d seen you around campus but luck was not on his side when it came to scheduling and the two of you barely had class time together. yet the little class time you did share, kuroo hung onto it tightly and would let scenes of these weekly one hour classes replay in his head more often than he’d like to admit.

“i feel like a modern jay gatsby,” the ex volleyball captain huffed. “my selfie is the equivalent of the wild parties he’d throw in hopes to get daisy’s attention except i don’t want to post every night, i’ve already made myself cringe with this one post.” bokuto stared back at his friend blankly. “yeah… whatever that means.” kuroo frowned back “it’s a classic, you should know what i mean!”

how much longer was he going to have to wait? bokuto had promised him quick results with this method and so far he’d felt deceived and lied to. if talking to you when he got the chance wasn’t enough to get a conversation going outside the classroom, then social media seemed like the next best attempt to start interacting more.

what were you doing? why weren’t you viewing his story? could you even see his story? did he accidentally block you?

these questions ran through his mind as he quickly rushed to check to make sure he hadn’t for some reason blocked you from seeing his story. he half wished he did because then at least he’d know what on earth was taking you so damn long to see the photo he was increasingly starting to hate more the longer it was posted.

“this is stupid.” he stated as he faced bokuto who had zero concerns in his method in gaining someone’s attention. “it works you just have to wait, trust me.”

kuroo frowned as the little red hearts of others who weren’t you fluttered from the bottom corner of the photo. “look!” his best friend grinned as he leaned over kuroo’s shoulder and pointed to the screen of his phone. “you’re getting likes on it!”

“what’s the point if they’re not likes from the person i posted this for in the first place.” kuroo grumbled back in response. he couldn’t believe he’d been subjected to such an attempt to gain some attention from you. it was ridiculous.

it had been about forty five minutes since he’d posted it and he was slowly losing his mind. sure, the post was going to be up for twenty four hours (if he didn’t give into the voices in his head telling him to delete it) so forty five minutes was nothing, but the minutes were beginning to feel like hours and he was dying inside. why weren’t you viewing it already and what could possibly be keeping you off your phone right now?

“this is stupid.” he decided as notifications from his old team mates started to flash up on his screen. the last thing he needed was lev replying with ‘looksmaxing’ to a post that was secretly dedicated to you. “no, it’s barely been up!” bokuto whined. “you look hot so you should get some replies anyway what’s the big deal?”

pinching the bridge of his nose, kuroo huffed. “the big deal is the person i posted this for hasn’t replied!” what was the point in making sure to go to the gym during a rest day just to take this photo if he wasn’t going to at least make his existence more known to you? he’d even worked his legs enough to the point of managing to achieve the sweaty but sexy look. the muscles in his legs were dying, but his dignity sure as hell wouldn’t.

the college student opened up his phone with the intention to end the mental war inside his head once and for all by deleting the post altogether. bokuto watched his friend in defeat but his eyes flashed. “yes they did!” he yelled and pointed to the screen as your name flashed at the top of his screen.

kuroo’s heart jumped at the sight of your profile picture he’d made a daily routine of staring at and the now blue dot indicating a message from your profile in his inbox. to think he was going to delete this post just a second too, what were the chances?

psyching himself up, kuroo took a few quiet deep breathes before letting the time next to your message pass for a few minutes. he wasn’t an instagram warrior by any means, but he knew enough about general rules in order to not look desperate online.

bokuto watched over his friends shoulders as the two stared in anticipation awaiting the message kuroo had been dying for. this was it. leg day two times in a row was gruelling and he’d regret it for the next few days but it would have been worth it. the countless messages from his old teammates mocking his attempts at a thirst trap could be looked past now that you had finally given into the bait he’d so carefully laid. this is what he’d been waiting for. days of preparing and deciding how to gain your attention had finally paid off and he was about to reap the rewards he’d sown.

clicking the message with baited breath, his heart raced as bokuto’s grip of his shoulder tightened. finally.

‘the label on your shirt is sticking out, make sure to cut it’

“a wins a win.” bokuto filled the silence between the pair as kuroo stared at his phone with a blank expression. “… a wins a win…”

[ohdeerfully]

alastor request HAI can it be based on the fact that alastor doesn't sleep, and it's his lover finding out that petting his ears during cuddling makes him fall asleep.

thank you for your service

yess i love sleepy alastor thank u so much anon :D!!

Goodmorning, Love

Alastor x Reader (fluff) TW: none! join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

You were well aware of the Radio Demon’s sleep habits. Or, well, lack of sleep habits. You often spent nights in his room, where he would sit with you in bed until you fell asleep and go do whatever the hell he gets up to late at night. You always woke up in an empty room, and often so in the middle of the night, struggling to rest again as a greedy tightness gripped your chest in worry and disappointment.

You understood, though, and tried your best not to let it get to you that you didn’t have his warm body next to you when you woke every morning. But you couldn’t help that twinge of sadness. You weren’t particularly needy or clingy, but would it kill him to stay in bed with you for a single night? And to have a slice of domestic bliss as you woke up?

Obviously. 

You roll your eyes as you lay, staring up at the ceiling. You had just gotten ready for bed, and now waited for said demon to join you for a few hours. Your fingers tapped, impatient, against your chest as you hummed absentmindedly.

“How lovely,” You heard him speak. Tickles of that radio static that always followed him clung to your exposed skin, which was signal enough that he had entered the room had he not announced himself. “What a siren you are, luring me here with that hum of yours.”

You smiled slightly at his comment, scooching over slightly to encourage him over. He obliged, joining you under the covers. He still wore his usual outfit, which made sense considering his tendency to go away all night. You purse your lips at the thought, slightly chewing on the skin.

“Why the face?” Of course he noticed your expression. He always noticed when any emotion tickled your face. You appreciated the genuine tone in his voice, the typical buzz of radio barely detectable in his words. He always got a little softer and kinder when he was alone with you like this.

You appreciated nights with him, being able to see a side of him that nobody else would live to spread word of. You enjoyed feeling a little special, especially to somebody like him.

“Do you think you could stay in,” You asked cautiously, fiddling with your hands as you inched closer to him, pressing your body against his. Even laying, he still seemed much taller than you. You gingerly guided his head down, against your chest as you spoke, hoping the multitasking would keep him from sitting up and rejecting your intimate gestures. “Just for a night. I miss you all night long.”

He allowed his head to lay against you. He did feel tense, of course, letting the back of his head be exposed in this manner as he lay vulnerable on you. It was a strange feeling, but not one he cared to consider for too long. 

“(Y/N),” He began with a sigh. “It’s impossible for me to get much done during the day, what with all the running around Charlie does. Somebody has to keep an eye on that young princess. I prefer to stay awake to get my own errands done at night.” 

I know that, you wanted to say and interrupt his explanatory ramble. You wanted to beg him to understand, just this once. You held in a sigh, watching as his head gently rose and fell with every breath you took. Maybe you should just take this submission from him as good enough.

You gingerly began tangling your fingers through his red hair, brushing out any kinks he may have gotten throughout the day. His tense body seemed to ease slightly, becoming more and more relaxed as you weaved your fingers through the locks.

“You have really soft hair, Al,” You commented, changing the subject. You figured there was no use convincing him. You let your fingers lightly trail upwards, up to his ears. You grazed them slightly with a finger. You touched again. When he made no motion of dislike, you fully began rubbing them. Petting him. You smiled to yourself at the idea of petting the feared Radio Demon. “And your ears are even softer.”

“I try to take care of myself,” He responded proudly. There was another hint of something in his voice, but you couldn’t quite place what it was. But it seemed heavy. “A well groomed man is a successful one.” You absentmindedly agreed as you stroked the velvety fur of his ears, switching back and forth between them and his hair. You had a preference for the ears, though.

You sighed and began humming quietly again. He rarely got so… comfortable, even around you. He always had some sort of guard up, always had his shoulders squared. He almost never became so… loose and vulnerable.

You noticed the clippings of radio frequency had stopped, which was a noise that was ever present in his wake. You had a suspicion why it disappeared, a small grin forming on your face.

Yes, the Radio Demon never slept. But that was a choice he made, not a curse that prevented him. Even demons get tired. You don’t know how Alastor makes it day by day without a wink of rest, but it was apparent that exhaustion had built up in him. He just needed to relax for a second.

You graced your fingers over his fringe, and craned your neck in a way to get a glance at his face. Yeah, you were right. 

He laid there, eyes shut, features relaxed with the lightest grin playing on his face. Even in sleep, you complained. It didn’t really matter. What mattered was the sound of his deep, slow breathing and occasional twitch of his velvety ears. You briefly wondered what the Radio Demon would dream about.

Would he be aggravated with you when he woke up, realizing you had practically cast a sleep spell on him? You didn’t, but the rate of which exhaustion took over may as well have been some sort of magic.

You shut your own heavy eyes, exhaling lightly as you continued to comfort yourself with the texture of his fur and hair. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

You craned your arms and neck as consciousness came back to you, but an unfamiliar weight kept you from getting that good stretch in. Momentarily confused, you blinked open and looked down.

Red and black hair, more of a mess than usual, still took place on your torso. This was a first, and your chest felt like exploding with the glee of seeing Alastor still resting with you. He somehow looked even more relaxed than the night before, his cheek flush against your stomach, squishing his lips up slightly. A light grin was still there.

You gently brushed your fingers over his face, trailing a line around his features with an index finger. His eyes squeezed for a moment, and that static ambience of his slowly, quietly, returned. It was a noise that you had learned to find comfort in. He slowly opened his red eyes, a confused and sleepy daze clouding them. There was a wrinkle in his brow as he roughly propped himself up with an elbow, looking up at you with a furrowed expression.

“(Y/N)..?” He trailed, pausing to take in a shuddering morning yawn through a confused smirk. “Did I… Dear, what time is it?”

You looked at him tenderly. Oh, how cute he was, sleepy like this. Composed like an exhausted kid. Something even you have never seen before.

“Yeah,” You responded to his unspoken question. “It’s probably seven a.m. or so. I dunno.” There wasn’t a clock in your immediate line of sight.” “A.m. …” He said slowly. He sat up fully, looking down in disappointment at his wrinkled day wear. He quickly blinked the sleep from his eyes and managed to bring some composure to himself, but that lick of exhaustion was still prominent. Especially under his eyes.

“Yeah,” You said again, a light chuckle following. “Goodmorning, Al.”

He wasn’t obviously upset, it seemed. Though he probably was too tired to think about it too much yet. Maybe later.

“Well… Goodmorning, love.” He responded, still with a hint of confusion in his voice. “I suppose I accepted your plea from last night.” He brushed at his clothes while he spoke, trying to flatten out the creases that were brought on through a night of rest.

“Maybe more often?” You asked, twiddling your thumbs in anticipation. You already knew the answer, but it was okay. You knew how to keep him in now. You mischievously smirked as he closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Unlikely.”

[pedrospatch]

flutter

Jackson! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

“Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner. 

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair. 

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?” 

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten. 

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home. 

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains. 

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

[harrysfolklore]

yn piastri fretting over oscar’s broken rib and oscar’s like, “gee you’re worst than mum” & nicole’s just like, “yeah i don’t need to worry about oscar when yn’s around”

the rumors are true: i'm obsessed with writing this little scenarios

read little bitch here

"Are you absolutely sure you're comfortable? Maybe we should prop you up a bit more," you hover anxiously over Oscar, adjusting his pillow for the third time in as many minutes." Oh, and do you need more ice? I can run and get some. Actually, should we call the doctor again? Just to double-check everything's okay?"

"YN, I'm fine," Oscar groans, "It's just a broken rib, not the end of the world. I'll be racing in Hungary next weekend anyway."

"What? No, absolutely not!" your eyes widen in alarm. "You can't race with a broken rib, Oscar. That's insane!"

Oscar rolls his eyes dramatically. "It's cracked, not broken. And I've been cleared by the medical team," he stresses, "You're worse that mum sometimes."

From her seat in the corner, Nicole chuckles. "Oh yeah, I don't even have to worry about you when your sister is around. She's got the overprotective mother role covered."

"Thanks, Mum," you say, turning to her. "My therapist has great opinions about it. She says my anxiety comes from a place of love."

"Yeah, well, your love is suffocating me right now," Oscar snorts.

"Osc, I'm just worried about you," you stressed again, "It's too dangerous. What if you crash? What if your rib punctures a lung? What if-"

"What if aliens invade during the race?" Oscar interrupts, mimicking your concerned tone. "What if a meteor hits the track? What if I suddenly forget how to drive?"

"This isn't funny, Oscar! I'm serious!"

"So am I! Carlos nearly drove with a burst appendix, and he was fine!"

Carlos, who's been quietly watching the siblings' back-and-forth like a tennis match, pipes up. "Well, 'fine' might be stretching it. I was in quite a bit of pain, actually."

You whirled on Carlos, who suddenly looked very interested in the ceiling. "Oh, don't even get me started on that piece of stupidity!"

"In my defense," Carlos cleared his throat awkwardly. "I didn't actually race…"

"Only because the team had more sense than you did!" you exclaimed.

"Back when you pretended to hate Carlos but you were at the edge of your seat worrying the entire time he was at the hospital," Oscar teased, making you roll your eyes.

"That's not the point right now," you crosses your arms over your chest, glaring at Oscar. "We're talking about your safety, not my past… concerns."

"Oh, but I think it is relevant," Oscar grins mischievously, sensing an opportunity. "Remember how you kept texting the group chat every five minutes when Carlos was in the hospital? 'Just being a decent human being,' you said. As if we couldn't see right through you."

You feel your cheeks heat up, aware of Carlos' gaze on you. "That's... that's completely irrelevant," you stammer.

"Is that so, hermosa?" Carlos chuckles softly, moving to stand beside you. "I didn't know you cared so much back then."

You shoot Carlos a look that's half embarrassment, half exasperation. "Don't you start. And you," you turn back to Oscar, pointing an accusing finger, "stop trying to change the subject. We're talking about your cracked rib and your ridiculous idea to race with it."

Nicole, who's been watching the exchange with poorly concealed amusement, decides to intervene. "Alright, kids, let's all take a breath. YN, honey, I understand you're worried. But Oscar's right - he's been cleared by the medical team. They wouldn't let him race if it wasn't safe."

"But-" you start to protest, only to be cut off by Oscar.

"No buts," he says firmly. "I appreciate the concern, sis, I really do. But this is my job, and sometimes it comes with risks. I promise I'll be careful, okay?"

You sigh, feeling your resolve weaken. "Fine. But I swear, Oscar, if you so much as wince during that race, I'm storming the track myself."

"Now that I'd pay to see. YN vs. Formula 1 security," Carlos jokes, "My money's on you, mi amor."

As you and Oscar continue to bicker, your mom and Carlos exchange amused glances. Carlos leans towards her, speaking in a low voice.

"Has YN always been like this?" he asks, a fond smile playing on his lips as he watches you fuss over Oscar.

"Oh, you have no idea," Nicole chuckles softly. "This is actually quite mild compared to when they were kids. There was this one time when Oscar was about seven, and he fell off his bike. Scraped his knee pretty badly. YN, who was ten at the time, went into full nurse mode."

"What did she do?" Carlos raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Well," she continues, "She insisted on 'quarantining' Oscar in his room for a week, claiming he needed complete bed rest. She even made a 'Do Not Disturb: Patient Recovering' sign for his door. Poor Oscar was going stir-crazy by day two, but YN wouldn't let him leave. She brought him all his meals, read him stories, everything."

Carlos can't help but laugh at the image. "That sounds exactly like something she would do."

"Oh, it gets better," Nicole grins. "When I finally convinced her that Oscar was fine to go outside, she insisted on wrapping him in bubble wrap before he could ride his bike again. Said it was 'necessary protective gear'. Oscar looked like a little astronaut waddling down the street."

Their laughter catches your attention, and you pause in your debate with Oscar about the dangers of racing with a cracked rib. "What's so funny?" you ask suspiciously.

Before Nicole can respond, Oscar, catching on to the conversation, groans dramatically. "Oh god, Mum, please tell me you're not telling the bubble wrap story."

Your eyes widen in realization, and you feel a blush creeping up your neck. "Mum! You promised never to mention that again!"

Carlos, still chuckling, wraps an arm around your waist. "I think it's adorable, hermosa. You've always been a protector."

"Well control your girlfriend! She's trying to bubble wrap me again, I swear!"

"I am not! Although..." you trail off, a mischievous glint in your eye, "it's not a bad idea for the race. Extra padding couldn't hurt, right?"

"YN, no!"

[saduko]

HARD TO MISS

Lando Norris x Driver!Reader 7.9K words

Summary: You had driven sick many times before, but never sick enough to retire from a race. Now Lando was worried about you and how the media was going to react. But maybe this was just about the best thing that could of happened to him. Or in which, reader gets sick during the Spanish GP race and has to face the looming media presence after retiring early with a newfound anger she's never experienced. She was a mess of emotions, acting so different, or maybe it wasn't just her being strange.

Teammates, established relationship, an unexpected surprise?? Note: this unfortunately is a re-upload because my dumbass literally deleted the post the first time I posted it despite it being up for days. Yes I'm mad, and no this isn't edited because of it.

The heat of the Spanish sun beat down on the track, the asphalt shimmering with a relentless intensity that seemed to seep through the cockpit. You gripped the steering wheel tighter, your knuckles whitening as you fought to keep your focus on the race ahead, hot, fast breaths heaving through your helmet like a symphony. The familiar roar of the engine, usually a comforting sound, felt more like a distant hum as yet another wave of nausea rolled through you.

This wasn’t the first time you’d raced under less-than-ideal conditions, but today felt different. The adrenaline that usually sharpened your senses now seemed to amplify the queasiness in your stomach, every bump and turn on the track making it harder to push the discomfort aside. You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising bile as you powered through another corner, the car responding to your every command despite the growing turmoil within.

The twisting and turning of the track seemed endless, each lap blurring into the next as your vision narrowed, tunnel-like, around the path ahead. You knew you needed to speak up, to let your team know something was wrong, but the words felt heavy on your tongue, weighted down by the fear of admitting weakness. Finally, you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

"I'm not feeling very well."

The twisting and turning of the track was making it hard for you to settle your stomach enough to find your voice, but when you had, there was a long silence on the other end. Ears alert with anticipation as nothing came through, before the thick accent of your engineer, Marlow finally sounded in with a panicked voice, "Are you feeling faint?"

"Not really.” You huffed. “I feel quite nauseous though. My stomach is not cooperating."

There was a short silence through your head piece before a shuffle was heard on the other side, followed by a concerned, "Should we retire the car?"

The suggestion shakes you and a quick puff of air leaves your mouth in order to hopefully settle the turning in your stomach, though you think it might have translated more as annoyance to your team despite the intention. You couldn't help but hope it hadn't come off too harshly, however the forceful tone of your next words certainly didn’t do much to calm the idea. "No! I'm not retiring the car... No, I'm okay."

"Please love, If you can't finish there's no shame in retiring. You're not letting anyone down, we understand-!" He knew how stubborn you were and he really didn't want the question to feel like the hit to the ego he knew you would take it as, but it was hard when everyone knew this race was what was separating you from top 3 and the rest in the championship. They knew it wouldn't be that easy, quickly corroborated by the frustrated grunt you let sound through the line.

Your foot braces against the accelerator, bearing down full force as you take the straight right after corner 4 at full speed, you weren't retiring. Subjective to your own harsh perception of yourself, retiring - no matter the circumstance - was one of the most culpable failures you could commit. It was never a rewarding feeling, and whether or not to retire from a race like this was an indisputable no. Six years into the sport and you had never retired from a race on your own accord. Today would not be the first.

"I'm okay for now."

There was no arguing with a driver going over 300 kilometers an hour, and so the team let your decision chart as they sat back and kept on with their roles, no different than before. Except for one thing, noting the conversation, they all made undisclosed motions to keep an extra close eye on the driver cam.

And so the race continued as 10 laps went by, 10 very shaky laps with countless immoderate wobbles, a few oversteers around a couple corners and a very close call with Carlos who made quick work of letting the communal radio know how exactly he felt about that, words that were quickly relayed to you. Though his accent was warm, his words were anything but kind and usually you would have taken it on the chin, laughed at his profanities and apologized with a quick witty comment to follow, but your team watched as you only let out a harrowing breath and shook your head. You obviously were not on your A-game and your entire team could see that.

