#at first i thought it was the reflection of my curtain so i open it and tyen i was like is it a cloud or something

[a-sleepy-ginger]

10/5/24

✿❈✿❈✿

Saw the aurora for the first time and spent some time with mother watching it after waking her up

Got history assessment stuff done

Jalapenos

[rafecameronssl4t]

Can you please write one where Drew and reader are in a relationship and they have a big fight before an interview with the whole cast. When reader gets there she is really sad and she’s spacing out while fidgeting with her fingers and the others notice and she also skipped her meals and didn’t sleep well since he wasn’t next to her. Maddie Cline pulls her aside and talks to her to ask what’s wrong and she maybe tells her that she hasn’t eaten nor slept well and maybe Drew hears and is concerned. I just want some angst so if you want to write this PLEASE DO! <3

Behind the scenes || Drew Starkey x actress!reader

A/n: love love loveeee this idea tyy!!! keep them coming xx

Warnings: angst!!

Word count: 1,997

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

The morning light barely peeked through the curtains of the hotel room as the tension from the night before lingered like an unshakable weight. You and Drew had argued—something rare but emotionally exhausting. His words replayed in your mind, harsh in the heat of the moment, and you couldn't help but feel your chest tighten with regret and sadness. He'd stormed out after saying he needed some space, leaving you alone with a hollow ache.

The fight had been about something trivial at first, but it spiralled into uncharted emotional territory—questions of priorities, insecurities, and your relationship's strength. Drew's absence from the bed that night only made things worse, and you barely slept, staring at the ceiling as anxiety gnawed at you.

Morning came all too soon, and the looming cast interview offered no reprieve. You avoided breakfast, your appetite nonexistent as you focused on pulling yourself together for the day. But no amount of makeup could hide the dark circles under your eyes, and your usual spark felt dimmed as you arrived at the studio.

Arriving at the studio, you took a deep breath and stepped inside, your heart heavy and your mind scattered. Maddie spotted you immediately, her face lighting up with a radiant smile. Her enthusiasm was unrelenting as she crossed the room, her arms wide open. “Oh, there you are!” she exclaimed, wrapping you in a warm hug. Her energy was infectious, but you felt yourself faltering as you tried to match her cheerfulness.

“I’m so glad you’re here! The other girls haven’t arrived yet.” You forced a smile, nodding as if to reassure her—and maybe yourself. “Yeah, glad to be here,” you said, your voice softer than usual. Maddie chuckled, looping her arm through yours. “Come on, I brought muffins. Figured we could snack while getting touch-ups,” she said, leading you toward the hair and makeup station.

You followed her, your heart sinking slightly when you caught sight of Drew in the reflection of the mirror. He was across the room with Chase and Austin, laughing softly at something they said. He hadn’t even glanced your way yet, and it stung more than you wanted to admit. Maddie broke you out of your thoughts, nudging you with a muffin in hand. “Want one? They’re fresh—blueberry, your favourite!” You hesitated, glancing at the pastry before offering a polite smile.

“No, thanks. I already ate on my way here,” you lied, hoping she wouldn’t push further. Maddie nodded, accepting your answer without question. “Suit yourself,” she chirped, taking a bite as the stylists began fussing over your hair and makeup. Your eyes wandered back to the mirror, catching another glimpse of Drew. He looked so at ease, as if the fight hadn’t affected him the way it had you.

The longing for some kind of acknowledgment, a sign that he felt as torn as you did, was overwhelming. But instead of confronting those emotions, you turned your attention to Maddie, who was now scrolling through her phone, chatting animatedly with the stylist. You tried to focus on her words, but everything felt distant, your mind weighed down by the unresolved tension between you and Drew. The room buzzed with activity, yet you felt isolated, your usual spark dimmed to a faint flicker.

~

The interview began with its usual lighthearted energy. The host dove into questions about the upcoming season, sparking animated responses from your castmates. Chase cracked jokes that had everyone laughing, while Austin shared a funny behind-the-scenes story that even made the crew chuckle. Madelyn chimed in with her signature enthusiasm, lighting up the room with her vibrant energy.

But you sat quietly, your faint smile barely masking the storm swirling within. The tightness in your chest only grew with every passing moment, your focus slipping further away from the lively discussion. When a laugh rippled through the room, you managed a soft chuckle out of habit, but it lacked conviction. Your hands betrayed your inner turmoil.

They fidgeted endlessly in your lap, fingers twisting your rings, picking at your nails, and smoothing invisible wrinkles in your outfit. The subtle, restless movements didn’t go unnoticed. Madelyn’s eyes darted to your trembling hands, then to your face, where she saw the strain you were trying so hard to conceal. When the cameras cut for a break, she leaned closer, her tone soft but edged with worry.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, her eyes searching yours. You nodded quickly, forcing a weak smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Just tired,” you murmured, your voice low and unsteady. Madelyn didn’t look convinced, her brow furrowing further as she studied you. But she chose not to press the issue, giving you a reassuring pat on the arm instead. As the cameras rolled again, you tried to centre yourself, to focus on the questions and the easy camaraderie around you.

But your mind wandered. The fight with Drew replayed in fragmented flashes, every word, every sharp look, haunting you. You felt the weight of his absence, the space he used to fill beside you now a gaping void. It wasn’t until the host directed a question at you that you were jolted back into the present. “So, what was your favourite scene to film this season?” There was a beat of silence, then another, as you struggled to process the words.

Your castmates exchanged subtle glances, the pause growing more noticeable by the second. “Obviously all the scenes with me,” Madelyn interjected smoothly, her voice light and playful as she leaned forward to cover for you. The room relaxed, a ripple of laughter breaking the tension, but you felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment. It was then that Drew’s head snapped toward you, his casual demeanour faltering.

His brow creased as he studied you, his eyes narrowing at the pale tone of your skin and the exhaustion etched into your features. His gaze flicked to your hands, noting the nervous tremor and how you played with the ring on your finger. His jaw tightened, and guilt churned in his chest. The easy laughter that had come so naturally to him earlier now felt misplaced, almost cruel. How had he missed it before—the signs that something was wrong, that you weren't okay?

Drew couldn’t stop himself from watching you for the rest of the segment, the concern etched into his features growing more evident with every passing second. His own words from the fight echoed in his mind, and the regret settled in his chest like a stone. He’d been too caught up in his frustration to notice how deeply it had affected you. And now, as he saw the toll it had taken, all he wanted was to fix it.

~

"Okay, we have a 10 minute break," The producer says as you're the first to get out of your seat as the others watch with slight confusion, already undoing your mic. "Y/n!" Maddie calls out as you walk towards your hair and makeup chair. You look at yourself in the mirror, letting out a shaky breathe you touch up your makeup.

Maddie stands behind you, her hands on your shoulder as she studies you. “Alright,” she began, her tone both soft and firm, “spill it. What’s going on? You’ve been acting strange, I know you're not just tired. Talk to me," You hesitated, the weight of her care making the knot in your throat tighten further. Your hands wrung together nervously, fingers fidgeting with your rings as you tried to find the words.

“I…” You paused, your voice trembling. You gaze looks up as you catch a glimpse of Drew. Maddie notices, turning her head to where you were looking. The overwhelming emotions finally bubbled to the surface, your eyes misting with unshed tears. “Drew and I had a fight last night.” Her brows furrowed, but she stayed silent, giving you space to continue.

“It was bad,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to the floor as a tear slipped down your cheek. “He… he left, Maddie. And I couldn’t sleep. I’ve barely eaten. I just—” Your voice broke, and you inhaled shakily, struggling to keep yourself composed. Madelyn’s eyes softened with understanding, and without hesitation, she pulled you into a warm embrace.

Her arms wrapped securely around you as she whispered gently, “Oh, babe… I’m so sorry.” She pulled back just enough to meet your watery gaze. “Whatever happened, I know you two will work it out. You’re good together. But you’ve got to take care of yourself, okay? Skipping meals, losing sleep—it’s not going to help.” Her words struck a chord, grounding you for a moment, but before you could respond, a subtle shift in the air caught Madelyn’s attention.