So with all this, it came as no surprise when the silence in their headphones was abruptly interrupted with the blaring sound of your wheels against the track, followed by your voice, quick yet strained, echoing through the radio.

"I think I'm gonna be sick, guys."

With not a moment to spare, Marlows eyebrows furrowed down at your words, worry clear in his voice as he pressed down on the radio button. And though his words were mostly phrased as a question emphasizing the choice as your own, it was still hard to miss the pleading tone in his voice as he spoke loudly into the headpiece, "Are we retiring? It’s your call, love."

Your end of the radio was silent as the words rang through your headset, though not for lack of connection as the sound of your wheels barrelling against the tar never ceased. They knew you were still there, just not vocalizing your thoughts. They had no doubt this was a tough decision. A huge part of this sport was pride; pride in your team, pride in your car, pride in your abilities. And being the only woman on the grid meant your pride was strong and the backlash was inevitably more harsh when things went wrong. 

It was already hard enough for a driver to admit they needed to back out of a race, let alone for a driver who had something to prove and everything to lose. It was a decision they knew you were avoiding complying with. You had been complaining about feeling ill for days leading up to the race and yet insisted on racing regardless. They knew this was important to you, and to back out now, after making it so far already? Your heart was strong, and your head stronger. But for this one time, it seems your stomach was the strongest, and your nausea was taking the reins of this particular race. And so you bit your lip, hoping to keep the bile from rising for just a little while longer. “I need to stop. I’m retiring the car. I can't help it.”

As disappointing as ending a race early was, your team couldn’t deny the shred of relief that washed over them as you, for once, chose your health first. As fun as racing was, and as rewarding as a race in points felt, none of it was ever worth the increased risk to your safety. They would much rather you all woozy up in the medic bay with a DNF, than halfway to unconsciousness with a p8 finish. This certainly wasn’t your best race anyways, probably one the lowest you’d been in points this season. 

As you began your way around your last lap towards the pit lane, your mind raced with all the dreadful thoughts a DNF brought, the pit in your stomach rearing into a sizeable hole which would of left you feeling melancholy if the twisting and turning hadn’t trumped the discontent. 

As each second passed, you could feel whatever it was you had eaten for lunch earlier with Lando rising higher and higher. High enough in fact, that you found it necessary to press the radio button once more with a request. “Have a bag ready for me when I pull up, please.”

To which a compliant, “Copy.” sounded suit.

It wasn’t too much longer until your orange car could be seen sweeping down the pit lane, no hesitation in your steering as you made a harsh turn into your spot by the garage door. The pit team were prepared to make haste in their actions, ready to prop your car onto the jack in order to wheel it into the garage only to be stopped when two quick hands extended up as you braced yourself up against the halo and pulled yourself out of the seat.

At this point, you were hyper aware of the all the people surrounding you, as well as the multitude of cameras pointing directly at you, recording your every move for all the judgeful eyes to see, and yet you found not a single cell in yourself which cared as you leaned over the car and called out for your assistant, who quickly met you with a large black bin in tow. 

You quickly grabbed for it, pulling your front over the side of the car as far as you could in order to hide yourself from the view of the cameras. And out it came, a slurry of lunch which you had been so looking forward to at the time, and quickly regretting now as it all escaped your stomach.

What in the world had you feeling so ill in the first place? It felt like it had been lightyears since you had felt sick enough to actually puke, and god did you not miss this feeling. Had you eaten something bad earlier in the day? Maybe. But everything you ate Lando had eaten too, so wouldn’t he be sick as well? Well, it’s not really like you could ask him, you thought as you looked up just in time to see him overtake George on the big screen. He looks a little busy. And you should be busy too.

The thought seared through your mind as you spat into the bin, you should be racing too, but at least you feel a little better now that it’s come out; though not completely. Your stomach still churned a little and now your throat burned but you guessed it was better than crashing. You had already nearly done that just by being on the track a little too long and now you were definitely going to receive an earful from Sainz when he finally crossed the checkered flag and found you inevitably moping. 

However, you quickly realized that Carlos was actually the least of your worries and the only person you really had to fear was Lando, for when he heard about the outcome of your race, you were sure to face the lecture of your life. He had been warning you for days leading up to it not to participate. You were obviously unwell and he was aware of the dangers an unwell driver faced under the taxing conditions of a race but you were stubborn, insisting you would be fine. Look at you now. Head in a bin with cameras all around and a bruised ego. 

There was only a little time now until the race ended to recover before everyone came pummeling at you with questions. 

The wheel was starting to feel heavy in his hands and the rubbing of the HANS device against his neck was really starting to hurt. They were approaching the end stretch of the race and as the last 15 laps commenced, Lando couldn’t help but feel a little relieved knowing this would be over soon. This was undoubtedly a tough race. 

From lights out till now, he’d managed to pull from P5 to P4 and had every intention of passing Lewis for a podium position, soon enough he’d be in DRS range but for the time being, he was focused on catching up. The world around him had become mute, he hadn’t even looked up at the grand screen once, all he knew was the car.

So he had almost jumped in his seat when the chime sounded. Just as he began slowing around the final corner leading up to the line for his next lap, the sound of an incoming radio signal had his ears perking in anticipation. Were they planning on pitting him again? Sure he was definitely pushing a little too hard against his tires- not really doing his best at conserving them but he was so close to a podium position and he just needed a little bit more force-

“Lando mate,” Will’s voice sounded through his ears, his tone a little hesitant which left Lando biting his lip with anticipation. Please don't box. “I’ve just been informed by Marlow that y/n has retired.”

Lando's heart nearly fell into his stomach as the words registered in his brain. You retired?! Now thinking about it, you did start only a single position behind him and he hadn’t really seen all that much of you during the race. What happened? “Did she crash?!”

“No Lando, she's okay, it was voluntary. She wasn’t feeling well, I don’t think.” 

“You don’t think?”

“She’s okay Lando, just under the weather.”

Not feeling well? Under the weather? You’d raced a multitude of times before whilst under the weather. Each time he’d advise you not to race, and each time you’d ignore him, swearing up and down you’d be fine- and to Lando’s consolation each time you were fine. You’d come out the other side with a smile, no qualms or grievances and you would save your complaints for him afterwards, when no one else was around to judge. As you had done before, he expected the same this time. You’d never let a little ailment set you back, especially not let it affect you enough to retire. Not unless it really was bad.

Lando’s thoughts were soon interrupted by Will’s voice once more, his tone dismissive, implying the conversation had reached its end and no more discussion would be had about it. “We will contact you again if anything happens.”

And despite Lando’s dismay, he complies. There were still a good 15 laps left of the race ahead and he had a lot of catching up to do, a lot of competitive driving to be had. His focus couldn’t be elsewhere, but what was he supposed to do knowing his sick fiancé has just pulled herself out of a race? What was he supposed to do when he knew you well enough to understand how prideful you could be, and how poor you had to feel to choose to retire?  

He really tries to not let it bother him. During the next lap, he tries to not let it bother him as he forces himself to look anywhere else but the jumbo screen in hopes of a possible update on your condition. He tries to not let it bother him in the lap after that as the team radios in to discuss possible strategies regarding the oncoming overtake he will perform, and he tries to not let it bother him during the lap after that one when he finally passes Lewis. Now 3 laps have passed but he just can't get the questions about you off his mind. It is bothering him. He shouldn’t be distracted, especially while he’s in a podium position but he can’t help it. 

So as he crosses onto the next straight, he finds himself radioing in with the question that had been eating away at him since the news broke. “Uh.. Any updates on y/n? Is she alright?”

There's a considerable moment of silence on Mclaren’s end of the line, the team were honestly tied on what to tell the man and what not to. You weren’t exactly in optimal condition, and word around was slightly worrisome regarding your state. You were okay, but definitely not well, they knew because they had caught the treacherous sounds of your gags a few more times since the first echoing through the mclaren garage. 

As your fiance, he deserved to know these details, but as a driver, they knew it wasn’t smart to worry him. What were they to say as to not stress him out in an already extremely stressful situation? They could tell him a few of your team members were discussing taking you to the hospital. Or they could keep him from driving the car through the wall in order to meet you there. The decision was clear, they needed him to focus on driving. “She’s okay, she's currently being looked at by the medical team.”

“She has the medical team on her?!” Will’s eyes shut hard as Lando’s reply came through. Definitely not the right choice of words.

“Just a precaution Lando, she isn’t well at the moment.”

Lando’s bottom lip catches between his teeth as he ponders his engineer's words. He finds himself over analyzing every syllable, every infliction with intentions of unpacking whatever truth was seeping between the lines, and he notices that he’s biting his cheek as he rounds the 8th corner with a little less precision than usual. “Is she bad?”

Landos team take quick note of this change in pace, latching onto the clear oversteer he performs around the corner. They quickly find themselves trying to pull away from the topic in order to keep him both figuratively and literally on track and so Will concludes the conversation with a stern tone. “Please Lando, you can see her when you're done racing. We need you to focus on the race.”

He almost wanted to curse the man out purely due to frustration despite knowing deep down that he was right. But what else was he supposed to do when he knows his fiancé is sitting in the medic bay and all he can do to support her is… well, nothing. He just has to finish this race.

Despite your protests, your team was adamant on a visit to the med bay in order to possibly come up with a reason for your sudden onset of race ending symptoms, and after a quick trip down the hall that took a little longer than usual due to your need to stop once more, you were simply told there wasn’t much they could do long term to crack the bilous case. Shocker. They did however hand you something to ease the nausea which you were beyond thankful for.

You had spent so long counting down the seconds until the anti-nausea medication kicked in that you hadn't even noticed that the race had ended, nor did you notice the approaching sound of hasteful footsteps until the door to your driver's room came barrelling open with a thud.

“I told you not to race.” Lando’s voice was so stern it had you stiff. There was a slight indication of anger lingering behind his words but ultimately his face was a dead giveaway to the worried intention etched behind his tone. 

“I thought I’d be okay.”

“You threw up?” His eyebrows came down as he said it, and you noticed it was less of a question and more as if he was trying to confirm a suspicion. Someone from your team must have snitched on you already. No damn loyalties.

“Only a little.” Your words were sheepish.

“You stink.” He deadpanned and you found yourself scoffing, slightly exasperated at the bluntness of his words. The statement had you petty with offense. 

“You don’t smell very good either-”

“-I don’t smell like vomit.”

Finally you let out a sigh, already tired of the back and forth over something so menial, and unworthy of an argument. You were sick. Shit happens. “Lando, I wasn’t feeling well and I’d been feeling it all week with no real problem so I didn’t think there would be a reason to sit this race out. I didn’t think I would actually need to pull over. It’s done now.”

There was a loud silence between the two of you as he onced over your body with intentful eyes. You seemed okay enough and he guessed this really wasn’t the time or place to start an argument, especially over something as stupid as him being worried about you, you were on the same damn side. So instead he just sighed, bit his lip and nodded at you. “Alright.”

“Guys.” Charlotte suddenly peaked her head through the cracked door to glance at you both. “Come on, we need you at Media now.”

This wasn’t going to be easy, that you knew. The media had given you a hard time for things way less than this so you could only imagine what they had in store for you after throwing up on live TV for half the world to see moments after a voluntary DNF. It just about felt like you were being led to your execution with the way you knew they were about to tear into you. But there was no avoiding this, and the grimaced look etched into your features left Lando very aware of this fact.

“I know you don’t wanna do this but you have to go out there, you’ve got no choice. Not unless you’re willing to cop a fat fine.”

You stuck an eyebrow up at Landos voice, the sides of your lips extending out as you conceptualized his words but your expression quickly had him shaking his head alongside a hearty laugh. “No, no. Don’t even look like you’re considering it.”

Your laugh to match his own soon sounded throughout the room, and his hand swiftly found its place at the nape of your neck, to which he gave a quick squeeze and began leading you out the door into the McLaren garage hallway. “We have a wedding to plan and that means a lot of money to spend. You will not be wasting money trying to get out of media duties.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at how exasperated and sarcastic he sounded.

You both found yourselves trailing along Charlotte's path until the hallway quickly opened up into a large room where a few other drivers had already begun their own separate interviews towards the camera crews which littered every corner. The media pen; may as well be your death site.

Whilst waiting for the race to end; and for the nausea to subside, Charlotte had given you a rundown - more like a lecture; regarding what to expect and how to approach the inevitably condescending questions that would soon be thrown your way. 

This was going to be brutal, you knew that. You had finally made a mistake that the male media could exploit to reinforce their stereotypes about damned women in motorsports. Just another day facing the misogyny of the position, except this time, it was your own carelessness that put you in this position. The only damned thing you’d be was a damned liar if you said the upcoming articles tearing into you weren’t already gnawing at your mind. You could just picture it;

‘’Mclaren Princess’ Just Might Throw Her Way Up and Out of Competitive Driving,’

‘Speed Queen’s Weak Stomach Shows Why She’s Better Suited for Other Races,’

‘Too Glamorous For The F1 Track? or Maybe Not Glamorous Enough; - maybe we should leave the fast cars to the men that made them.’ 

This might just be worse than the ‘Revving Engines, not Emotions,’ article from last year when you teared up in Australia after what was the most frustrating race of your career. This was going to be horrible. 

Your actions were always hyper-criticized, but maybe just once you were being too imaginative for your own good. You needed to calm down because words tended to stick with you. A fact that Charlotte knew all too well, because she was sure to speak words she knew would ring through your ears during those interviews; Take it on the chin, stay composed and certainly don't be snappy. One of those was doable.

The moment you passed the threshold beyond the doorway, officially crossing into the media pen, it's as if every set of eyes and every lens of a camera had turned to watch you move. The room hadn’t by any means gone quiet, but there was definitely a shift in volume as the noise settled from a near unbearable buzz to a tolerable chatter, just enough to notice the change. The influx of attention almost had you doubling over once again, especially when you felt the nausea begin to slowly creep up for the second time that day. But you made notable efforts to keep your head high, hoping that a strong demeanor would at least soften the blow which would soon be dealt.

Lando’s arm had split from your neck not long after entering the room. You guys were always light on your PDA, trying to keep as much of your personal relationship as private as possible; as private as an already public relationship could possibly be. But he still managed to give you a small, reassuring squeeze on the hip before you both set off, being led in opposite directions.

A flurry of reporter eyes seemed to trail your path as your personal PR manager led you to a spot right in between Carlos and Charles, and as you started setting yourself up, you unavoidably overheard their journalists trying to wrap up their interviews, which you could only imagine would be to get a shot at you faster. 

However unluckily for those journalists, it seems your first adversary had already taken the stand just directly across from you with a large, heavy mic and aged, gleaming eyes; eyes that had your own widening in alarm. You were quite familiar with this journalist, very familiar with him actually as he had always been quick to criticize you and your skills on many occasions in the past. He was quite ill-mannered towards you, definitely holding a target out with a gun aimed directly for your career, making it clear he was disapproving of your presence as a woman on this grid. You just knew he had been waiting for you. This was going to be hell.

The journalist quickly began setting himself up, the cameraman behind him pointing the lens directly at your sour face, which you admittedly were not doing a great job at masking. Though, if your interviewer had noticed, he thankfully hadn’t commented on it. However that didn’t stop him from wasting any time beginning to comment on the other mistakes you had made today.

“Always a pleasure to speak with you, Speed Queen.” His gravelly voice spat. “Though I think ‘Pit Princess’ may be a little more fitting after today's race.” A sly smirk quickly spread across his mouth, an act that had your hands bracing against the railing separating the two of you from one another. Charles had quickly taken notice of this from his position just beside you. He admittedly felt he was doing quite well at remaining professional and ignoring the exchange between you and the infamous journalist, but now he was on high alert, ears perked in your direction with the intention of intervening at any given moment.

Despite your peeved sentiment, you did well at keeping your face straight and head high at the insult, feeling it necessary to not crack in front of the person trying to get a reaction out of you. Don’t prove his point. 

“I appreciate the creativity, but I think I would prefer to focus on the race itself rather than nicknames. I’m quite happy with the one I have.” There was a moment in which he tried to intervene, however you were determined to move past the subject. “-And, you know, today’s challenges were significant, but that’s a part of the sport, I guess.” Despite the lingering nausea, you still managed to force a professional smile.

“Is it?” He curled an eyebrow condescendingly, a look which nearly had a scowl slipping past your placid facade. But instead you held strong, that sickeningly sweet smile dripping like honey with disdain. “Part of the sport is the unpredictability of it. So I’d say so.”

The man's eyes gleamed on, a small hum escaping his lips as he nodded absently. “It’s just that no other driver seems to have this issue. Do you think maybe your choice to retire has to do with particular limitations a female might have that the men in this sport don’t?”

And as expected, the indirectness wasn’t so indirect anymore, the true misogynistic intentions of his words slowly crept out with ferocity. 

“No.” Your tone was final, like it hadn’t ever crossed your mind, because it really hadn’t. “No I really don’t. Many men before me have gotten sick during races, I guess I just preferred to voluntarily take myself out of the race than spend the rest of it wiping pesto off my visor.” You snarled. 

A small tap against your arm quickly alerted you to the contention of your PR manager, a disapproving gesture silently advising you to reel it in. But god was it hard when his face was so smug. She should understand that being passive aggressive was much more admissible than being violent, so she may as well let you get your anger out in the socially acceptable way, though you admit it was strange of you to feel so angry. You were usually better at keeping your emotions in check. Hm. But alas, you complied, correcting your face and letting him speak; even if you wanted so badly to interrupt him with your thoughts of how horrible a journalist he was. 

“Well, I think a lot of people agree when I say that this sport tends to reward determination and resilience, not quitting.”

Were you hearing this correctly? Was he really implying that you should have thrown up right into your helmet and just continued through the race like nothing? It was getting really hard to remain socially acceptable. What was this new found anger? “Racing may sometimes reward resilience, however, being sharp minded is more important sometimes. I noticed I was unwell enough for it to affect my performance, so I decided it was smarter to take myself out of the race. Especially after nearly taking Carlos out of the race too.” 

Just as you finished answering the (absurd) question, a suave laugh sounded to your left as Carlos suddenly stepped up beside you, sliding his arm across your shoulder. “I did have some choice words prepared for you earlier Mija, but then I learnt what happened and now I forgive you.” His eyes suddenly turned to the journalist, a glint of exaggerated pity in relation to the topic seeping into his expression, almost as if he was speaking with experience to someone who wouldn’t understand; because he was. “Driving whilst sick is not for the weak.”

The journalist's cold eyes squinted slightly as Carlos’ condescending tone registered in his head, yet he kept his expression neutral and mic high as he nodded. “I’m sure it isn’t.” And nothing was said after that. No rebuttal, no argumentative comment, just a plea of agreement. God, how you wished interviews were that easy for you.

A few voices echoing out from somewhere behind had caught the attention of the trio, and it didn’t take long for you to realize it was Carlos’ team instructing him to move onwards to his next position. So with a reassuring smile towards you and a quick quirk of a brow towards the reporter, he was off to his next interview without another word, taking your fleeting moment of security along with him as he left.

Now it was just you and the reporter once more, and you could tell he wasn’t feeling as cordial with you as he was with Carlos, evident by the slight snarl that had crept onto his face by the interruption in your defense. “Friendly words from Sainz there, as always.” he began, his tone dripping with insincerity, “Do you find it degrading that other drivers always have to come to your defense in order to keep your positive reputation, because there are a lot of people that believe you perhaps, ride off the success of others.” 

Your stomach twisted, and if it was from the nausea growing once again or from the sheer audacity of his words, you couldn’t tell. He was essentially implying that the only reason people liked you was because other likable people vouched for you, and not because of your own hard work and valiant achievements. It seems he wanted defense, you were about to show him just how defensive you could be. 

“With all due respect,” you began, voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge, “I don’t defend myself because I don’t have to, because the genuinity of my character extends far past my words.” you paused, thinking about your next words carefully. “My peers defend me because I’ve proven my capabilities time and time again, and they know that one incident doesn’t define my career. However, I don’t think you share the same sentiment, hm?” 