She glanced over her shoulder and froze briefly, her expression flickering with a mix of surprise and hesitation. Unbeknownst to you, Drew had wandered in. “Hey.” Drew’s voice was low and tentative, cutting through the noise of the studio. Maddie gives your shoulders a light squeeze, giving you an encouraging smile as she leaves the two of you. You glanced up at Drew through the reflection of the mirror in front of you, his presence catching you off guard.

His features were etched with raw concern, and his blue eyes held an apology that words hadn’t yet expressed. “Can we talk? Please?” he asked, his voice laced with vulnerability. You hesitated for only a moment before nodding, unable to resist the weight of emotion in his gaze. You nodded, and Drew quietly pulled a chair close to yours. As he sat down beside you, he extended a hand toward you. Though your fingers trembled slightly, you placed yours in his, the contact sparking an immediate sense of familiarity.

Yet, there was a fragility to it, as if he was holding on to something he feared might slip away. He brought your hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss on your knuckles. The gesture was tender, full of unspoken remorse, and it made you briefly close your eyes against the wave of emotion crashing over you. “I’m sorry,” he began, his voice cracking slightly. The sincerity in his tone tugged at your heart, making your chest tighten. “I shouldn’t have left last night. I shouldn’t have said those things. I was frustrated—but that doesn’t excuse it. You didn’t deserve that.”

You blinked rapidly as tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill. “It wasn’t just you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I said things too. I just… I hated the way we left things. It felt so wrong.” The guilt in his expression deepened, and he reached up, his thumb brushing away a tear that escaped and trailed down your cheek.His touch was warm, tender, and familiar, and it made your heart ache with longing and relief all at once.

“I hated it too,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it—or about you. And then hearing Maddie say that you didn’t sleep or eat…” He trailed off, shaking his head in frustration with himself. “You’re too important to me. I can’t stand the thought of you feeling like this because of me.” You inhaled shakily, his words chipping away at the tension that had been building in your chest since the night before. “I don’t want us to fall apart either,” you said softly, your voice trembling but earnest.

You stand up, moving towards him as he moves the chair back to let Without thinking, you stood and moved toward him. Drew instinctively pushed his chair back slightly, giving you room to settle in his lap. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder, while his arms encircled your waist protectively. He pressed you close, his hand resting against the small of your back as his thumb rubbed soothing circles on your waist. “We’ll be okay,” he murmured into your hair, his voice steady despite the emotion behind it. “I promise.”

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

“hungover” - hotch x fem!reader

after a girls’ night in, you wake up next to your boyfriend.

1380 words - FLUFFY FLUFF

cw; mentions of alcohol and food, implied age gap?, typical hangover, jemily agenda (sry not sry)

a/n: I wrote this on my phone on vacation bc I have a serious problem

———————

The first thing you notice when you wake up is that you are not in your clothes.

You aren’t in your clothes. And you only realize it because of the scent wafting up your nose. Sea Salt Breeze - the cologne you’d gotten him for Christmas last year - emanates from the t-shirt that envelopes your upper half. You dip your chin for another whiff, breathing him in deeply. You want the smell inscribed into your brain.

You feel the bed dip and creak and you instinctively shut your eyes, playing possum as Aaron pads into the bathroom. The door whines as he shuts it most of the way, not totally closing it because he thinks you’re still asleep and that the sound of the door shutting will wake you.

Each of your senses turns on one at a time, like your brain waves run on dial-up Internet. You open your eyes and the room is mostly dark, save for the sliver of light creeping in through the outline of the curtains. You run the palm of your hand along Aaron’s sheets and marvel over how soft they are - Egyptian cotton, he’d told you once before.

Your head hurts, but only mildly. You’d certainly been drunker before, but last night was still up there. Penelope made her mojitos strong.

You slowly sit up in the bed as Aaron opens the door, flicking the bathroom light off in the same motion. Your eyes meet his and he cracks a small smile. “Thought you’d still be asleep,” he muses. You love his pale blue boxers and seeing the hair on his legs. His calves are crazy defined - he’s a runner, after all, but still. You rarely see him in anything but a suit and tie, so it’s always a treat. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

You shake your head, wincing slightly at the movement. Maybe you’re a little more hungover than you thought. “I was already awake,” you mumble, running a hand over your face. “Did you put me in your own clothes last night? I have pajamas in my drawer,” you point out, gesturing to the second drawer of Aaron’s dresser, the one that contains your set of pajamas, a few spare pairs of underwear, and a couple of emergency outfits, just in case you end up sleeping over at his place.

It happens more often than not, so you keep the drawer decently stocked at all times.

“You insisted,” Aaron climbs into the bed, reaching for you. He tugs you to him and you roll over onto your side, and then halfway onto your tummy so that your leg drapes over his and your palm rests flat on his chest.

You can hear his heart beating. It’s like a metronome, steady and guiding and calm. You feel his pointed chin nuzzle into your hair and then, his lips, quick yet effective, against your forehead.

Flashes of last night run through your head. You, Emily and JJ, over at Penelope’s apartment. A symphony of girlish giggles, talking about Emily and JJ’s upcoming wedding date, drinking at least three pitchers of mojitos among the four of you. Watching Dirty Dancing and gabbing the entire time, realizing it’d be a bad idea to drive yourself home, and calling Aaron to come get you.

When he arrived, you called him Hotch and apologized for him having to come get you, and he reminded you that he was Aaron and he was your boyfriend and he would pick you up anytime you needed it. You were determined to play the Dirty Dancing soundtrack on the ride home, fumbling with his phone until you found it.

You belted out (I’ve Had) The Time of My Life and demanded Aaron sing along. He admitted that he didn’t know all the words and you gave him a stern lecture until you started laughing so hard that you were in tears. Traffic lights reflected Christmas ornament colors in Aaron’s brown eyes as he drove, occasionally glancing over at you.

You swore you saw the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile as you berated him for not knowing the words to such a classic song.

And then, once you were back at his place, you sat on the edge of the bed and stared at your shoes dumbly until Aaron offered to help you take them off. “Laces too hard,” you mumbled, and Aaron just hummed in agreement before kneeling down to help you.

And then he helped you out of your clothes. He went for your drawer, and you threw a pillow at him. “The college t-shirt,” you demanded with these Bambi-esque eyes.

“Arms up, baby,” Aaron said as he slid his law school t-shirt onto your upper half. He saved that specific term of endearment for times like these, when he was taking care of you, when he himself was exhausted. You could tell he was, too, not only because he kept yawning, but because of that glazed-over look in his chestnut eyes.

You glance down at the words George Washington University, printed over your chest.

Aaron’s arms around you tighten for just a moment as he embraces you, and you dig your face a little further into his chest. “No Jack today?” You ask, your voice coming out croaky.

“At his grandparents’,” Aaron murmurs, and you yawn. He strokes your hair. “How’s your head?”

“I haven’t had any complaints so far.”

Aaron’s hand freezes in your hair, and you lift your head, smirking at him. His mouth has formed a straight line, but you snicker and you can tell he’s trying not to smile at your dirty joke. “Degenerate,” he calls you.

“Prude,” you tease back, inching closer to kiss his jaw briefly before laying your head back down. “It hurts,” you answer his question. “But not as bad as it could.”

“That’s good,” Aaron comments, his hand running through your hair again, gently, the world’s most relaxing and least effective hairbrush. It feels nice, but his hands are so big that his fingers snag on the tangles, accomplishing nothing but making you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Nothing wrong with that, though.

“Do you want some Tylenol for your headache?” Aaron asks, and you just curl up into him even more. He’s so warm, and sturdy, and it’s so rare that you get mornings like this. Either you’re both working or Jack has a soccer game or there’s something else going on. It’s nice just to lay around with him, to be mildly hungover and pretend like that’s the only thing going on in either of your lives.

“That would require getting out of bed,” you protest, and feel Aaron’s arms tighten around you. He’s a very doting boa constrictor.

“How about I get it for you, then?” He offers, and you shake your head and shift all your weight onto him. He chuckles, a deep, throaty noise you know you’re only privy to for about twenty minutes right after he’s woken up. “So that’s a no.”