The taunting in your voice was quickly caught on by your PR manager who swiftly grabbed your arm in yet another warning, except this time you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as much. The journalist's eyes narrowed at your words, clearly not expecting such a discourteous response and the tugging of your PR manager's grip against your arm was an obvious nonverbal message to wrap it up but you weren't finished, oh no. That new found anger that had been gnawing at you all race was just beginning to trickle out.

“‘Riding off the success of others.’” Your quoted, voice riddled with humor, “And yet you somehow manage to find me every post race interview. Do you write these question’s down in your little notebook while you watch my multi-race winning car fly past you? Or do you wipe the dust from the camera lens instead?”

He quickly opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, your PR manager intervened, her grip on your arm tightening slightly as she stepped forward. “This interview is over,” she announced firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. “McLaren will be utalizing the next few days to help Y/n recover for next week's race. If you have any further questions, you can direct them to our media office.”

Your eyes widened in shock at the intervention. You had overstepped your media training a few times before and yet none had ever led to the end of the interview. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little surprised at your PR manager's swift movements as she tugged you back and away from the journalist. “Let’s move on.” Her voice was disapproving but she was obviously trying to remain calm and professional, understanding there was a job to be done. But your anger wasn’t discriminatory, everyone was a potential outlet, and you weren’t having this. “No, I’m finished.” You didn’t even want to participate in media in the first place, this was obligatory. You had done your part and now you were taking charge of the rest of your night. And so you pulled your arm back and made quick haste towards the exit, leading back to your driver room. 

You were only a few meters from the door now, acutely aware of all the eyes watching you retire early from yet another obligation today, when a hand grazing the small of your back pulled you away from the tormenting feeling of the bile rising once again. This time, it was Charles, his sweet face beaming a reassuring smile at you as he began walking in stride towards the exit alongside you. “Mon cheri, that was something else.” 

You couldn’t help but scoff at his words, nausea bubbling once again, expecting yet another lecture from someone else. “If by ‘something else’ you mean a complete disaster, then yeah, I guess.”

Charles kept his tone steady, a touch of amusement in his voice as you both walked in stride. “No, I mean you handled it with a lot of, uhh.. What is the English? Poise.” 

You gave him a skeptical look. “Thanks, but it didn’t feel like handling things with poise, It felt like I was about to lose it.” 

His smile slipped into a small laugh before it fell,  and his bright eyes quickly turned into one’s of worry as he began a once over of your body. “Are you feeling okay?” he began the inevitable conversation. “I’m okay, it’ll pass I'm sure.”

Charles’ brows furrowed down, thick accent sounding with worry as he spoke. “You shouldn’t count on it passing, you should take care of yourself. You’re only gonna have more shit thrown at you if you don’t-”

As sweet as his concern was, you were tired of this conversation today, it was becoming tedious to hear and you really just needed to lie down or something. “-Charles, I really appreciate it and I'll be sure to visit the doctor tomorrow, but I think I’m gonna be sick again, so how about you cover me up to the hallway before I end up in another fight with a reporter, or my head in another bin on TV.”

Your words had Charles’s eyes widening, quickly glancing around from side to side in search of his target who was finishing up from an interview of his own, when your hand came up to press against your mouth, skin turning a tinge green. “Lando!”

The video shook a little as the person on the other end fidgeted with the camera, a slight blur shifting the image and the audio cracking with the movement before the frame finally straightened up. The person took a step back. It was you, which wasn’t all that surprising considering the video had been uploaded onto your own instagram, but it was the first anyone had really heard of you in weeks. 

Ever since your race ending ailment back in Spain, you had essentially gone radio silent. Not posting, not participating in interviews; you had missed 2 more races since then. It was worrisome, especially considering you had assured everyone the day after Spain that you were working on getting better for next week's race, which you never showed up to. 

The races went on and the fans asked about you, the interviewers asked about you too, but it seemed everyone involved in the FIA had no comment on your whereabouts nor your condition. The drivers dodged post interview questions, excelling on to new subjects and only had quick fleeting comments in response to concerned fans around the paddock who were only trying to make sense of it all.

Lando copped the brunt end of it though, scoring a P2 podium in Canada that everyone could more obviously care less about in his post-race interviews. The only topic mentioned was you, your absence from the race and why everyone was so hush-hush about it in the first place. The interviews were so off topic that this time it was Lando who had to leave the media pen early to avoid the questions, though opposingly, McLaren had been the ones to encourage his swift exit.

It was starting to become an issue. People were fretful. Were you still sick? Was it something more serious than you had anticipated and now you couldn’t race anymore?

The view they were looking at suggested that perhaps they were about to find out. 

You retreated away from the camera propped up against what people could only speculate had to be your dressing table, as you found your spot upon the large, luxurious bed the camera was pointing towards. Now cross legged upon it, your body clad in a 2 piece short silky pajama set, finally you began to speak. 

“Hello everyone.” You didn’t sound unwell, not stressed or upset. In fact, there was an edge to your voice that almost seemed cheerful; excited. And yet for now you remained composed, nothing but a small, media trained smile dawning your otherwise expressionless face.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The sentence was humorous, calling attention to the silence you had afflicted, and the lack of news upon your whereabouts. “Lando and I are finally home in Monaco for summer break, though I have to admit that I’ve actually been in Monaco for a few weeks now. I think some of you might feel that was a bit obvious given my absence.”

There was a high pitched chuckle off screen, it obviously being Lando out of frame as your eyes flickered over to the side with a playful yet mischievous smile, encouraging his reaction with your expression. It was a fleeting moment as your smile once again fell into something a little more vacant before straightening up and continuing. “I know a lot of people have questions, and I do want to apologize for the lack of communication on my end, I’ll explain, I promise but first I also want to say please don’t be mad at any of the other drivers for not speaking out, they were all just respecting my wishes in not saying anything until I was ready.”

There was a small pause as you took a breath, no sound emitting except for the slight breeze wafting through the room, further exemplified by the sway of the sheer curtains. This was so nerve racking, were you about to announce your departure from motorsport? Were you about to reveal a sickness you weren't aware of until now? The silence, though short lived, was deafening. 

“I-” Finally you spoke, but quickly caught it with a bite to your lower lip. It really seemed like you were processing your words, debating how to present your next statement carefully enough. “How do I-?”

Once again your gaze drifted off to the side of the screen, confused and cautious eyes quickly averting into a bright smile before a laugh escaped your mouth. “Don’t look so excited!” 

Lando, obviously beaming, clear by the tone of his voice, cheerfully yelled back, “Do you want me to say it?!”

“No!” you rebutted quickly with a laugh, “I told you I wanted to be the one to announce it, stop trying to take my shine!”

“Then go on with it!” He was so obviously really excited, impatient to finally announce whatever it was that had him so elevated.

“Okay well-” You stuttered for a moment, quickly catching yourself before continuing. “As many of you saw in Spain, I wasn’t feeling too well,-”

“-Hard to miss-.” Landos voice mumbled, a comment in which you swiftly ignored.  

“-And I hadn’t been for a few days leading up to it but I just took it as a stomach bug and planned to go on with it like usual. What I didn’t plan for however, was the doctor's visit I was forced to go to the day after.”

Your eyes glared off to the side once again, feigning annoyance but evidently not actually upset before looking back at the camera with a smile. “The good news is that we are very much aware of what was making me sick.” Your voice was reassuring, eyes slowly beginning to light up as you continued on. “The bad news is that I unfortunately will not be participating in the rest of the 2024 season, or the 2025 one for that matter.”

It was like you could feel the impending shock of everyone watching radiating through the screen despite it being pre recorded because your pause was almost comically dramatic. And yet it was so wholly conflicting, because regardless of the awful news, you didn’t really seem all that upset despite being such a passionate racer, it felt so out of character. This confusion was only exemplified further when your eyes once again drifted to the left, a large smile engulfing your features as you took notice of what had to be Lando's excited expression once more. “Oh don’t look so happy, you’re the one who still gets to race!”

“I’m sorry!” He laughed that high pitched laugh he does when he just can’t hold it back.

Your eyes flickered back to the camera, sitting straight on with a patient yet humorous smile, a single eyebrow cocked as you waited for Landos laughter to simmer. It took a moment, a moment you thought ended a time or two before he began again, but eventually the room became still again as your face grew just a little more in adoration towards the man everyone could see you loved dearly. It was like the energy had shifted just a little, from what felt so playful before, to something a little more familial and warm. 

“I think some of you may have put the pieces together, but for those who haven’t. Well… I’m pregnant!” Your smile was so big and sheepish, so conscious and just a little shy, it almost felt as if you were announcing it to a friend of many years and it was all just so heartwarming. You were okay! More than that, you were happy, and soon everyone else who would watch this video would be too. Lando's happy laugh from beyond the camera at the announcement finally being made was more than enough to express just how joyous the news was for the two of you.

“As heartbreaking as it will be to not be able to competitively race in the upcoming seasons, I’m not actually that sad about having to step down for a little.” You laughed heartily. “I proudly announce that in my place, the very talented Australian driver Oscar Piastri will be filling my position until I'm off from… maternity leave? I guess. That's a first for this sport.”  You laughed.  “But of course they just had to find the best to replace the best.” You quickly glanced over towards Lando out of frame, clearly expecting an agreement that never came. They could only imagine the disapproving look Lando was sending you.

Your expression never changed, but your tone dropped as you spoke darkly. “I’m carrying your child.” You spat, to which a loud “But of course!” sounded in response, followed by a laugh from the both of you.

“Don’t worry, you’ll still be seeing me around the track a lot considering this muppet,” you pointed to your left, “still gets to race.”

“Don’t be jealous,” the soft voice came from off screen. 

“No, I’ll confidently admit it, I’m so jealous.” You pouted, but the warmth in your eyes belied the playful tone in your voice.

Lando’s hand appeared in the frame for a brief moment, gently squeezing your shoulder before disappearing off-camera again. “We’ll be back out there together soon enough.”

You nodded, your smile returning as you glanced back at the camera, feeling a surge of excitement for what was to come. “In the meantime, I’m looking forward to supporting the team from a different angle. It’s going to be a new experience, but I’m excited to do this as…”

“-As a mother?” Lando finished with a knowing smirk.

“As a mother.” You laughed, a loud one from Lando soon sounded to match your own, one so joyous it left you beaming. Suddenly, Lando jolted in frame, clearly excited as he leaned over the bed to tackle you from your sitting position down into a hug, leaving you both falling back onto the sheets. “Oh my god Lando!” You shout, a hand quickly moving to shield your lower stomach. “God! Nevermind guys, I think Lando just tackled the baby out of me, guess I’ll be seeing you all from my McLaren in Austria.”

“Oh!” Lando gasped. “Not funny!” 

[fallingformatt]

SEXUAL TENSION M.S.

bsf!Matt x fem!reader

summary: the sexual tension between you and your best friend Matt causes you two to ‘talk it out’ in the car

based on these requests available: here, here

warnings: filthy ass smut bro

word count: 3.2k

a/n: I’ve been so busy with work, but im glad i finally found the time to write something hope yall enjoy it :) this post is not proofread

➽───────────────❥

"Wait do you like him?" my friend asks with a smirk on her lips as she playfully pushes my shoulder.

I was hanging out with my friend at the beach tanning, eating some grapes, swimming and just taking in the sun.

"I don't know, it's like this weird sexual tension between us like I just feel that hot and bothered vibe coming from him," I say to my friend as I twirl a strand of my hair between my fingers.

"As in general or like just around you?" She asks me while raising an eyebrow. "Girl I don't know, we don't talk about how often we get laid," I say with a serious tone. "You should then," she answers as one corner of her lips rises up followed by a wink. "Can we not? I'm not asking Matt if he wants to fuck me or just fuck in general, let's change the subject," I say now slightly annoyed about how long this topic has dragged on.

I have to admit though, in the past couple of weeks there have been moments of strong sexual tension between me and my best friend Matt. I don't know what it is but every time we hang out in a group setting, I feel him throwing glances at me while fidgeting with his rings practically undressing me with his eyes, his eyes seem to scan me up and down, eventually meeting mine every time, his stare would get this hint of hunger like he's been starving for something, so I went for advice to my friend but she doesn't have a serious bone in her body so it obviously didn't go far.

Not even a second later I heard my phone ring. I turn it facing up to look who's calling. My friend leans in pushing up her sunglasses to see the caller as well. "Oh it's Matt, you should ask him if he's down to fuck," she says with a huge smile plastered across her face. "You're so funny," I say sarcastically as I roll my eyes before answering the phone.

"Hey!" I say as I bring up the phone to my ear.

"Hey, what are you up to?" Matt asks.

"Nothing much, I'm at the beach with a friend," I say as I turn my head to look at her, as soon as I do so, I see her standing on her knees humping the air before she points to my phone laughing. I instantly facepalm regretting that I even mentioned something to her.

"Hello, are you there?" I hear on the phone.

I snap back as I remember that I'm currently on the phone with Matt.

"Yeah sorry, what did you say," I say.

"I asked if the weather is nice, am I really that boring?" Matt says.

"No I was just looking at my friend, she was kicking down someone's sand castle," I lie as I search around with my free hand for something to throw at my friend. "Yeah the weather is nice, the water is really warm too, what are you doing?" I continue.

"I'm driving home, do you want to do something later?" Matt asks and I see my friend walking over to me kneeling next to me pressing her ear against my phone trying to hear what Matt is saying.

"Yeah I'm down, do you have something in mind?" I answer as I try to push my friend away with my elbow staring at her and shaking my head.

"Chris and Nick really want to see you, so I was thinking we could go to topgolf, and get something to eat after that," he offers.

I see my friend nodding her head up and down signaling me to say yes. How did she even hear that is beyond me.

"Yeah I'm down, should be fun," I say.

"Alright I'll pick you up at 7, see you then," he says before ending the call

I look down next to me and see one grape lying in the sand, without giving it a second thought, I pick it up and throw it at my friend. "You're such a child," I say as I roll my eyes smiling. "You still love me," she says sitting down smiling, finally relaxing after being on my case this whole time.

The sun had started to set and we decided to head back to my friend's house. The beach is like a 10 minute walk from her place. "What time is he picking you up?" My friend asks me.

"He's picking me up at 7, but it's not like you didn't know that already, you're so nosy," I say as I look down at my phone to see the time. "Shit it's 6:27 pm already, there's no way I'm gonna get back to my house and get ready in time.

"You can just get ready at my place," she offers. I nod and pull out my phone from my pocket and text Matt the new address.

We go into her house and I drop my bag at the door running for the bathroom to shower. I turn on the water and hop in.

"Are you really that excited to see him?" my friend asks as she opens the door to the bathroom. "What do you mean?" I ask her. "I mean you rushed to take a shower so fast, surely you're excited to meet up with him," she says as I hear her turning on the sink to wash her hands. "I'm literally just showering, I don't want to be sweaty, covered in sand, and gross, no matter who I'm meeting up with," I defend myself. "Whatever you say," my friend says as she leaves the bathroom.

I hopped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my body. I went past the kitchen to my friend's room. I open the door and she's sitting in front of her vanity doing her skincare playing some music in the background.

My eyes lay upon an outfit lying down on her bed, it's a short jean skirt and a black lace tank top, I raise my eyebrow in confusion "What's this?" I ask. "It's an outfit for you to wear," she answers, I tilt my head. "Well unless you're gonna go to topgolf in sweats and a bathing suit, you should wear what's on the bed," she exclaims. "But this is what I would wear if we went clubbing not something I would wear hanging out with friends," I answer. "Trust me on this one," my friend replies. "You seriously need to move on," I say as I grab the outfit and put it on.

I check my phone to see the time, 7:05 pm it reads and as I was about to put down my phone I receive a text from Matt.

"I'm here" that's all the text says.

"I have to go," I say to my friend as I stand up from her vanity and head for the door. "Wait, just one more thing," she says as she runs over to me with a perfume bottle and sprays a few sprays on me. "What's that?" I ask. "It's a pheromone perfume, it's supposed to make guys crazy," she says, smiling proudly holding the bottle. I just sigh as I go for the door. "This way we'll find out if he wants to fuck in general or if he wants to fuck you!" my friend says happily, waving at me as I exit.

I get in the front seat as I see that Chris is sitting at the back. "Hey," Nick exclaims. "Hey," I say to everyone as I put on my seatbelt. "You look good," Matt says as he turns his head looking me up and down and Nick nods his head in agreement. "Thanks, guys," I say and we start driving. We're now driving for about 15 minutes, there's music blasting through the whole car as Nick and Chris are arguing, trying to scream over the loud music about which is the best spongebob episode making me giggle from time to time.

We're stopped at a red light and as I'm scrolling through my phone I feel someone's eyes on me, I pick up my head and see Matt looking at me, there it is again, that hungry stare, he's looking me up and down before his eyes again meet mine. I see him bite his lower lip before a little smirk creeps up on his lips. "You look so fucking good," he says, making me smile, his voice was deeper than usual. He turns his head to focus on the road again as the light turns green.

This is the vibe I was talking about with my friend earlier, we've never had this kind of tension between us before.

I turned my head back to see if Chris and Nick noticed his comment, and no they were still arguing, but the topic of the argument had changed to waffles and pancakes.

"We're here," Matt says as the car stops and he pulls out the keys from the engine and we all exit the car. As we go in, Nick goes to registration and pays for all of us. We all walk to our playing area and we all get something to snack on and some drinks.

"I'm up first," Matt says as he walks over to the playing area, he sets up the ball and swings the golf club. Next up is Nick, he does the same, now it's my turn, I walk up to the playing area, set up the ball, and take a swing with my golf club, I miss completely and I turn my head to look at everyone laughing, well almost everyone, Matt is the only one who's not laughing, which made me less embarrassed, I guess that's what best friends are for. "You need any help?" He asks, I nod my head and he stands up walking over to me.

I set myself up to take a shot and Matt walks over standing behind me, he puts his hands over mine "You have to hold the club tightly, okay?" Matt says as he tightens his grip around my hands. "Keep your back straight," he says and I straighten my back, which causes my butt to brush against his crotch. He inhales sharply before he continues, "Now swing," he says as he guides my hands with his swinging them to the side before hitting the golf ball and watching it fly away. I turn around to face Matt, "thank you," I say as I give him a hug. Before I get to pull away I feel his arm around the back of my neck as he leans into my ear, "you did so good," he says as he lets me go a slight grin forming on his lips, we walk back to the lounge area and Chris stands up as it is his turn now.

I was now sitting watching them play as I understood pretty quickly that there wasn't gonna be a golfer made out of me. Throughout the night I kept noticing Matt's glances, he's now sitting across from me, and he's staring me up and down as he's fidgeting with his rings. His gaze sends shivers down my spine, making me actually shiver and Nick notices.

"Are you cold? I left a sweater in the car, Matt can get it," he offers, " yeah that would be nice," I say as I look back at Matt and he seems to snap back into reality not really understanding what's going on.

"Come on Matt, I'm gonna go with you to get the sweater," I say to help him understand what's going on, he nods and stands up and we start walking to the car. I was actually glad that I managed to get him alone, I needed to understand what was going on with him, but I didn't want to ask with everyone around.

As we get to the car he unlocks it and I get into the front passenger seat and lean back to get the sweater Nick was talking about, as I grab the sweater I hear the door open, I turn my head to look and I see Matt leaning down, his arm resting against the open door. "You ready?" He asks. "No get in," I say as I lean back into my seat, placing the sweater in my lap. Matt gets in the car and closes the door. "What's up?" He asks. "I should be asking you that," I answer and Matt tilts his head confused by my statement.

"What's going on with you?" I ask. "What do you mean?" He answers me with a question not understanding what I'm talking about. I take a deep breath slightly nervous about what I'm going to say next, but I needed some clarity so I knew I had to ask. "Past couple of weeks you have been zoning out, staring at me," I state, I watch his face, waiting for his reaction. His expression grows dark, and once again his glare turns dark.

"You're driving me fucking insane, " he says his voice getting deeper again, "you don't know what you're doing to me, your sent, your presence," he says as he moves his stare from my eyes to my lips before licking his. "Tell me," I say as I put my arm on his bicep. "How about I show you instead," he says as a smirk appears on his lips. He leans over and grabs the outer side of my thigh, signaling me to move. I cautiously move over the center console his arms grabbing and holding my ass for support as he guides me to sit in his lap.

Without any warning he pushes his lips onto mine, kissing me roughly. One of my hands travel to his hair and the other one rests on his chest, his hands travel to my hips, pushing and guiding them back and forth, I let out a quiet moan as I break the kiss, "Matt this is wrong," I say as I try to calm down my breathing. "I don't care, I want you," he says as he smashes his lips back onto mine and I give into the kiss, he moves from my lips to my cheek and down to my jawline, his one hand still guiding my hips back and forth as the other hand moves over my ass grabbing it and slapping it.

I'm not fighting him and give into his touch fully, I throw my head back as I feel my panties getting wet and a moan slips past my lips, Matt takes advantage and attacks my neck, leaving wet kisses, slipping in a few bites as he's sucking on my sensitive skin leaving marks.

"Move up," he says, his voice is demanding. I move my ass up, both of my hands move to his shoulders as I hold them for support. He quickly unbuckles his belt and bucks up his hips sliding his jeans down along with his boxers. Matt's hand travels to my panties, he rubs against my clothed clit before sliding them to the side with one quick motion. He places his hands on my waist pushing me down and signaling me to sit down again.

He pushes his lips on my neck leaving sweet kisses around the dark marks he had created, he leans back and his eyes lock onto the hickeys, "pretty," he says as he grabs my jaw, his thumb brushing over the bruised, sensitive skin.

Matt grabs my ass as he moves me slightly up, positioning his dick against my entrance before pushing me down, I let my head fall on the nape of his neck as my elbows rest on his shoulders, my hands roaming his hair, I let out a moan as I start to move my hips.

"You feel so good princess," Matt groans, his hand tightly around my waist as the other one holds a tight grasp on my ass, his nails digging into my skin as I become a hot mess on top of him. "Matt," I moan out, my movements are sloppy and sensual.

"We can't be gone for too long," Matt whispers in my ear and suddenly fastens his thrusts underneath me. A sudden feeling of overbearing pleasure comes over me as I throw my head back no longer able to control my breath, moans and whimpers leave my mouth before I bite my lower lip trying to be quiet. "Baby don't be quiet, I'll make you scream my name," Matt growls deeply as his hand travels to my lower back holding me for support.

"Will you?" I manage to slip out between my moans as I start to grind faster on his cock. "You're such a brat," he says as his hand wraps around my hair pulling my head backward. His lips attack my collarbone, he's sucking and pulling on my skin slipping in a few bites, I hiss at the pain, "not so brave anymore huh," he says as he detaches from my collarbone before leaving a trail of kisses up my neck before meeting my lips.

"I'm," I whimper, my hands roaming around for something to hold onto as I feel my climax approach me. "You're?" Matt asks proudly as he's the one making me unable to finish my sentence. "Close," I manage to moan out between his hard thrusts and my grinding as we move in sync. "What was that huh?" He chuckles. I grab the collar of his shirt to pull myself together as I gather my strength to form a sentence.

"I'm so close Matt don't stop," I blur out, I feel my walls closing around his twitching cock. "You take my dick so well baby," Matt moans out sending me over the edge. "Matt," I scream out as my orgasm takes over me. Matt lets out a low growl-like moan, as I feel his seed pumping into me. I push my lips against his in order not to scream as I ride out my high.

"Oh my god Matt," I say as I move off of his cock and back to the seat next to him. "You did so good princess," he says as he leans in and kisses my forehead before he pulls up his pants. "We should get back," Matt says and I nod in agreement. I take Nick's sweater and pull it over my head putting it on.

As we step out of the car, I close the door and fix my short denim skirt and I see Matt fixing his belt. "I'm gonna leave the window slightly open," he says slightly chuckling pointing to the windows that had fully fogged up and I let out a small laugh as well.

"What took you two so long," Nick says as he looks at us and we try not to look suspicious. "We were talking," I say confidently, I see Nick shifting his eyes from Matt to me, and his eyes fall down to my neck as a smirk appears on his lips, "you got something here," Nick says as he brushes over his own neck with two fingers. My eyes immediately shoot to Matt as I slap his shoulder from the back.

I guess there definitely was some sexual tension between us that needed to be resolved.

[theosbaby]

helping hand

lorenzo berkshire x fem!reader

masterlist

summary; the guys find out that enzo is still a virgin and they keep bothering him about it, so he asks for your help.

warnings; friends to lovers, use of y/n (just once i think), loss of virginity, SMUT, virgin!lorenzo, sub!lorenzo, dom!reader, mutual masturbation, p in v, lots of praising, neck grabbing, hair pulling, slight orgasm denial, unprotected sex.

author's note; english isn't my first language, so you might find mistakes. yes, i have read filthy and i know lorenzo isn't innocent at all, but i wanted to portray him like that for this one, hope you like it!

lorenzo was your best friend, he had been since you both were a couple of tweens and met at the hogwarts express on your first year. you remembered that day as if it had been yesterday. he had bumped into you, which made you drop your chocolate frog to the ground, after that, he immediately apologized and bought you the whole honeydukes trolley as an apology; at that moment, you swore to yourself you would never let him go.

and seven years later, he was the most important person in your life.

as every friday night, lorenzo and you were having a sleepover in your dormroom. that night, pansy, your roommate, was out on a date with some dude and you had the room all to yourselves. you were lying in your bed, enzo next to you. a film was playing, but you were having trouble to focus on it since enzo kept moving; he looked uneasy, which was really rare to be honest, lorenzo was the calmest guy in the whole wizarding world.

you couldn't possibly imagine what was going on in that pretty head of his.

truth is, the week before, the rest of the guys had discovered that enzo was still a virgin and they had been teasing him about it nonstop since then, which had already started to seriously bother him. at first, maybe you could say it was funny, but after eight days of constant jokes, it was not funny anymore.

you sighed, finally deciding to ask him what was going through his mind.

"lorenzo," you called him, using his full name, which you rarely did, "is something wrong? you seem off today..."

enzo looked away, clearly trying to avoid your eyes, and you frowned; that was the confirmation you needed to know that something was not fine, he never averted your gaze like that.

"nothing, just... dealing with some stress." he answered, dodging the subject. when he saw your unpleased look, he added, "it's not a big deal, seriously. don't worry about it."

"cmon, enzo..." you said, reaching to cup his cheek and force him to look at you, "i know you like the palm of my hand and i know something's bothering you."

you smiled reassuringly at him, pausing the film to focus fully on the conversation, then you added, "you can tell me anything, you know that, right?"

enzo's cheeks blushed slightly, his eyes darting back and forth as he looked at you, clearly hesitating whether he should tell you or not.

"you wouldn't... you wouldn't think any less of me, would you?" he asked and you saw a hint of vulnerability in his light brown irises.

you frowned as you looked at him, caressing his cheek softly; his attitude was making you really worried.

"of course not, enzo... you're my best friend," you told him with a soft and sweet voice, trying to get him to open to you.

he nodded slowly, leaning into your touch; he found comfort in your presence, it had always been that way. taking a deep breath, enzo finally confessed.

"well... it's just that... the guys found out i'm still a virgin and they've been teasing me about it all week." as he talked, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"that's it?" you asked, chuckling as your worried expression visibly softened. "they're a bunch of idiots... just ignore them, enzo," you reassured him, your hand moving up to stroke his soft hair.

enzo managed to let out a small laugh, his expression softening at your comment too.

"yeah, i know..." he muttered, his eyes fixed in yours as he thought of his next words, "but it's hard not to let it get to me when they treat me like some sort of joke."

"don't say that, enzo..." you replicated, your brow furrowed as you heard his words. "there's nothing wrong with being a virgin."

he nodded, agreeing with you, while his eyes drifted back to the paused movie on the screen. despite your words, he still seemed a bit troubled. you were definitely going to beat the guys up the next time you saw them for making enzo feel so bad about something completely normal and natural.

"i know that... i can't help but feel self-conscious about it though," he said, then elaborated, "I mean, everyone else seems to be... well, you know."

"experienced?" you asked, finishing his sentence.

you grabbed his hand, entwining your fingers with his; you wanted to make him feel better. he looked down at your intertwined fingers and sighed softly.

"yeah... experienced." he nodded while he talked. "it's not like i haven't tried to lose my virginity or anything; it's just never been the right time or person, i guess."

you gave his hand a gentle squeeze when you heard his words, smiling at how sweet he was. enzo was simply the perfect guy, the perfect friend, and you were sure someday he'd be the perfect boyfriend.

"you'll get there eventually, trust me," you chuckled and rested your head on his shoulder. "just don't overthink it, okay?"

lorenzo smiled back, clearly more relaxed now that had confided in you. his fingers tightened slightly around yours as he rested his head on top of yours.

"i know, thanks for listening, darling."

"always, enzo." you kissed his cheek briefly. "and if they bother you again about it, just let me know, i'll gladly hit them," you added, laughing.

"you would do that for me?" he looked at you, his expressive eyes sparkling in the dim light of the room.

"i'd do anything for you," you answered honestly, smiling warmly at him.

it was the truest thing you had ever told him; there wasn't a single thing you wouldn't sacrifice for him. he was just worth it. your words seemed to awake something in him, you could almost see the gears in his head spinning as he stared at you intently.

"really? anything?" his voice deepened a bit, his eyes still locked onto yours. "can i ask you something then?"

"of course silly, anything," you replied, letting out a nervous laugh as his intense gaze made you feel butterflies in your belly.

"would you..." he swallowed nervously, taking a deep breath before continuing. "would you maybe... want to be my first?"

your breath hitched when you heard his proposal, your heart started racing in your chest. for a second, you thought that you could be dreaming, so you pinched yourself; the pain you felt confirmed that your were, in fact, not sleeping.

"enzo, are you sure about that?" you questioned, unsure if he was saying it seriously or not. "we've just talked about that, there's nothing wrong with being a virgin," you repeated.

"i know, darling." he bite his lower lip, looking down at the floor for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "but i can't stop thinking about it... and i'd really like it to be with you."

"really?" you gasped in surprise, nipping at your bottom lip to try and hide the smirk that tugged at the corners of your mouth.

you loved enzo; not the kind of love you feel for a brother, though, you were in love with him, and you had tried to convince yourself otherwise for a long time, because you thought your feelings weren't reciprocated, but now... he was in front of you, asking you to be his first, and you weren't sure if you'd be able to ignore your feelings anymore.

"you aren't just doing it out of social pressure?"

you wanted to make sure he was not feeling pressured to do it; you wanted him to do it only if he finally felt ready to take that step.

"no, i mean it," he said, blushing shyly. "i really want it to be with you, y/n. you're so beautiful, and kind, and smart. i've had a crush on you for years."

his admission made your heart skip a beat; you thought you were going to faint right there and then. your thoughts were all over the place, your mind racing as you looked at him, but there was just one thing that you knew for sure; you were dying to kiss him... so you did.

"then, i guess it can be arranged," you whispered, reaching to cup his face and pull him into a kiss, one that was very sweet at first.

enzo's eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into the kiss, his hands moving to rest on your hips. he gasped softly against your lips, his heart racing wildly. you took control of the kiss as you tangled your fingers in his hair and tug at it, slipping your tongue in his mouth; the innocent kiss soon turning into a full make out session.

his hands moved slowly but surely down to the small of your back, gently pressing against your lower back and pulling you even closer to him. you slightly moaned into the kiss, unable to get enough of the taste of his soft lips.

"you taste so good, enzo," you muttered between kisses, not pulling back at any moment.

your hand moved down his neck, gripping at it, which made enzo gasp softly, his fingers digging into your waist as his tongue became bolder in your mouth. he could feel himself getting hard, the rush of blood making him dizzy.

he was practically on top of you at that point, so you pushed him gently until he was sitting on the bed, back against the headboard and you straddled his lap, leaning in to resume the kissing. quickly, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you as close a he possibly could. one of his hands moved to the hem of your shirt, pushing it upwards slowly; the gentle caress of his fingertips on your skin gave you goosebumps.

"you want me to take this off, baby?" you asked, breaking the kiss, as you started toying with the hem of your top.

lorenzo looked at you with hooded eyes, licking his lips slightly. "yes, please… take it off."

you smirked, grabbing the hem of your top and pulling it off your body. since you were not wearing a bra, you breasts were now completely exposed under his intense gaze. his eyes darkened as he saw your boobs for the first time; they were perfect, just like the rest of you.

"have you ever touched a girl, enzo?" you questioned, a sweet tone to your voice.

he swallowed hard, his hands aching to touch you, and answered, "no, i haven't."

"don't be shy, baby," you whispered with a smile, grabbing his hands to encourage him to cup your breasts, squeezing them lightly. "like this."

enzo stared at your face closely, his eyes filled with lust as he mimicked your action, his hands squeezing both your boobs gently. his thumbs brushed against your little nipples, causing them to harden instantly.

"you're beautiful," he breathed out, completely stunned at your beauty.

you gasped slightly, your cheeks flushing as a heat wave washed over your body; your panties growing wetter by the second. the way he touched you, as if he was worshipping your body, was a huge turn on.

"thank you, baby," you muttered, squirming in his lap.

enzo moaned softly as he felt your body grinding against his hard length. he kissed along your jawline and down your neck, nipping softly as he went. you let out a cute whimper, your eyes fluttering shut when you felt his tongue lapping at one of your hard nipples and you reached up to tangle your fingers in his soft hair, caressing it tenderly; he groaned against your skin as he began to suck at the hard nub gently.

his hand moved down between your legs and he slipped his fingers underneath the fabric of your shorts and panties; you felt his digits rubbing hesitantly over your pussy, as if he didn't know what to do with them next.

"enzo," you gasped at his action, tugging at his hair tenderly. "you have never done that before, right?" you chuckled as you you caressed his face.

lorenzo blushed slightly and shook his head slowly, still teasing your sensitive skin with his fingers. his eyes locked onto yours as he whispered back, "no... i have not."

"let me show you how to do it properly, yeah?" you said with a sweet voice, grabbing his hand to pull it out of your panties.

then, you got off his lap, sitting next to him as you pushed your shorts and underwear down your legs, finally exposing your pussy. his breath hitched in his throat as he saw you completely bare for the first time. he reached out tentatively, tracing a finger along your upper thigh.

your hand moved down to cup your pussy, your fingers gently parting your slick folds to rub your swollen clit in circles, teaching him how you liked it; you couldn't help but gasp at the touch.

"just like this, see?" you asked, looking at him with glazed eyes.

enzo's eyes darkened as he watched you touch yourself; you looked so vulnerable and exposed, yet so sexy. when you withdrew your hand, he replaced your fingers with his, mirroring your movements as he started rubbing your clit in small circles.

"fuck yeah, like that..." you muttered, your breathing coming out in sharp pants as your hips bucked forward. "doing so good for me, enzo," you praised.

he groaned at your praise as he watched you writhing at his touch. his dick was rock hard in his pants and he wished more than anything that he could slide it into your tight pussy right away.

you reached next to you to push his sweatpants down his thighs, just enough to free his erection. he arched his back slightly to help you and his hard cock sprung free, standing tall against his flat stomach. you bit your lower lip, your mouth watering when you saw his dick; he was really big.

"can i touch you, baby?" you asked, your hand absentmindedly tracing patterns over his abs.

enzo's breath hitched at your touch. his abs flexed slightly under your fingertips as he nodded eagerly. when he gave you his permission, you grabbed his length in your hand gently, pumping it slowly at first.

he groaned at your touch, leaning back against the headboard as you began to stroke his cock, his fingers still rubbing your soaked pussy. his eyes were half-closed as he watched you move your hand up and down.

"that feels so good, darling," he muttered.

you moaned in response when his digits picked up speed, pressing down your swollen clit and making you squirm in pleasure. your chest raised and fell quickly as you gasped for air.

he smirked as he felt your body respond to his touch, leaning forward to capture your lips in a passionate kiss that you returned instantly. his tongue slipped inside your mouth as his hand slid down your slit, searching for your entrance; he pushed two fingers inside of you, feeling your wetness coat his digits as he began to thrust them in and out.

you whined, involuntarily breaking the contact between your lips, and your face scrunched in pleasure. your hand moved faster as it stroke his cock, your thumb teasing his tip, that was leaking precum.

he groaned, his mouth finding your neck. his free hand slid up to cup your breast, massaging it gently as he continued to finger fuck you. he was already close to cumming, all the new sensations overwhelming him, but he wanted to make it last as long as possible.

"enzo, fuck," you cursed, your pussy tightening around his fingers when you felt the coil in your belly about to snap. "such a good boy... making me feel so good."

you gasped, your pumps becoming sloppier as you approached your orgasm. enzo's breath hitched at your praising words, hips bucking against your hand, unable to contain himself any longer.

"please, love... let me inside you," he begged between breathy moans, his fingers thrusting in and out of you harder.

"how do you want me, baby?" you asked in a whisper, your lips brushing his as you spoke.

enzo nipped at his lower lip, he didn't even have to think his answer. "i want you to ride me," he muttered as he looked into your eyes, his own glazed with lust.

you gasped when he withdrew his fingers from your pussy, a smirk tugging at your lips as you said, "whatever you want, baby."

you released his cock from your grasp to climb onto his lap. enzo's breath caught in his throat when you straddled him, the sight of your wet pussy just inches from his cock making him shudder with anticipation; he almost came on the spot. his hands found purchase on your hips, pulling you closer to him.

you grabbed his cock and placed the tip against your entrance, slowly lowering yourself onto it. you couldn't help but moan as you took his big cock inside you. once he was fully seated within your pussy, you stood still for a moment to get used to the new intrusion.

"how does that feel, my pretty boy?" you asked, leaning in to nuzzle his neck affectionately.

he groaned, his hands moving to cup your ass as he began to instinctively thrust up into you. it felt so perfect, so right, like every inch of him belonged inside you.

"it feels so good," he whispered in your ear, his breathing ragged.

"yeah... it does," you agreed, starting to ride him slowly at first; his cock reached all the right spots inside you so easily. "it's like your dick was fucking made for me, enzo," you moan, your breathing growing uneven.

he shuddered as he bucked up into you, his fingers digging into your ass so hard that you were sure he would leave bruises. you were so fucking tight, and he was so hard, the friction almost too much for him to handle.

you smirked as you saw him so helpless underneath your body while you rode him. you reached to tug at his hair, tilting his head back to suck at his neck, leaving some hickeys, which made him moan.

"you like being deep inside my tight pussy, enzo?" you teased him.

your boobs bounced as you jumped on his cock; that sight only adding to his pleasure. you placed your hands on his chest to support yourself, seeing his eyes roll back in his head as he felt you tighten around him; he thrust up into you, hitting that perfect spot again and again.

"yeah... so fucking much," he answered, panting heavily.

"such a naughty boy..." you cooed, a smug grin tugging at the corners of your lips. "but i love it."

you looked closely at him; he was completely flustered, cheeks flushed and hair sticking to his sweaty forehead.

"you look so fucking pretty underneath me, enzo," you complimented him

he groaned, sliding one hand down to rub against your clit roughly, the other one still holding onto your ass.

"don't stop, please." he breathed out, his hips lifting up to meet every downward thrust of yours.

"you close, pretty boy?" you asked him, watching his face attentively as he nodded in response. "you gonna be a good boy and hold it in for me, yeah?" you ordered with a soft voice.

he whimpered, biting his lip harshly. his cock throbbed inside you, aching for release, but his thumb did not stop rubbing circles on your clit; the sensation of his dick pounding into you together with the stimulation on your clit making you weak on the knees.

"yes... I'll be good for you."

"that's my boy," you praised him, struggling to keep up the pace while riding him since your legs had started shaking from the pleasure. "you gonna make me cum, baby." you breathed out, moaning loudly.

you hand had a conscience of its own and moved up to grasp at his neck, applying light pressure on it. enzo's eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, your grip limiting his air flow very slightly, but enough to make it pleasurable.

"oh fuck! i'm cumming," he moaned, gritting his teeth.

"hold it," you commanded, your voice harder that time. "you won't cum until i do."

he moaned in frustration, shaking his head as his hips jerked up into you. "please... i can't."

"just a minute, baby, i'm almost there," you promised, whimpering while your pussy started clenching around his cock as your orgasm built up.

you kept riding him until you finally fell over the edge, letting out a long string of soft moans and whimpers while your whole body shook. you leaned into his body, your hands gripping at his skin as pleasure washed over you.

"oh gods, enzo," you moaned, "you can cum now, baby."

as soon as you gave him permission, he came with a loud whimper, almost a cry, shooting his thick cum inside you in long spurts, your pussy milking his cock as both of your rode out your highs, holding onto each other tightly.

he panted, leaning his forehead against yours, his heartbeat slowing down as he tried to catch his breath.

"that was amazing."

"pretty good for a first time, huh?" you chuckled, out of breath too, while caressing his back and shoulders; your bodies were completely pressed together.

"fuck yeah... let's do it again," he laughed, grabbing your hips to push you onto the mattress; your body bounced slightly.

"enzo!" you giggled, but your playful laugh soon turned into a moan when your best friend buried his head between your legs.

you had definitely created a monster... you weren't complaining, though.

[suntoru]

─ ✰ 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒.

— synopsis: 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔, the popular guy in your class, chooses to sit next to you, of all people. you've fallen head over heels, what happens next?

— warnings: highschool au! angst, fluff in the beginning, will not be writing a part 2, swearing, gaslighting, betrayal, just a bet troupe, gojo being a dick or everybody generally, 3.4k words!

— a/n: not my proudest work to be honest :( also tried another formatting lmk if u liked it! comments and reblogs r very much appreciated i will love u forever

"yo. can i sit here?" gojo satoru grins, effortlessly sliding into the empty seat next to you and making himself at home.

...huh? isn't that the popular guy who's usually surrounded by his friends? he's constantly the subject of admiration among the girls in your class, eliciting swoons and whispers of infatuation wherever he goes. confusion creeps in as you wonder why he didn't choose the empty seat next to suguru. there's no conceivable reason for someone like gojo, popular and charismatic, to opt for the seat beside you. you feel a sense of self-consciousness settling in.

nevertheless, you nod softly, though you're well aware the question was more of a rhetorical one. he's fashionably late, by twenty minutes, to be precise, unabashedly ignoring the scolding glares from your teacher about punctuality. instead, he buries himself in the deep blue plastic seat, sticking his tongue out when the teacher turns his back, letting out a huffy pout from the lecture.

nervously, you glance up from your notebook, cautiously stealing a peek at your new desk buddy. he's pretty─ real pretty, snowy white lashes adorning his pretty cerulean spheres, dainty fingers idly spinning a pencil out of sheer boredom. and as if kissed by the blush of a gentle sunrise, his lips possess a natural rosy hue, smooth and plump, belong to him like a delicate work of art. you wonder just how many kisses they've stolen. caught in a moment of admiration, you find yourself staring a tad longer than socially acceptable.

his eyes flicker, locking onto yours, and the realization hits you—oh, he caught you staring. shit. immediately, you break eye contact as you cough awkwardly. you swiftly attempt to play it off, pretending as if you were engrossed in examining the intricate texture of your silver-grey desk instead. your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and you hope he hasn't interpreted your lingering gaze as anything more than idle curiosity.

...should you say something? try to deny you were very clearly eye fucking him? he probably thinks you're a freak now. perhaps he sat next to you out of pity, and now he regrets it. out of sheer embarrassment, the words die in your mouth before they could ever leave, keeping your gaze glued to the floor as you refuse to acknowledge that his presence ever existed.

however, it appears that gojo won't let you suffer the embarrassment in peace. when your stern teacher turns away, he subtly slides a ripped edge of his blue-lined paper towards you, bearing a simple 'hi :)'. he's attempting a conversation, a surprising but welcome distraction from the awkwardness of being caught staring. an opportunity to salvage a bit of your dignity. now, the challenge lies in crafting a response that strikes the right balance.

would 'hey' sound too dry? but 'heyyyy' makes it seem like you're a little too interested. you opt for a casual 'heyy' with your black pen, scribbling the reply with extra caution to avoid prying eyes. as soon as the teacher is out of view, you subtly slip the note back to gojo. his lips curl into a slight smile upon reading your response.

two minutes pass by before you get a response. 'do you get this lesson? i'm soo lost..' accompanied by a small doodle of a crying suguru. you can't help but stifle a giggle; the drawing is poorly done, yet undeniably cute. the teacher swiftly turns around at the sound, prompting both of you to scramble and make it look like you're diligently focused on the lesson. the suspicious gaze lingers for a moment before the teacher returns to the whiteboard.

'maybe it's cause you missed like, half of the lesson.' you write back. he rolls his eyes playfully upon reading your retort, swiftly countering with a pout. "it's not my fault this class is so boring.'

'who said philosophy was supposed to be fun?' you reply. in response, gojo eagerly accepts the note, maintaining the subtle exchange of eye contact. 'hey, be nice to mr. aristotle, he's a great guy :(' he sends back. and thirty minutes seem to pass in the blink of an eye.

the bell chimes, signaling the end of the philosophy session and the need to transition to your next course. reluctantly, you stow your textbook in your bag, feeling a twinge of sadness at the realization that this amusing interaction might have been a one-time occurrence.

it's been a while since you've genuinely laughed. so when his ocean blue eyes latch onto yours with a genuine sense of hope, you quickly fold when he asks you if you're interested in sitting with him again tomorrow.

in those thirty short minutes, you learn three things about gojo satoru. firstly, you realize you've sorely misjudged him. he's not just another nepo-baby cheating his way through school; he's actually quite smart, smarter than he lets on. he's especially good in biochemistry, and he promises to help you study next time.

secondly, you discover that he loves sweets, just as you do. you both agree that kikufuku mochi is better than strawberry dango, and he even tells you about his favorite shop. maybe you can go together sometime.

and thirdly, he doesn't tell you this outright, but you learn that gojo is insecure. what strikes you the most is the glimpse of uncertainty you catch beneath his confident exterior. it's not about his looks or intelligence, but it's actually about his relationship with suguru. he's afraid to lose him, a fear that seems to drive him more than anything else. he overcompensates for his self-doubt. but you find that his flaws make him all the more pretty.

it's peculiar, the speed at which gojo somehow effortlessly integrates into your daily life. how he's feeling is how you're feeling, which is usually reflected on his friendship with suguru. if they had a fight, he'd be sad, and if everything was alright, he was too. but either way was okay with you, you just want to be there for him. what was once a dreaded fourth period now stands as the radiant highlight of your entire day.

despite the limited instances of verbal communication —perhaps a mere once or twice— the inexplicable truth remains: you've fallen head over heels for him. the simple act of passing notes with satoru becomes more than a routine; it evolves into the sole force that awakens you in the morning, the singular thought that propels you forward and keeps you going throughout the day.

and just maybe, the hopeless romantic within you fervently clings to the belief that his sentiments go beyond mere friendship. his actions seem to carry an extra layer of care, an attentiveness that extends beyond your platonic friendship. he notices the little things that escape the notice of others. it wasn't lost on him when you shed tears the other night due to the weight of stress; he went out of his way to procure your favorite candy bar, a sweet gesture aimed at brightening your spirits.

he took notice of your new haircut, expressing in a note that it frames your face nicely. he had comforted you when a classmate aimed a subtle insult your way, he wrote that the words of someone whose foundation didn't match their face shouldn't hold much weight. he even made an effort to be punctual for class, all to engage in the shared exchange of silly notes with you. and honestly, even if he didn't like you back, you'd be fine.

because your heart swells with gratefulness at the fact that he chose to sit with you. he wanted to be your friend even when nobody else did. you trusted and loved him with your whole heart, because that's what you believed he deserved.

so imagine your surprise when you overhear his conversation with suguru that day.

"just a day more, then you win the bet." geto groans, tossing his head back in exasperation. the two of them linger in the now-empty classroom, the echoes of other students long gone.

"yep, twenty four hours, then you owe me three hundred dollars." satoru sings, playfully nudging his best friend's shoulder. he's all sunshine and smiles, swinging his feet from the desk he's currently sitting on.

"and it wasn't even that hard. i just had to get 'em to fall for me." suguru rolls his eyes. "dude, if i was you, i would've tapped out the first week. how'd you manage to do it?" he huffs, clearly annoyed at the impending financial loss.

satoru mischievously grins. "just used my charm." he fluffs his hair with a smug expression on his face. "can't believe it worked so fast, though. they must be real desperate for someone's attention. all it took was for you to fuckin' pretend like you cared." suguru grouches, being a sore loser. you don't hear the rest, the notebook you had lost long forgotten.

a lump forms in your throat, a sensation of dread creeping up on you. you desperately want to believe he's not talking about you, but you can't shake the realization that to him, you were nothing more than a pawn in a bet— a tool used for his amusement. you're overwhelmed by a sense of stupidity, a painful realization sinking in, drowning every rational thought.

he never cared. you could fall dead at this moment and he wouldn't even spare you a glance. you should've known. why would he? you feel stupid for allowing him entry into your life, stupid for naively believing in his sincerity, and stupid for daring to love a heartless jerk who played with the fragile strings of your heart.

they're right. you are pathetic. you just blindly fell for the first person who gave, or rather, pretended to give a shit. a relentless ache throbs in your chest as you stubbornly refuse to succumb to tears over a boy— a resolution crumbling like fragile glass. despite your stubborn determination, an uncontrollable torrent of hot tears streams down your face, distorting the world into a watery blur.

the desperate yearning for someone to choose you, to envelop you in unconditional and pure love, had fueled your hopes. and for a fleeting moment, you believed you'd found it, only to witness your heart being ruthlessly trampled blue. clutching onto the tattered shreds of your dignity, half-broken and bleeding, you muster the strength to leave swiftly before they catch a glimpse of you.

the bitter taste of betrayal lingers in the air, each teardrop is a testament to the shattering of dreams, the dead hope that once soared. the yearning for a love that stands unwavering proves to be a mirage, leaving you grappling with the shards of a love that was never truly yours.

that day, you learn one more thing about gojo satoru. he's just like everybody else.

cerulean eyes, like pools of shimmering azure, flicker with concern as they scan the empty seat beside him. minutes stretch into eternity on the clock, each tick of the second hand amplifying the weight of his worry. nine twenty morphs into nine fifty pretty quickly, and he can't help but be a little annoyed. at this rate, you'll only get in twenty minutes of 'talking.'

you're always punctual—eight fifty-five on the dot. but today, the clock ticks on, and there's no sign of you anywhere. his brows furrow with concern, a nervous flutter dancing in his stomach. did something happen to you? the mere possibility sends a pang of anxiety through him, and he fidgets restlessly in his seat, unable to focus on the lesson before him.

yet, when his gaze shifts to meet suguru's, he swiftly masks his apprehension with an air of nonchalance, as if feigning indifference to your absence. but inwardly, his heart races as he anxiously awaits your arrival. when you finally walk in, he's already scribbling furiously on a piece of paper, filled with questions about what could have delayed you today. yet, as he extends his hand to pass you the note, his eager smile fades into confusion and disappointment.

you walk right past seat thirteen, your usual spot, without so much as a glance in his direction. instead, you approach a random girl and ask if you could sit with her. his heart sinks, a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks as a torrent of thoughts flood his mind. is something wrong? are you upset with him? he replays every interaction in his mind, searching for any misstep. but he can't find one. he's been careful to maintain the perfect facade when you're around. perhaps you simply forgot, he reasons with himself, attempting to quell the rising tide of hurt and confusion.

yes, that must be it.

...just a simple oversight.

"hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!! just wait a moment!!" gojo's voice cuts through the chatter of students eager to leave as soon as the bell rings. he grabs your wrist, his touch gentle yet firm, halting your attempt to blend into the rush. his heart races in his chest, the sudden surge of adrenaline making his palms clammy.

"um... you didn't sit with me today." he mumbles, the words coming out in a rush, his voice tinged with uncertainty. his fingers toy with the ring around his finger, his gaze fixed on the ground as he struggles to find the right words to continue the conversation. he doesn't like the way you're looking at him. there's a flicker of irritation in your gaze, a departure from the usual warmth and affection that he's grown accustomed to. normally, when his eyes meet yours, your cheeks tint pink, your pupils dilate, and you give him the cutest starry-eyed look. but not today.

"yeah," you mutter casually, your eyebrow raising ever so slightly. there's a certain coldness in your eyes that sends a shiver down his spine. you're about to leave again, but he moves to block the door, a frown creasing his forehead.

"did i do something wrong? i don't understand why you're suddenly acting so bitchy," he huffs, irritation lacing his voice. the words tumble out before he can stop them, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "no," you reply simply, your tone devoid of any emotion, as if you genuinely don't care. it stings his ego, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

"you can 'use your charm' to make a new friend. since it's so easy for you, right?" you mutter, your voice trembling with suppressed anger. you promised yourself you'd hold it together, but the wound is still raw, etched deep into your mind as a flush of resentment rises within his eyes widen in shock, a pang of guilt stabbing at his heart. you heard that? no, no, no... he hadn't meant for you to be there. he had been so careful, or so he thought.

"i didn't mean it, i just-" he stutters, desperately searching for an excuse, but he knows it's futile. there's no chance you'd believe him now, would you? his heart sinks. he doesn't want you to hate him. "i was easy, right?" you laugh bitterly, each word dripping with sarcasm and pain.

"i hope that three hundred dollars was worth it. not that you even needed it, though. you think toying with people is fun? you're a dick, satoru, go to fucking hell." you hiss, your words laced with venom, cutting through the air like a sharp blade. "let me explain-" he protests, desperation evident in his voice as he tries to reason with you. but you're too angry to even consider it.

"explain? explain what?'" you explode, your voice rising with each syllable, oblivious to the judgmental glances of passersby. you scoff, tears threatening to spill over.

"i didn't mean it," he cuts you off, his own voice strained with emotion. "you're my friend, i just—" his voice cracks. "friends don't manipulate other people's feelings." you interrupt, your voice laced with venom as you spit out each word. you're aware you look like a mess, mascara staining your cheeks. "friends don't trick and hurt you on purpose!" you yell, tongue dripping with malice. "and here's the thing. you may be the greatest, satoru, but you will never, be enough. not for suguru, not for anybody."

you almost regret saying it. targetting his biggest insecurity. but then again, he deserves it. "how could you say that?" his voice is broken, quiet, as he mumbles it out as a whisper. the eyes that you once found so stunning suddenly look just like everybody else's. they well with tears, but are quickly blinked away. "you don't get to cry, satoru," you scoff, unzipping your bag and opening the front pouch.

you toss all the letters you've written in class, all the sticky notes, every single ripped paper, every little doodle, flipping your bag over and emptying it on the floor. every single heart fluttering moment you experienced seems so dead now. "you don't get to act like you cared. it's only fair, after all." you manage to muster, fighting to keep your voice stable. tears drip down your chin as your bottom lip trembles.

every step feels like a battle, a relentless tug-of-war between what your heart wants and what your mind knows is right. leaving him behind is like tearing off a piece of your own soul, but you convince yourself it's for the better— for your own sanity, for your own self-respect. each stride forward is heavy with the weight of goodbye, each breath drawn in a struggle against the ache in your chest. and as you finally turn away, a part of you dies inside, a piece of your spirit crumbling in the wake of shattered trust and broken dreams. you can feel his eyes on your retreating figure, the silent witness to your silent agony.

this time he doesn't try to stop you. and when you leave, gojo finally allows himself to cry.

today, gojo finds himself seated next to suguru, reclaiming his former spot from before the bet. yet, everything feels different now. the idiotic jokes his friends make just aren't as funny anymore. their presence is irritating to him. he laughs, but the sound lacks the same genuine joy it once held with you. he smiles, but it's a mere shadow of the radiant expression he wore in your presence. his heart may feel a fleeting sense of happiness, but there will always be a hole where you once were.

his so-called 'buddies' don't even notice that he's at his lowest point, and he can't help but think about the way you would've noticed immediately.

how you would've sent him a cute note with his favourite candy attached, because you kept them in your bag just for him, for these kinds of days. he feels so numb. he's always been so confident, yet he can't even muster up the courage to pass by your desk.

and he can't help but wonder what might have been if he had chosen differently that day, if his intentions had been pure from the start. would you two have gotten somewhere? he supposes that now, he'll never know the answer. his eyes cloud over at that thought, slouching back down into his seat.

he never had the chance to tell you how sorry he was, how he would take it all back in an instant if he could. he didn't mean to hurt you. he was stupid and careless. and yet, he tries to convince himself that he'll be okay. that he'll be able to get over you one day. one day, when he's married and has two kids, he'll look back at this and laugh. so then why does his heart feel so heavy? you're not suguru, it's true. but suguru never made him feel this way. and he's confused with his own feelings.

he doesn't know what love is.

he's only sixteen.

perhaps he'll never know. but for him, love was sneaking kikifuku mochi into class for you to share. it was sending you cat memes at three am in the morning, only for you to groggily respond with your own. it was doodling you in his notebook in his spare time. it was how what you were feeling was how he was feeling too.

you were right, it seems.

gojo satoru, the greatest, yet not enough to make you stay.

© KAEFFEINEE 2024. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[nohoney]

us series! reader has gotten a little lazy at riding, so keigo and touya decide to fix that (*/ω＼)

“You’re spoiling her, you know?” Touya points out one day as he and Keigo grocery shop together, “She’s getting all princess-y ‘cause of you.”

Amber eyes gloss over the selection of bread in the aisle, looking for a particular brioche that he’s been craving for the last week. The bread is found and placed into the cart, Keigo walking ahead for the next thing on the list they need to get. “I don’t know what you mean. I think we’ve been waiting hand and foot for her this entire time.”

It’s not really unusual for you to be used to the princess treatment, not really needing to get up if you need or want something for yourself.

“That’s not what I meant.” Touya sighs as he pushes the cart and lets the blond decide what’s needed for their purchases. “She’s not riding dick like she used to. It’s because when she’s on top of you, you’re doing all the work from the bottom. I’ve noticed it the last three times.”

“Okay, and? What does how we fuck have to do with how you fuck?” Keigo glances back at Touya briefly as he continues to walk towards the next aisle, “If she’s getting lazy with you, you know what to do with her.”

Opting to fuck around, the cart gets pushed into Keigo’s backside and the metal is noisy from the impact.

“You need to do it, you’re the one making her lazy when she’s on top.”

“It should occur to you that I fuck her the way I do is because I enjoy it. I like putting in the work.” Keigo points out, dropping the subject and flipping off Touya for being a menace with the cart. He really doesn't think anything of what was brought up and continues on normally.

But the point comes up in his mind the next time Keigo has sex with you. How he ended up just fucking you from the bottom, keeping your body pressed down to him and thrusting up into your pussy that he just can’t get enough of. And there’s no fight from you to try to take control of riding him. You used to sometimes at least attempt to be the one to take reigns and he’d entertain it before fucking you the way he wants.

He cums in you, your body relaxing against his and it’s like you melted. Keigo moves you like a rag doll, rolling you over to lie back on the bed so that he can fetch a towel and clean himself up. “So good Keigo… so good…” you mutter, leaning back into the pillows and reaching for your phone to start scrolling on your social media.

Not even a thank you for the dicking down you just got—Touya was right.

You are getting spoiled.

Keigo is a bit more gracious when he’s proven to be in the wrong. He goes to Touya says the magic words, “You were right, she doesn’t put in the work anymore.”

Blue eyes are full of mirth when Keigo comes with the admission, already knowing exactly what they’re going to do so that you learn a little lesson. Not that he doesn’t like spoiling you but even you are expected to put in a little bit of effort here and there. And if you’re not gonna do it willingly—

They’re just gonna make you.

“Get on Kei’s dick baby, wanna see you with him.” Touya mutters against your lips, letting you taste your own pussy after he had eaten you out. You’re eager for more kisses from him, almost too lost in the affection before he spanks your ass and directs to the blond laying back on the bed.

Crawling over to Keigo, you hold his cock as you slowly slip it in you. You let out a small gasp, the stretch of him entering you is always pleasant and when he’s fully sheathed inside, you get a dreamy smile on your face. You start to lean down to him, having gotten used to Keigo hugging you back when you move in that motion and you expect him to put in the work of fucking you that he’s been doing the last few times.

So you’re surprised when you’re pushed back by Keigo and surprised again when Touya grabs a fistful of your hair and cranes your neck back. You whimper, being unable to speak a word from the position your first boyfriend has got you in. Only little sounds are the best you can muster as you wonder what’s in store for you.

“Ride him, you’re putting in the work today.” Touya tells you, releasing your hair and spanks your ass hard that makes you yelp. It wasn’t a playful smack either—it was meant to hurt you a little.

Keigo is usually nice when Touya is mean. A comforting hand smooths over the area you were struck, his touch is soft and his gaze is soft too when you look down at him. His hand lifts and strikes you in the same spot Touya did with just as much strength.

“Agh! Hurts!” You whimper and you look down expecting to get a bit of mercy from the blond, but he’s shaking his head and tutting at you.

“You heard him baby, ride me. You can do it, yeah?” Keigo’s voice is sweet, gentle, but the hand smoothing over the spot you were hit has you a little tense. “Yeah baby bird?”

They’re being mean to you together.

You hadn’t even realized how lazy you had been lately when it comes to being on top. Keigo was having fun being the one to do it all for you whenever he had you like this so you had gotten used to it. So you think that acting a little pitiful will earn you some kindness, maybe even make the boys feel bad.

Touya doesn’t have it with you, making you assume the position as he tells you firmly, “Ride him.”

With your hands placed on either side of Keigo’s head, you clench your hands and groan unhappily. You know better than to argue back though. So you move your hips, fucking Keigo’s cock into you for the first time in a while. It feels good, it does feel good, but you don’t have the stamina that you used to.

“Tired, ‘m tired!” you whine, “Please Kei, please just do it for me?”

Touya wasted no time in spanking you again, harder than he did last time. Keigo delivers one too that’s just as mean.

“I said ride him, that was barely even five minutes.” Touya admonishes you, “C’mon brat.”

“I can’t!” you whine petulantly and pout back at Touya.

“You don’t ride him, I’m gonna lift you off his cock and you’re not gonna get fucked by either of us until you actually put in some effort.”

The threat actually makes you mildly panic, looking down at Keigo to see if they actually mean it. They wouldn’t do that, right? They’re not just gonna hold out on you all because of this, right? Right?

Keigo thrusts up once, reaching one hand up to cup your jaw in his hand. He holds you gently but firmly, his voice reflecting the tender way he touches you, “Ride me, you can do it.”

You hesitate, a noncommittal sound hummed out.

This time Keigo is the first to hit your ass and then he gestures to Touya. “Alright, take her off me. She doesn’t want to.”

You feel Touya’s hands go underneath your armpits as if you to lift you up, but you shake him off and hastily speak out, “No! No, I’ll ride Keigo! I’m sorry, I will!” So you assume the position again, moving your hips in the motion that you know how to do but no longer have the stamina for. And what’s worse is that they’re not praising you—they’re still bullying you!

“You’re such a brat, fucking ungrateful. Keigo does all the work for you all the time and that’s the best you can give him?” Touya sneers at you.

“It hasn’t even been that long and you’re that tired already? Everything I do for you and you can’t at least give me half the effort. Lazy little slut.” Keigo sighs in disappointment.

Tears prick at your eyes, sniffling a little but you know better than to stop. Even the grinding you’re doing is at least something but it’s just not enough. You want Keigo to hold you down and use you. You want him to do what he does best and just fuck you until you’re stupid.

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry!” You whine. So you muster up what little energy you have and do your best to ride Keigo until he cums. It doesn’t matter if you do at this point. What’s important is focusing everything on him. He’s good to you, so so good to you and he deserves to sit back and relax while you show him that you’re willing to meet him halfway.

Your thighs burns as you bounce up and down on Keigo’s cock, your breath is shaky and you want to collapse. But you can’t stop until he’s happy, not until he decides that you’ve done a good enough job. No asking for help from Touya either—you know that this was his idea to do this to you.

“You want Keigo to cum in you, doll?” Touya turns your head to look at him, “Think you deserve it?”

You have to be careful with your words. If you eagerly agree, they could still bully you for being desperate and still only thinking of yourself.

“Whatever Keigo wants. I want to do what he wants.” you manage to speak out and hope it was the right thing to say.

Keigo seems to be satisfied with your words. “Then make me cum.”

It disappoints you a little that he won’t take over but you should know better because Touya is here as well. Maybe if it was just the two of you, Keigo wouldn’t have been as influenced to be as mean. But still you love them and a small part of you loves when they are mean. It can be frustrating when you’re ganged up on but you also know what kind of treatment you’ll get afterwards.

This will be worth it.

You ride Keigo as hard as you can, concentrating with all the effort you have left to focus on him. Touya’s at least kind enough to play with your clit, giving you a little something in return for saying and doing the right thing.

Keigo’s eyebrows start to knit together and you recognize the expression he makes, noticing how he grabs at your hips and his body starts to flex. His muscles and his chest, they get more defined as his body tenses underneath you. So with the last shreds of strength you have left, you fuck Keigo until his eyes start to roll back and he’s gasping for breath.

Then you remember how exhilarating it is to be on top and to watch him unfold beneath you. Even when you know he’s finished cumming inside you, now all of a sudden you just can’t stop. Keigo is the one babbling as you overstimulate him, nonsensical words that can barely be strung together to form a sentence.

“Good girl.”

Touya is the one to lift you off Keigo, immediately setting you onto the bed and pushing your legs open. You and Keigo are catching your breath together, whimpering when Touya shoves two fingers into your pussy. The pads of his fingers stroke inside you and your body writhes a little, but you know to not try to push Touya away.

He likes this.

He’s obsessed with you having Keigo’s cum in you.

“Good girl,” he repeats after he withdraws his fingers and licks them clean, “what do you say?”

“Thank you for teaching me a lesson.” You whisper and you’re relieved when you’re rewarded with a forehead kiss. This is the best part of your boys being mean to you—they’ll be so nice afterwards. They coddle and adore you, shoving their tongues into your mouth for sloppy kisses before doting on you.

Keigo holds you in his arms, muttering little praises along the crown of your hairline.

Touya massages your legs and thighs, his hands comforting and relaxing. But he doesn’t let you forget the lesson he put on you today, “Next time when either of us say that you need to put in some work, what do you?”

“I’ll listen,” you answer, “I won’t complain.”

“Good.”

[mv1simp]

for anon’s request: How about Lewis’ Daughter!reader like innocent and protected but Max completely makes her submit to him like actual love that she thinks Lewis is the bad guy for tryna come between their relationship? (Made it Lewis’ sister!)

Gods & Monsters ♥️

Max Verstappen x Hamilton!Reader

You got that medicine I need, fame liquor love, give it to me slowly…

As Lewis Hamilton’s younger, innocent sister, you’re desperate to prove yourself as an upcoming racer. Your family never seems to take you seriously, though, and after a fall out you end up training under Max Verstappen - your brother’s arch rival. Max promises he’ll train you to become the next world champion…as long as you do everything he asks.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, innocent virgin Hamilton! Reader, dark manipulative! Max, VERY dubcon, blindfolds, size kink, somnophilia, LH44 is sexist for plot reasons, ayo this is DARK!! 😙 3.4k WC

Growing up, you and your big brother Lewis were presented with two options. Either succeed, or fail to live upto the Hamilton name. Both your parents were incredibly hardworking and sacrificing - but all their attention would always go to their firstborn, the much older, bigger and better Hamilton. You were just as good as Lewis had been when starting out, spending every weekend on the track and dominating the junior karting races - but when it came time for you to progress into formula cars, your brother and father had chuckled, patting your head and saying it might be a bit too much for you, you were a lot smaller and younger than Lewis, after all. Maybe you should just stick to karting for now, or had you considered going into car design, you got pretty good grades in uni and that’s a much safer option?

You were understandably upset at the lack of opportunity to prove your last name. So you tried to sneak onto the F1 paddock, chatting up the team principals in the hope that they would recognise you from the karting podiums and recruit you into their junior teams-

But Lewis had caught on unbelievably fast, a tight smile and redirecting hand on your back as he led you out of the McLaren garage. We discussed this, baby sis Lewis said as you walked back to the Mercedes hospitality. He was never one to raise his voice but you could tell from his tone he was disappointed. You tried to argue again, saying that it wasn’t fair, you were a good driver too, but Lewis cut you off with a stern look. It’s not safe for you. The guys who race here - they aren’t like me, lil sis. You can’t trust any of them. I’m sorry, but you should stay in karting.

You’d slumped in resignation, briefly looking into the Redbull garage as you walked past - the only team you hadn’t yet gone to talk to. And home to perhaps the only driver who could understand the pressure you felt to live upto your father’s expectation - current reigning champion, Max Verstappen. Otherwise known as the bane of your family’s existence. He’d been the one to break your big brother’s winning streak, the subject of many a heated family discussion over the dinner table about how to defeat in a race. Truly, you hadn’t seen your big brother hate someone before until the day Max had crashed into him, sending him to the hospital and your heart rate into 200bpm as you prayed for his safety. Lewis had been fine, but his winning streak had not as Max went onto P1 that race.

So you had always learnt to stay far, far away from Mad Max. But last year when you’d been having a hard time on one of your karting races, and you paced back and forth during the red flag because normally you’d ask Lewis for help but he had started coming less often these days - you were interrupted by a knock on the door. You ran to open it, thinking your brother had decided to come after all - only to crane your head up to meet the handsome face of the tall Dutch Redbull driver. You’d immediately flushed, on guard just like your family had taught you to be and asking what he was doing - but he had kindly ignored your rudeness and said he happened to be here for another friend and had seen your race, did you need some advice?

You’d been so desperate to win that you had let him in, looking around to make sure no paparazzi had seen as you were sure Lewis would ban you permanently from karting if he caught a whiff of this. To your suprise, Max was so helpful and supportive, giving you excellent pointers and aggressive strategies your brother would never dare guide you towards. You’d gone onto win P1, and after the podium had excitedly gone to find Max and thank him. Of course, schat, he’d replied easily, a handsome smile on his face, making you blush. Since then Max had always been there to guide you at your races, making you win multiple competitions to celebrate together or comfort you after a loss. Your family had no idea, of course, because they would skin both you and Max alive if they ever knew about your close friendship.

But now, things were starting to reach a boiling point as your relationship with your brother became tense as he actively tried to deter your formula career. And Max - your kind, thoughtful friend Max - had definitely noticed this. So he casually informed you that the Redbull academy was recruiting, and personally drove you the trials the next week, and welcomed your excited hug into his broad arms afterwards as you sailed into P1 and were offered an immediate spot on the Redbull F2 team, so grateful that the older, experienced driver had taken such a genuine interest in your racing, unlike your own family.

When you tried to break the good news to your family, shit had obviously hit the fan and they demanded that you decline the position. It’s not that I’m not proud of you baby sis, Lewis had sighed. It’s that you cannot trust Max Verstappen, seriously - he only thinks about himself. He’ll definitely hurt you or use you to hurt me.

You had screamed and cried, saying that Max had been the only one to look out for you these last few months. You’d called the Dutchman for advice, sniffling and saying I’m sorry Maxie, they won’t let me go, I have to decline-

He’d gently interrupted and reminded you that you’re an adult, you know schat? And an incredibly talented driver. You should put yourself first for a change. You’d hesitated, because you’d never done anything without your family closely supervising you before - but where would you go, you say confused. You didn’t know anyone - you know me, Max offered. Come stay at mine while you sort things out, but don’t let it delay starting your F2 season.

You’d started crying again, telling the Dutch driver how lucky you were to have him as a friend. And that’s how you found yourself tucked into his much larger frame, on his private jet en route to Monaco, fast asleep from the emotionally charged day as he lovingly kissed your forehead. And your temporary residence at his penthouse dragged into months into an indefinite stay as he insisted it was safer for you, given the papparazzi that had gone crazy at the youngest Hamilton sibling switching sides - just for now, until it dies down. You’d gratefully accepted, becoming accustomed to his luxurious lifestyle and wanting to be in close proximity to Max. It was hard to control the thumping of your heart as you scolded yourself internally for your crush on the tall driver, who you were sure only saw you as a junior driver to guide.

Before the season started, Max had warned you that your family would interfere and try to turn you against him. You hadn’t taken it seriously, but when Lewis approached you at your first race, demanded to speak to you in person after you’d been blocking his calls for days, Max had been all to happy to get security to escort him away after you’d started becoming upset, just like he knew you would. Don’t pay any mind to him, schat. He’s probably just jealous of your success.

You’d found that hard to believe, because although your big brother had a few annoying traits, he would always be genuinely happy about your wins. But Max had planted the seed of doubt that began to crumble your inner self worth, questioning if your big bro had only been holding you back because he wanted to remain the family champion. Remaining on edge, your anxiety began damaging your racing and dropping you in the rankings. You slept fretfully, paranoid that you were going to be benched and would be forced to go home in humiliation and hear your family’s we told you so.

You let Max climb into your bed one night when he heard your muffled cries, running a soothing hand up and down your back, hungrily enjoying the view of your thick ass as your silky nightie rode up while you sobbed into his strong chest. And when you opened up about all your worries, it was only natural that he offered to be the one to train you, being the current world champion and all, right? You had lit up, so delighted that he had offered, flushed because truly you’d never met anyone so kind and giving like him.

And Max - well, he would never let an opportunity to get back at Lewis slide by. Training his precious little sister, the one he always protectively hid away from the rest of the grid? Oh, it was almost too perfect, he thought darkly. And it was an added bonus that you were so gorgeous, all dark curls, innocent doe eyes and a soft, curvy 5 foot figure under his almost 6 foot frame. But my training is intense, schat. Very strict. He made you promise that you’d do whatever he asked, no matter how you felt, because it was the only way to win - and that you couldn’t tell anyone else about his top secret training methods, especially your big brother. You’d eagerly nodded your agreement, looking up at him with starry eyes and saying Yes Maxie, of course, I trust you, thank you so much for offering, I’m so grateful!

As the weeks went by, Max proved himself to be the best mentor you could ask for. You two would train together, going on morning jogs, drinking the same protein smoothies, discussing the best overtaking techniques. All the time you two spent together made rumours fly around the paddock about the exact nature of your relationship - but Max dismissed them all with a roll of his eyes, telling you that it was so sexist of people to assume you were his girlfriend and not his junior driver. You’d agreed, althought you couldn’t help feeling disappointed that Max didn’t seem to think about you in a romantic sense at all.

Your rankings started improving, but Max had said that you needed a lot more work if you wanted to reach P1, especially given your smaller size compared to the rest of the drivers. You nodded eagerly, curious when he easily picked you up and deposited you in between his thick thighs on his sim rig, ordering you to show him your driving. You’d been doing so well until he started brushing his large hands across your soft waist and whispering naughty things in your ear about how sexy you looked, how hard it was to resist you every night while you slept right next door to him. You’d squealed, confused and asking just what he was doing - Trying to test your ability to focus, to avoid any distractions, Max replies disapprovingly as your car crashed on the screen. Clearly, you have a lot of work to do. This isn’t good enough!

Oh, you’d replied, feeling foolish for thinking anything romantic of it. Max didn’t like you like that, after all. So you two resumed the daily sessions, him torturing you for hours with caresses all over your body, squeezing your soft tits and pinching your nipples through your tight camisoles, and sliding large fingers up the skirt he’d always make you wear to tease your embarrassingly damp slit. You’d gone pink in the face when he first felt it, stuttering out apologies but he just sweetly reassured you that it wasn’t your fault, just a normal reaction - like this, he’d said, pulling your small waist back so you grinded on something very large and hard tucked into his sweats. You’d never felt something like that before, having never had a boyfriend since your family always kept you under their protective eye.

But it felt sooo good, you thought guiltily, hoping Max wouldn’t mind when you would be unable to resist grinding against him some sessions. He never seemed to care, instead progressing you to the next level by slipping his cock out of his sweats one night and letting it bounce up against your most innocent parts. You had gone wide eyed seeing it for the first time, not expecting it to look soo big and thick and angry, making your stomach twist in fear. But it was business as usual as Max angrily scolded you for becoming distracted, making you restart as he began gliding his cock along your puffy folds - always separated by your soaked lace panties, of course.

Once you had become a master at being laser focused, he made you develop your senses next. A good driver is always in tune with the feel, the smell, the sound of the car, he explains. You don’t question him, obediently drooping onto your thick ass in front of his spread thighs as he wraps a silk tie across your eyes. You bite your lip from the sudden disorientation, feeling nervous, but Max’s large palm comfortingly strokes your hair. At his command you poke your tongue out and hold your palms up, waiting for the first test and he almost groans out loud from your sweet gullibility. You correctly identify a bunch of different exotic tasting fruits, specific switches and buttons on the replica steering wheel - and sassy, you giggle, when you feel Max’s cat climb into your lap. He muses that he’s going to have to give you something harder to figure out cause you’re so good as this, making you blush from the praise. You curiously hear a rustle as he steps closer and then he guides your small hands to something very long and thick. You experimentally rub your hands along it, hearing Max hiss. A banana? You say dumbly after a few beats, Cucumber?

Wrong, Max says, sounding a bit breathless. Why don’t you taste it, hmm? You diligently lick the tip of it with your delicate tongue, not recognising the heady, salty taste, and begin licking more and more as you become determined to figure it out. You don’t know how many minutes have passed but you aren’t any closer to guessing it, instead saying It tastes really good, Maxie, what is it? You hear him swear, grip tightening in your hair, and then he orders you to open your mouth wide to get a proper taste, his normally deep voice even huskier than normal. You feel him trace your plush lips with his thumb, making you feel that dirty tingly feeling in between your legs again, before the mysterious warm and thick length is shoved down your throat, making you gag uncontrollably. You whine, trying to pull back and breathe, but Max’s strong hand doesn’t let up as he roughly shoves it in and out of your tight mouth.

Tears drip down your cheeks at the intensity and you’re drooling messily, but Max doesn’t seem to care one bit and you might’ve imagined it but you thought you hear the click of multiple photos being taken. Guessed what it is yet, schat? Max asks mockingly, and you whine, shaking your head. Too bad, maybe this will help you figure it out. He pushes the whole length past your lips as you feel something thick and creamy flood your mouth, giving you no option but to swallow it, licking your lips to try figure out the taste. Afterwards, Max had gently taken the blindfold off, revealing his flushed face, and wipes your tears away sweetly. Sorry I didn’t get the last answer, you say guiltily, upset that you had no clue. It’s alright, doll, Max reassured, I’m sure you’ll get it next time, yeah?

Another thing that you needed to improve was your endurance and stamina. F2 races were a lot more demanding than karting, Max pointed out, noticing how tired you would be after a race. He increased the frequency of your runs and workouts, always helping you stretch before and letting his dark gaze hungrily linger on your pliant body underneath him. You’d wear the cutest little yoga shorts and sports bras, leaving your sensitive chocolate-toned skin on display for him, and it was almost too easy to accidentally slide in between your legs or brush the swell of your breasts as he stretched you out, bending your legs right back up over your head and leaving you breathless. But it wasn’t enough for Max as you consistently scored on the podium now but never P1. So he proposed the ultimate endurance training, that all the F1 drivers did regularly - fucking.

Fu-you mean, making love?! You’d shrieked hysterically, whipping your head up as he brought it up casually when you two were watched a movie, cuddled up on the couch. He’d smirked, Sure darling, making love.

You’d looked nervous, like a deer in headlights, telling him you weren’t sure, you felt uncomfortable doing that for the first time…but Max’s stormy expression left no room for discussion. Everyone on the grid does it, all the time. Even your older brother, he said condescendingly. It’s a pretty good stress relief. Trust me, your driving will become so much faster.

You innocently eat up Max’s blatant lies, hesitantly asking if you should get a boyfriend then, that cute engineer from the Redbull garage had asked you out after all- No! Max says heatedly, glaring furiously at the thought of some other man laying their hands on what belonged to him. You look at him, confused how he expects you to- I mean, no, it’s fine schat, it’s part of your training after all, so I’ll take care of you, okay?

You flushed prettily, biting your lip and squeezing your thighs together at the thought of Max taking your virginity, as your romantic feelings had only grown the more time you spent with him. And soon enough, later that night, Max had climbed into your bed again to find you shyly waiting for him, dressed in that silky nightie he liked. Pulling it up over your hips, he moved your lace panties to the side and made you blush as he hungrily eyed your dripping innocence, just like he’d done many times while you’d been peacefully sleeping, unaware of the twisted desires your mentor had for you. He’d then stretched you out on his thick fingers, then replaced them with his even thicker cock - no condom, of course - sickly enjoying the tears streaming down your face as you sweetly moaned from pain and pleasure. Within minutes he was claiming you as his, sending you spiralling into orgasm after orgasm, screaming his name as you fell apart from overstimulation.

Max smirked at your small frame that was now passed out below him - you’d need a lot more training if this is all you could handle, he thought darkly as he gripped your petite waist, easily continuing to move you up and down his fat cock like a ragdoll. You moan blissfully in your sleep as he stretched out your virgin cunny. Maybe multiple times a day, Max decided, cause you just felt too damn good. In his bed next time, on the kitchen counter, in your driver’s room before the race and then maybe again after- and at least once in a hotel room where he neighboured Lewis. He could just imagine your wide eyes, teary from panic as you struggled to keep your moans quiet, begging him Maxie please, please not so rough as his thrusts repeatedly banged the headboard against the wall, making it clear to his rival just what kind of filthy things Max Verstappen was doing to his precious little sister.

The dirty, possessive thought makes him cum with a guttural moan, pumping you full of his generous load as he buries his flushed face in between your pretty tits to lick and bite at them. But what Max most looked forward to was the look on Lewis’ face when you would eventually show up to the paddock one day, F2 trophy in hand and a glittering rock on your ring finger to match, beaming in anticipation of replacing the Hamilton surname with Verstappen.

And no, Max would not be inviting him to the wedding.

—————————————————————————

A/N: ok anyways. This is a ridiculous amount of smut for me to have churned out in less than a day I need to touch some grass 🙏 as always lmk what you think and send in some more requests!

[slushycoookie]

Shave and a Haircut ~ Logan Howlett x Fem! Reader

✩ Word Count: 7.2k ✩ Content: Deadpool & Wolverine spoilers! Worst!Logan with a black reader (but I don't go into much detail so anyone can still relate), very fluffy, smut near the end, oral sex (f! receiving), vaginal fingering, safe sex (Logan does indeed wrap it up), MINORS DNI! ✩ A/N: A one-shot about my man because after I saw that movie I had to write something about him. Enjoy!

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

There is nothing like a cigar after an extended mission to ease the stress.

Logan lit his lighter, burning the cigar's tip and taking in some puffs. Smoke blows through his nose while his partner gets his sword out of his head.

"This is really stuck in here," Wade grunts, turning his head to get a different angle. "How the fuck-?" He jerks the sword around, managing to put it in deeper.

Logan watches, knowing he brought it upon himself when he taunted that gang leader, who was now dead on the floor, shredded. It was amusing to watch Wade struggle after giving him hell the entire time.

"Oh Wolvie?" Wade calls, giving him a wave. "Mind giving me a hand? Or are you just gonna watch?" Logan sighs, going over and pulling the sword out of his head with one motion. He tosses it to the ground while Wade cheers at his freedom from the blade. "Thanks, Dad."

That earns a middle finger from Logan as he sits down on the crate to resume smoking. Wade sits next to him on a smaller one, turning towards him, head tilted, and Logan knows he's batting his eyes.

"Did you give it any further thought?"

"Give any thought to what?" Another puff of smoke escapes his lips.

"That coffee shop girl. The one who gave you her number before licking that stirring spoon all seductive like." Wade describes, "A bit unsanitary, but we do what we gotta do for love."

"I'm not calling her."

Wade starts throwing a mini tantrum, kicking the crate he sat on away, hands on his hips. "But why?"

"She puts too much fucking cream in my coffee. After I told her not to."

"That's because she wants your cream. Inside her. Like many of us do."

"Then she should say it to my face and not mess up my order."

Wade groans, bringing over another crate, smaller than the last one, before plopping down on it. "You need to give me something here. I tried to set you up with the cat lady who lives above us, but you said no."

"Because she smells like fucking mothballs."

"Hey, so does Althea. And you didn't say anything!"

"I don't want to fuck Althea."

"Who doesn't want to fuck Althea?"

"Not the person who lives with her."

Wade huffs, folding his arms. "Fine. Pushing the cat lady aside, there was that librarian who was eye fucking you in the fantasy section. She definitely wanted a taste of Mordor."

"No, absolutely not."

"Ugh, who knew you were so picky? The Wolverine I knew wanted to fuck anything with a nice pair of legs and a hole."

Logan didn't respond, tapping the ashes away and taking another smoke.

A few months after Wade and he stopped Cassandra, the former wanted Logan to start branching out. Meeting other people while the merc with a mouth rekindled a relationship with his lady, Vanessa. It was Wade's way of ensuring Logan wasn't alone after he was for so long. Even Laura agreed that he should try. She said she wanted to see him happy.

"It's my decision, not yours," Logan told Wade before finishing his cigar and smashing it.

Little did he know that Logan already found someone.

A hairdresser.

Well, a licensed beautician, but you liked doing hair.

Logan met you after needing to get away from the house. Wade used his shampoo, which he wasn't sure why since the mercenary had no hair. Instead of subjecting Blind Al to another one of their famous beatings, he decided to get some fresh air.

Logan needed a wash and a trim. He was willing to take care of himself this time and not let himself go like in his other timeline.

That's when he noticed the lights of a salon while coming up the block. A large neon sign still showed it was open as someone else was inside. You were sweeping away stray hairs in the vicinity when Logan walked in, the bell ringing to alert you that someone had come in.

"Hello!" You greet, "How can I help you?"

Your cheery smile made Logan pause, "Uh, can you do a quick wash and a haircut?"

"Of course!"

He takes off his jacket, and you go to take it, but he stops you, deciding to at least keep some of his gentlemanly traits by hanging up his own clothes. You lead him to one of the sinks and secure the cape around him before having him put his head back. He sits there for a moment when you mumble that you need to get more shampoo.

The inside of the salon was simple.

Logan thought a woman like you who works there would have a more aesthetically pleasing environment—a splash of color, fancy lights, something. Instead, there are just regular barber chairs, huge, plain mirrors, and a small waiting area in the front.

Your attire was even simple. A casual T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers that were clearly made for people on their feet all day.

"Sorry, I didn't have a chance to restock the shampoo." You come back with a big bottle, setting it by the sink.

"It's fine." Logan grunts. You tilt your head to observe him for a moment. He waited for you to recognize who he is, fan girl about him, and then try to get in his pants. He wasn't looking forward to that. Logan does think you're okay to look at, but he just wanted to get a haircut and go.

After looking at him for the longest time, he decides to cut out the middleman. "Yes, I am the Wolverine, now can we get to the part where you do my damn hair?"

"Oh." You blink momentarily. "I was just checking to see if you needed a shave."

Logan could hear Wade say something stupid in his ear. Like, "Really jumped the gun, didn't you, honey badger?". "Fuck, sorry."

"It's okay."

"No, I didn't mean to explode at you like that."

"It's alright, Wolverine." You snicker while setting up your tools. "I recognized you as soon as you walked in. I thought I handled your arrival pretty well."

"Yeah, you did."

"Didn't think you'd prefer me screaming in your ear about how you're in my salon, asking me to give you a haircut and no one else. Of course, you would ask me; I’m the only one here. Alright, I'm gonna do your hair now."

Logan huffed, relaxing in the sink as you turned on the water. He jerked when the jets first hit his scalp. He knew from how your lips tightened that you weren't trying to laugh.

"Too hot?"

"Ya think?"

Quickly, you fixed the water to a cooler temperature. Logan allowed himself to relax as you did your magic.

He counted on one hand the last time someone else washed his hair. How he missed the feeling. Your fingertips massage his scalp, getting rid of the oil and dirt. The suds covered his head while you lathered his hair. His nostrils twitched at the crisp scent of cucumber and mint. It smelled delightful.

Despite the water debacle, you rinsed his hair out nicely. Making sure all the soap was gone. You placed a towel on him, getting rid of the excess water before helping him sit up. Logan felt sluggish, knowing he was about to fall asleep if you kept massaging him like that.

You couldn't help but snicker. "Don't fall asleep on me now." Logan didn't have a good comeback, half-assed muttering something when you led him to your styling chair. "I think we should give you a shave."

"No." He feels his beard on instinct, protecting it from your razor.

You playfully pout, and for a moment, he thought it was cute. "Aww, come on. Not even a trim?"

"Are you like this with all your clients?"

"No, only with Wolverine."

Logan rolled his eyes, "Logan. Enough of this Wolverine shit."

"Okay, Logan." He shakes his head, not saying anything else. "You got until I finish your haircut to let me know about that shave."

You maneuver behind him and begin your work. Logan's mild annoyance turned docile as you combed the knots out of his hair. Nothing but your light breathing and the turned-down radio in the background. He holds in a breath when you run your hands through it once more with oil. Even that oil smelled good. Slightly sweet.

"You walked in here with these cute little tufts on the side of your head." You compliment as you pull out the blow dryer. "Do you still want those?"

"They're not cute." Logan rebuttals, "Just style it the same way I had when I walked in."

"With the tufts, got it."

The hair dryer cut him off before he had a chance to speak. He sat there, gripping the handles of his chair and watching the excess hair fly around his face. All this time you were still gentle, handling his hair with ease.

Logan felt how his hair was soft, much softer compared to when he does it. His hair hadn't felt that way for a long time.

"So, you probably forgot, but you saved me years ago." You mention, running the brush amongst his head.

"Oh?" Logan's stomach turned. Of course, he met a person that his best self saved.

"Yeah, I know you save a lot of people, so it's easy to lose track. But it meant a lot to me." You recount the event as if to remind him. How a few rogue mutants tried to take over a city block, including the bank you were in. One of the guys tries to hold you hostage, escorting you to a car to take you to a second location. Only for Logan, not him, the other one, to show up and attack the mutants after scooping up your shaken body. Telling you, "It's okay, sugar."

"I wanted to see if I could thank you by offering a free haircut. It was stupid, you probably had access to the best barbers wherever you lived."

Logan shrugged, "They were alright."

Your laughter was nice, squeezing his heart. "Thanks for saying that. I still felt ridiculous though. That's why I gave up on the idea. I knew I was never going to see you again. Until now."

You turn him towards the mirror, showing off the hair cut with his barely noticeable tufts. Logan's eyes lit up seeing himself. He wasn't sure how you managed to give him the same haircut but better.

"Shit."

"A good shit, right?"

"Yeah."

You motion around his beard, your offer still standing. A beard trim wouldn't be bad but Logan had a feeling that once he went home, Wade would notice something different about him and didn't want to deal with that.

"Maybe another time. Thanks."

When he stands, he pulls out his wallet. You place your hand on top of his to decline. It was a brief touch but enough to make his heart jump.

"It's okay. On the house."

"Forget that, I gotta pay ya."

"Were you not listening when I said I wanted to pay back the Wolverine who saved me?"

He was but that was the thing. Logan wasn't your Logan. He was the worst one and you were trying to give him a free haircut. The wrong Logan.

"I don't like taking stuff for free."

"You're gonna have to deal with it." You fold your arms, "I'm not having you pay."

Logan didn't want to go through this song and dance. Being around someone as kind as you was long enough for him. He grunted, taking his jacket. You said goodbye as if you weren't going to see him again. But he wasn't the type of man to receive things without giving back.

That's when it started. His odd relationship with you.

Logan saved money on the side to give to you when he saw you next time. Yes, he was planning to see you again. His excuse to himself was you did his hair well. No other reason.

So when it was time for his next haircut, Logan had a plan. When he went to pay you, he would include the money from last time. To just say it was an additional tip.

You were smart, though. Somehow, after the initial shock of him coming back again for the haircut, you did accept payment but only for the last haircut. The one he just received was now free. Logan scowled at you while you had the prettiest smile on your face.

"I'm serious about that free haircut."

"And I'm serious about not taking things for free."

Logan hovered above you, meanmugging you to get you to cave. But you didn't care, a playful glint in your eyes.

It was annoying. A person as kind as you doing this for someone like him. For someone who's not even your Logan. Yet, he kept coming back, getting his usual haircut.

Like a stray cat who received food. Coming back and gracing you with his presence. It was just because you were good at doing his hair.

But there were times when Logan went to see you, he didn't get a haircut. The thought of you being alone at night hit him one day. How you closed at nine on the dot. The neighborhood wasn't terrible, albeit decent. Logan didn't like the idea of you being by yourself at night. You were nice. He was worried someone would hold you up in your salon to get you alone.

So he hung around the last hours you had to close.

You said you were fine, that you had been closing by yourself for years, with hardly any problems. Logan just wanted to make sure you were safe.

You didn't put up much of a fight either. Instead, you continued to do your duties. Tidying up, restocking after the customers that came through. With an intimidating superhero on the sidelines.

"Do you go on missions?" You ask one time while sweeping.

Logan lifted the styling chair for you, making sure you could reach every crevice. "Occasionally. I have to pay bills."

"Are they dangerous?"

"Of course, they're dangerous."

He then picks up the vanity, careful to not damage anything. Logan notices how your eyes land on his bulging bicep for a second before you go back to sweeping. "Do you have anyone that worries about you when you leave? Besides Laura?"

Logan likes it when you remember the other people he's close to. He told you about Laura not long ago. How she was looking into colleges, making him realize how much of a young woman she was growing up to be. He holds off on letting her go out on many missions, wanting her to experience her youth as a citizen, not as a hero, despite having similar abilities.

"Laura doesn't worry about me." Logan snorts before placing the vanity back down. "If she does, she's really good at hiding it." You hum, keeping silent. "But I don't have anyone else worrying about me."

"I see."

"Why are ya asking?" You avoid his gaze, pretending that sweeping was more important. "Spill it, sweetheart."

You perk up at the sudden nickname. Logan realizes what came out but doesn't show on his face. Instead, he waits for your answer.

"I just wanted you to know that when you go on missions, I'll be wishing for you to stay safe and come back. If that helps…" You admit, your eyes on his own. Logan feels his heartbeat pick up, not expecting that.

"It does."

Your face gave off a look he wanted to hang on his wall. Gentle, kind, and caring. He liked that.

Logan couldn't sleep, and he could see your face once he closed his eyes. Your light scent was still on his jacket from afar when you brushed against him. It took a minute for his heart to come down at the thought of you.

"Hey." Wade waved his hand before Logan's face to snap him out of reminiscing about you. "Don't you think it's time to get another haircut? You're looking a little mangy."

Logan scowled before standing up from his position, ready to return home.

The good thing about all this is that Wade didn't catch on. Considering he was rekindling his relationship with Vanessa, Logan figured the merc would focus his attention elsewhere. Which was good because he was going to rip Wade's face off if he even teased him about his relationship with you.

When Logan goes to see you, he always makes the excuse of going to take a walk. Down to your shop where he always sees you. Alone, tidying up the place to close, playing some music in the background that makes you wiggle your hips a little. He finds himself staring at you for a bit before walking in. The aura of domesticity around your soft frame.

Logan's lips curl upwards when yours does and he enjoys the light in your eyes whenever they connect with his. He felt strange, a certain feeling he hasn't felt for a long time. Does he…like you?

"Can I wax your eyebrows?" You ask, touching up his hair in the mirror as you were almost done.

"What's wrong with my eyebrows?"

"They're so bushy." You trace your nail on one and he doesn't move. "Like that beard you won't let me touch."

"My beard is fine and so are my eyebrows."

You bat your eyelashes towards him, playfully pouting to convince him. "Aww come on. Pretty please?" Logan's breath hitched at the sight. Your pleading act was making you as gorgeous as ever. "You good? Your face is getting red."

Logan stared back in the mirror to see his flushed face. All because of you doing that stupid, adorable look. "I'm fine. Go ahead and do it."

Now you were surprised. "Huh?"

"What, you thought I was gonna say no?"

"Yeah." When you remove the cape from him, he stands, staring at you when you put it away. He is serious, and it makes you stop in your tracks.

"So, you're being for real right now?"

"Duh. Get to it before I change my mind."

You swivel your head, pursing your lips. "Ask me nicely."

"Wax my eyebrows, sugar."

Another nickname he didn't expect to come out, but you grin, motioning to the back of the building. He follows you into a small room, outfitted with a cot, a little dresser, and a stool. He wasn't a fan of how tight the room seemed, but the upside was he kept bumping into you. Or did you keep bumping into him? It doesn't matter because he felt you. That small bump against your front, and he felt your plump body—good enough to grope.

He should not be thinking about that right now.

"How's your pain tolerance?"

It was Logan's turn to shoot you a look, "I have been shot at, stabbed, impaled, what do you think?"

"Alright, alright. I just wanted to ask." You set up the hot wax, swirling it around in a bowl as you waited for it to get a suitable temperature. "Waxing might be worse compared to all of that."

He huffs, "We'll see."

You ordered him to close his eyes, and he lay there. The wax, which was bordering on very hot, coated the top half of his eyebrow. It didn't feel bad so far. He wasn't sure what you were talking about. Once the strip was placed on his hair, as quickly as you put it on, you ripped it off.

"Ow! What the fuck?"

Logan's hands balled into fists, but the claws didn't come out.

"I asked you about your pain tolerance and what did you say?"

"That shit is fucking different than getting shot at." He maneuvered to get up but your hand pushed his chest to settle him down.

"You can't leave yet, I gotta do the other brow."

"Fuck that, I'm not doing this anymore."

"Logan, I can't let you walk around with slightly uneven brows." You push him down again gently. He likes the feel of your hand on his chest. He can feel the heat from your palm. "Please let me do the other side and I'll stop."

What did he get himself into? Logan allowed you to make him suffer a little longer as you placed the wax on his other brow before ripping the hairs clean off. This time it was less unbearable but it still sucked. It wasn't all bad when you leaned closer on his face, observing his brows to ensure they were even. The shirt you were wearing this time had a v-neck, so he could quickly see your cleavage and how pretty your breasts were displayed.

"You're good."

Logan quickly got up right after you sat back. That's enough, he needed to go home. His face was redder than ever and he was about to do things a lady like you shouldn't witness. Despite the slight burn from his brows, he wanted you up in his face again. Admire your beautiful self. Kiss you.

"Sorry." You call out after closing up the back. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"I wasn't scared." He grunted.

"Uh-huh."

"I wasn't."

"Sure."

Logan rolls his eyes. He wanted to leave but he had to take you home. He usually does when he started to see you. What if you invite him in this time? Then he'd be all over you. Wanting to bury himself in between your thighs and have the whole block know how good he made you feel. He was never like this before.

Logan leads you out and waits for you to lock up. Sweat starts sticking to his forehead and down his neck. He was just taking you home. That's all he had to do.

"Caught red-handed!" Wade jumps up from behind a car, pointing at the two of you as if you were about to kiss. That's what Logan wished he was doing. "So this is where you were going late at night. Snuggled up with another woman."

"Another woman?" You questioned, brows furrowed and Logan could see you were going to get upset. But he didn't have time to wonder why.

"My roommate here has been very secretive," Wade teases. I sometimes lie in bed waiting for him to come home, worried that he got lost or found his way into a bar. Little did I know…" He shoots Logan a mischievous grin.

If you weren't nearby, Logan would stab him in the balls.

"Alright, relax." Laura appears from the same car Wade was. "He's not doing anything shady."

Logan looks confused at her, "You two thought I was up to something?"

"Just me." Wade slides closer to him, "I brought Laura here because it's been so long since we had a girl's night."

Laura rolls her eyes. "I was worried about you. Now I don't need to." She glances over at you, who is so confused about everything but is taking this in stride. "Hi, I'm Laura."

"You're Laura?" She nods for confirmation, "Oh my god, I didn't think I get to meet you!" You shake her hand while admiring her. "I love your hair, by the way."

"Oh, thanks." Laura shoots Logan a smile of silent approval.

"And I'm Wade." He gets close to you, Logan's back hunching a bit as Wade is too close. Of course, you don't mind when you shake his hand back. "Do you like my hair too?"

"Uh, of course." You observe the worn-out toupee. "Although I'm not sure why I see staples…"

"It's because he's a fucking idiot." Logan cuts in.

"Not only that, but I can't grow hair." Wade tells you, "Sometimes I'd like to spice it up when I see my lady or when I want to go to the Dollar Store."

"Is…is that the only one you have?" You ask, eyes filled with worry.

"Yeah, pretty much."

You observe him momentarily and Logan sees the hairdresser glint in your eye. "Do you want some more? I have a couple of wigs in the shop that were given to me."

Wade blinks, looking at Laura and Logan in shock, "Really? You'd give them to me for free?"

"Yeah, I'm not using them." You turn to go back to the door but Logan blocks your path.

"You just closed up."

"I'm just going to grab a few wigs for your friend to try-"

"You've been on your feet all day. He can wait another day, sweetheart."

"Sweetheart?" Logan heard Wade whisper.

You purse your lips, "I didn't recall this being your salon."

"It's not."

He stares you down, and you stare back, trying to will him to let you back inside. Logan's not sure how long the stare-off takes, but Wade stands between you two.

"The wigs can wait, I don't need to go to the Dollar Store anytime soon."

You tear your eyes away to focus on Wade. "Are you sure? It's no problem."

"I'm sure. Plus, the sexual tension between you two was a little crazy-"

"I just remembered!" Laura silences Wade with a hand on his shoulder. "We were going to get donuts. For Althea."

"Is 'donuts' a new code for cocaine-?"

"Actual donuts." She pushes him away down to the sidewalk, Logan being eternally grateful. "Bye, it was nice to meet you!"

"It was nice to meet you too!" You wave them away, watching them go down the block. Logan made sure Wade was far away from his sight before sighing.

"I didn't expect them to show up."

"It's okay. I'm glad I got to meet Laura."

The corner of his lips go upwards, "Me too."

Logan walks you home to your apartment in a complex similar to the one he lives in with Wade. Once you go to your door, you turn to him, head slightly tilted.

"When will I see you again?"

"Soon." He says, causing you to roll your eyes at his vague words.

"Please tell Wade to stop by, I was serious about those wigs."

"You keep inviting him in he's not going to leave."

"So…like you?"

Logan lets out a short chuckle, "Not even close."

"You sure about that?" You step closer to him, playfulness in your eyes. Logan looks down at you, feeling the subtle warmth of your body through his leather jacket.

"What are you trying to say?"

"Nothing…"

You pull away and he wants to chase after you, but he doesn't. Logan makes sure you go in, saying goodnight to you.

This can't continue. His heart was going to implode if he kept dancing around you. He needed to tell you of his predicament. That he wasn't the Logan of this timeline. After dealing with Wade and Laura.

When he came in, Wade immediately handed Laura twenty bucks, face filled with defeat. "I know you're over two hundred years old, but I thought you had some game, man."

"For once, I agree." Laura adds, "It's good you're taking it slow, though. She seems nice."

"She is. The only thing is she thinks I'm this timeline's Logan."

The bombshell Logan drops makes Wade and Laura look at each other.

"I don't see the problem here." Wade says.

Logan explains how this timeline's Logan saved you and why you've been so generous to him. He tries to not let the fear of telling you his true origins get to him. He knows it's the right thing to do.

"Wait a minute." Wade squints and goes up to Logan, who eyes him suspiciously. "Why are your eyebrows so neat?"

Oh shit, Logan completely forgot you waxed his eyebrows.

"Don't worry about it."

"Yeah, they are really neat." Laura observes before running her thumb over his eyebrow. "And smooth."

"Stop messing with my fucking eyebrows." He snatches his head away.

"Did you get your eyebrows waxed?" Wade asks, then proceeds to explain, "I know this because Vanessa usually does. And I like feeling how smooth her eyebrows are—like a baby's bottom. Wait a minute. Did the hairdresser lady wax your brows?"

Logan was so close to ripping his head off. But Althea just got a new rug and he didn't want to get blood on it.

"If he let her wax his eyebrows, that man is down bad." Althea says on the couch, eating a glazed donut.

"Truly down bad." Wade cosigns, and Logan decides that's enough talking and retreats to the bedroom.

He wants to follow through on his plan to tell you about his true origins, but he isn't sure how or when to tell you.

The next time he saw you, Wade and Laura tagged along. The latter wanted to see you again while the former wanted to see what types of wigs you had. Logan watched you give Wade plenty of options to choose from. Although he instantly grabbed the one that radiated 'Legolas' vibes, with the long, platinum blonde hair to his waist, saying this would be a good one to role-play with Vanessa.

You suggested giving Laura a quick trim of her ends, seeing that some of them were split. As always, you were so quick in your work. Laura's face lit up at the subtle difference touching up her hair made. His heart squeezed when you made his daughter smile.

He wants to tell you. He wants to tell you so badly.

Logan didn't know how you'd take it. If you'd be mad at him for lying in your face. Or horrified when he tells you all the dark things he's done. But he couldn't take another moment of staring at you, heart skipping a beat at the sight of you.

He knew how he was going to tell you.

"I think it's time for a trim." Logan says while sitting in the chair.

You examine his hair, "No, your hair is okay right now."

"I'm not talking about my hair." Logan runs his hands over his beard, earning a gasp from you.

"Really? Really, really?" He nodded before you squeal, going through the drawers to pull out your tools. The beard comb, razors, and scissors.

"Just shape it up and make it neat." He instructs, getting worried that you would shave it off completely.

"I got it."

Logan felt weird with your hands on his face. You rubbed a bunch of liquids along his beard, took the comb and made sure the hair was neat, and used the razor to trim up the sides and his sideburns. It had been a while since he's had a gorgeous woman like you feel along his face.

He admires the work you've done on his beard, how neat and clean it was compared to how he was growing it out. A look of pride on your face shown while observing him in the mirror.

"You look handsome."

Logan's mouth twitches to hide back a smile, "Thanks." When he stands, once again he gathers his wallet to pay you. As he hands you the money, you reach to take it but he doesn't pull away. "I'm assuming this one is free too?"

"Of course."

Logan grunts as you take his money from his last haircut, putting it in your pocket. "Look, I need to tell you something."

"Okay?" Your brows raised in curiosity, "What's up?"

A lump forms in his throat as he takes a minute to say what he's going to say. "I'm not your Logan." You blink with confusion and he continues. "I mean it. The Logan who saved you years ago, isn't me."

"Oh. Oh!" You take a step forward, "You're a clone then? Infused with the other Logan's memories?"

"No, not even close, sugar."

Logan briefly explains the multiverse, the different timelines that include a multitude of realities and people. He is from another timeline, one where he was alone after his team died. He went on a murderous rampage and killed bad and innocent people alike. He wasn't this timeline's Logan who died a hero—or about to die as one.

"I couldn't lie to you anymore." He admits, "I didn't want you to get your hopes up. Over a guy who you've admired for years. I'm not that guy. In fact, I'm the worst of them all."

You shake your head, fingertips grazing against the fabric of his shirt. "You're not the worst. Not one bit."

"I just told you I killed people. Innocent people."

"In the past. And you made up for it by saving this timeline right?" All he could do was nod and not focus on how close you were to him right now. "You're not the worst Logan. You're the same one who stayed with me almost every day when I closed, lets me give you free haircuts, and has a wonderful friend and daughter who cares for him so much. I'm pretty sure there aren't any other Logan's who do that. Or have that type of support."

He laughs briefly, "I don't like how you're so understanding about all of this."

"Why?" Logan doesn't know what to say, feeling he doesn't deserve this. Deserve you. However, Wade and Laura's words appear, telling him that he deserves this. To be happy. "I like you, Logan. Shouldn't I be a little understanding?"

"You should." He gazes at you, seeing your eyes fill with care. "I like you too." Logan's fingers curl around the belt loops of your jeans to pull you closer, your body flushed against his. He submerges himself in you, his forehead amongst yours, the tips of your noses brushing along one another.

"Just tell me to stop."

You don't say anything, giving him permission to kiss you.

Immediately, Logan groans against your lips. He's finally able to taste you. And how denied he's been for so long. He presses you against the vanity, your hands forming a death grip on his shirt. You've been desperate for this as much as he's been. You just had better self control.

Logan takes over, placing you on the vanity. He grunts in satisfaction as your legs wrap around his waist. Your tongue is in his mouth, and you taste the cigar he had earlier. Your light moan is the only thing he focuses on, his hand on your lower back and pressing your body closer to his.

"Mm!" You hum when pulling away, your lips forming a cute pout that Logan held back in kissing you again. "I'm a bit rusty."

"At kissing?"

You nod, "That and…you know."

Logan chuckles, his nose brushing against yours. "I don't know. You're gonna have to say it, sweetheart."

"Sex." You whisper like it was a secret, "I know it's surprising for someone in their forties."

"It's more surprising when you look like this…" Logan gropes your thighs, burying his face in your neck. His eyes almost roll back in smelling you, wanting to do so for a while. "It's been a while for me too."

"Really?" You gasp, but that was because he gently nibbling on your neck. "I thought you would-" You're cut off when Logan sucks on your skin, creating a dark mark that causes you to squeeze your thighs against him.

Logan freezes, getting a whiff of something new. Straight down to your core. He growls at smell of your arousal and pulls you closer if possible.

"You should close early."

He allows you enough room to check your clock on the wall. "We've got thirty minutes left."

"I don't know if I can hold on for that long." Logan's lips are on you again, not wanting to forget how you taste. He's not sure why he's like this. Maybe it's because he finally confessed to you. Or because you liked him back. Or because he's finally getting his libido back after a long time. He knows he'll fuck you in the salon if you keep stalling.

You pull away again, trying to catch your breath from his kisses. "Okay, okay. Closing early wouldn't hurt."

Logan wanted to carry you. His stomach twisted when you had to part when you were closing up. He was by your side the entire time, wanting to at least keep ahold of that intoxicating smell you were radiating. A light grope to your ass that made you giggle. An arm around your waist once you finally locked the door. Anything to be close to you.

The two of you were speed-walking to your apartment. Logan's palm pressed against your stomach, face against your head while you tried to unlock the door. Having a hard time as he was humping against your plump bottom. Clearly showing you how aroused he was.

You stumbled forward once the door opened but he caught you with his arm. Your back was pressed against the door when you two made out again. Tongues dancing, nipping at each other's lips. His jacket fell to the floor before picking you up, trapping you against the door.

"Wait…" You pull away again.

Logan starts getting concerned, "What's wrong? We going too fast or something?"

"No! No, not at all. I'm worried that my condoms might be expired."

He gets a moment of clarity. He didn't bring any. Logan honestly didn't think his night with you would lead to this. Now, he was underprepared.

"Fuck, I don't think I bought any-" While searching his pants, he feels a wrapper. Logan pulls it out to see a condom in his back pocket with a sticky note. It was filled with a little drawing of Wade's Deadpool persona sending him a bunch of hearts.

'Go get 'em, tiger.'

He'll need to thank Wade later.

"We're good. Where's the bedroom?" You point down the hall and he carries you there, all while you pepper his hair with kisses.

Logan lies you down on your comforter before raising your arms. He pulls off your shirt and gets a glimpse of your sports bra. He swears he gets harder when removing your shoes, then your jeans. You maneuver to take off his shirt as he kicks his boots away. Your hands unbutton his jeans while he kisses you for the hundredth time.

He wasn't sure what you were worried about as everything about you was making his cock form an imprint against his boxers. If anything, Logan wasn't sure about himself when you went to rub him and he almost keeled over.

"Keep doing that and I won't last."

Logan pushes you flat on the bed, covering your skin with kisses. Your neck, collarbone, the tops of your breasts. You raise the sports bra over your head and Logan can't stop staring.

Your breasts were so perfect, sitting pretty just for him. He takes a moment to admire you. A fingertip grazed your nipple, causing you to jerk a little. His eyes scan to your soft stomach, adorned with stretch marks. And your black panties that covered up the place he was excited to get to the most.

"All of this for me?"

"It can be…" You spread your legs wider, inviting him in. Logan fits in between your legs and leans down to suckle your breasts. Running his tongue all over the areola and nipple. Rolling your other nipple with his thumb, reveling the sweet sounds you made. Your hands gripping his hair as your arousal was getting stronger.

Logan groans against your skin before trailing kisses down to your tummy, across your navel, and hovering above your underwear. He almost drools when removing your panties. The smell getting stronger once the piece of fabric was gone.

"F-Fuck…" He shudders, "You smell so fucking good."

"You can smell me?" You question but he doesn't answer. Logan parts your legs wider, one leg over his shoulder. His palm takes its place on your stomach when he dives in. Oh, he wants the taste of you seared in his mind. He groans as his tongue flattens against your clit, licking that sensitive bud with a purpose. Burying his face in your pussy.

"Logan…" You sigh his name in a mix of your sounds of pleasure. While he flicks your bud, a finger goes inside you. And he feels how wet you are. How easily you're taking him in.

He adds another finger, and you squirm, but he makes sure you don't move away. He wants you to take it, to take all that he has to offer.

Logan picks up the pace in eating you out and fucking you with his fingers. All while your whines become constant and your body starts moving more and more. Even with his enhanced strength, its getting difficult to hold you down.

"Ohh Logan, I'm-" Your panting gets heavier, and he smells the sweat on you. Logan keeps going, alternating between sucking on your clit and pumping into you. You try to warn him about your climax but it was too late when you scream for him. Filling up the entire bedroom with your arousing sounds.

Logan sits up, watching you bask in the bliss of your ecstasy. Your eyelashes fluttered while you catch your breath. He can't hold back anymore. He needs you now.

"You did so good for me, honey." He breathes out, pulling off his boxers. Your eyes widened at the sight of his girthy cock. A few veins along the shaft, his tip beading with pre cum. Logan's chest swelling with pride as you couldn't stop staring. "You ready?"

"Yes."

He does his best not to tear the condom, sliding it on his shaft. Logan hovers above you, wanting a clear view when he enters you. Your mouth gapes, and his brows furrow, watching himself disappear inside you. You fit him perfectly. He puts his head back to keep control. Just entering you was enough to make him want to come right there.

"You feel fantastic. Oh fuck…"

Logan grips your thigh when he moves his hips, enough to almost be out of you before sinking into you again. His pace consisted of slow but rough thrusts as he watches your breasts jiggle during each moment. Your face was there but not there as you took his thrusts. Being fucked out of your mind.

He loves how he's easily he's able to slip in and out of you due to your wetness. Obsessed with how he's handling you. He leans down on his elbows, hitting a much better spot that makes you gasp. Immediately, you grip the nape of his neck, moaning in his ear.

"Oh, right there!"

Logan moves his hand to your ass, lifting you up a bit more to get a better angle. You cry out for him, and he knows your throat will be sore in the morning. He ruts into you, growling and grunting as he's getting close. His pelvis rubbing against your clit was enough to push you over the edge once more. Your cunt squeezing around his cock just right. And made Logan almost tear your sheets the way he climaxed.

His groans fill your ears, cum filling the condom. It was so much that he wondered if it was about to overflow.

Logan rolled over next to you, chest heaving in tandem with yours. He wanted to say a lot of things, wondering what this would mean for his relationship with you. But you curled up beside him, a gentle hand on his chest. Gazing at him with your signature warm eyes.

"I hope my neighbors don't complain tomorrow."

"If they do," Logan unsheathes his claws, and you stare at them in awe, "I'll scare them with these."

[multiverse-menagerie]

Perhaps could I request the bg3 companions going through Tav's sketchbook and finding that it's riddled with drawings of each companion, but especially them. Maybe it's the early stages of a romance or smthn?

I’ve been slowly spinning this around in my head, yessss

Gale

At first, Gale thinks journal is a book you’ve left for him. He’s not really one to go through your personal belongings after all. But upon opening the journal and finding swaths of drawings of your party and him, he’s thrown a little off kilter

He returns it to you immediately (read as: he fights with himself for a good ten minutes to stop looking at the sketches of himself and return the book to you) but asks you about your hobby

Listens very intently to however much you’re willing to tell him. Gale would ask, “are those me? or do you know some other roguishly handsome wizard with a penchant for fancy robes?”

He’s trying Very Hard to downplay his feelings about the whole matter. He’s not used to being the admired one…but he’s certainly not complaining

Shadowheart

As she hopes everyone will respect her need for privacy, Shadowheart strives to do the same for others. Despite many opportunities to peak at your journal, she resists and eventually asks you about it directly, but with no pressure

shy!Tav, nervously showing off the sketches and trying to gloss over how many of these drawings are of Shadowheart - after a deep breath, Shadowheart ignores the blush rising on her skin and asks about some of the other drawings

Confident!Tav, flipping through the sketches and happily showing off the images of Shadowheart especially - Shadowheart flusters, sputters out a near incomprehensible jumble of words and rushes off

Either way, the moment lives Rent Free(tm) in her head and she hopes you’ll show her the journal again

Astarion

STUNNED. like, almost drops your sketch in surprise bc wait. Holy shit. Is that him??

recovers smoothly, plays down the way his adrenaline has spiked

It does not matter how good the portraits of him are, sketches or fully finished drawings, he is Memorizing those pages

If you draw him with any soft expression, he’ll point out that image to you and be like “I think you’ve messed up on that particular reaction, dear” (that’s how he looks at you, shh don’t tell him)

Wyll

He spots you watching him one day as he’s training, your eyes flipping between him and the journal in front of you. Eventually he gives in and wanders over, inquiring about what you’re up to

when you show him the spread, sketches of him doing swordplay (and a few close headshots) - Wyll is both very impressed and very flustered

He compliments your skills, though jokingly questions the subject of your drawings. Certainly someone else would make a more attractive drawing, he says, gesturing vaguely to his mismatched eyes and newly acquired horns

Is surprised by the fierce frown you give him, the disapproval in your voice at his suggestion. You’re drawing him for a reason. Thoroughly chastised and a little embarrassed, Wyll thanks you (he doesn’t elaborate beyond that but you get the idea)

Karlach

Karlach is too afraid to touch anything that seems even vaguely flammable, but she’s seen you scribbling into your journal on many an occasion. Eventually her curiosity gets the better of her and she asks you about it

If you’re hesitant to show her, she’ll back off…but kind of pout like a little kid. Not in an attempt to make you feel bad but just bc that’s who she is. If and when you decide to show her the sketches, she’s super hyped

Jaw on the floor. She’s not got the patience or skills for drawing, not really, but your talent blows her away. And then she sees the drawings of her and she’s like - mouth open, heart eyes

jokes about how you’ve drawn her, with a huge grin on her face the whole time “how long have you been staring at my thighs to get the drawing this accurate? should I get a new outfit for your next page?”

Lae’zel

She’s never really cared much for her appearance - don’t get me wrong, she thinks she looks great but she’s never really been the one to stare at her reflection or anything

But Lae’zel sees herself in your sketches, drawings of her in softer states, in relaxation, and shes…surprised

Part of her bristles - she’s a strong warrior on a mission, she doesn’t need you seeing her as soft. But a different part of her…eases. Relaxes. You see her as an individual worth affection.

Lae’zel wouldn’t comment much about the drawings, but she would ask to sit and watch you draw, if it wouldn’t bother you. Your skilled hands, the way your brow furrows as you draw. Yes. She likes that.

Halsin

At first, Halsin is simply impressed by your talents. Artistry has always been something he’s enjoyed, no matter the form, so he’s happy to get to see your work

When he comes across the pages devoted to him, he’s thrown off a little. He’s used to being admired, if we’re being honest. As long as he’s lived and as many people he’s been with, it happens. But he’s not used to…this. Being part of the art but without any expectation of him.

Traces a finger over the lines of his face - somehow you’ve captured a look that makes him seem so…heroic. Is that how you see him? Warmth feels his chest and he goes to seek you out

You don’t get much of an answer, when you ask why he’s scooped you and paying you extra attention, nuzzling his face into your hair