“That’s a no,” you confirm, settling back in to your original position.

You lay like that with him, in comfortable silence, for a few minutes. Until it feels like you’ve melded into one being. Then Aaron finally shifts under you. “Honey, my arm’s asleep,” he whispers, as though he’s afraid to disturb you.

You slither off of him, then clamber out of bed with no amount of grace, going so far as to trip over the corner post of the bed. As Aaron sits up, you exclaim, “I’m okay!” and hold your hands out to steady yourself.

Aaron stifles a laugh and you watch him stand from the bed and he walks towards you, steadying you with one of those gargantuan hands on your shoulder. He then lifts that hand to tip your chin up. You step forward in a silent dance, wrapping your arms around his neck and standing on your toes to kiss him. “Oh, shit,” you murmur. “I bet I have really awful morning breath.”

He just blinks a few times, and then offers you a shit-eating grin. “Yeah, honey, you kind of do,” he admits. You lightly punch him in the pectoral and then head to the en suite to brush your teeth.

[littlexdeaths]

𝕝𝕖𝕥’𝕤 𝕘𝕠, 𝕕𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕚𝕥 (𝕥𝕨𝕠)

eddie munson x shy fem reader

warnings: lots of cute first date jitters, reader is clumsy, also a lot more cheese 🧀 — take your lactaid besties.

part one | part three

let’s go, don’t wait masterlist

a/n: i’m honestly blown away by all the sweet comments on that first little blurb. shy reader is 1000% me, so this is very near and dear to my heart. i hope y’all like this one just as much! also big kisses to my lovely angel @undead-supernova for looking this over for me <3

“This looks stupid.”

You huff, glancing at your reflection before rushing back over to your closet for the 3rd time in a span of twenty minutes.

But Nancy grabs your wrist from before you can make it there, pulling you down onto the bed beside her.

“Everything you’ve tried on has been cute… I don’t see the problem here.”

You groan and flop back onto the mattress, covering your face with your hands.

“I wasn’t exactly trying to go for cute, Nance.”

Your words are muffled behind your palms, but she gets your message loud and clear.

“I know you want to impress him, but my best advice is to just be yourself… that’s why he asked you out in the first place, right?”

You sigh, uncovering your face to look up at her. She has a brow raised, and as much as you’d hate to admit it— you know she’s right.

“Do you always have to be right about everything?” you puff out a small laugh and she beams, nudging your knee with hers.

“Of course, I am the brains of this operation, remember?”

You roll your eyes fondly before returning to your feet, smoothing over the denim of your skirt when you meet your reflection once more.

“Oh god, what about make up?!”

You only managed to change your shirt one last time before Nancy had to practically barricade your closet door shut with her body. Reminding you that, once again, you looked great.

It doesn’t help much to soothe that little voice in the back of your head that disagrees— but the rumble of an engine and a blaring guitar riff distracts from those thoughts momentarily as the panic finally starts to set in.

“Shit, shit, shit! He’s here already?” you squeak, glancing over at your beside clock.

6:45 pm.

He was 15 minutes early.

“He’s early… color me impressed.” She grins before peeking out your curtains.

“I’m… I’m not ready, Nance.”

Your heart is about to pound out of your chest and your palms are beginning to sweat. She steps away from the window to put her hands on your shoulders, face full of determination.

“Just breathe, okay? I’ll go down and let him in, you just take a minute and come down when you’re ready.”

You nod dumbly, eyes widening further when the doorbell rings.

Eddie’s here… actually standing on your front porch. Bouquet of flowers grasped tightly in his own sweaty palms.

“Thanks, Nance.”

She just gives you a reassuring smile before starting down the stairs and opening the front door. To say Eddie is surprised when Nancy Wheeler appears at your front door instead of you is an understatement.

“Uh… please don’t tell me I’ve got the wrong address,” he steps back to take a look at the number on the house again.

“No, you’re at the right place. She’s just finishing getting ready, come on in.”

Nancy can see the way his shoulders sag in relief before he steps past the threshold. Dark eyes wandering around the interior of your entry way in utter curiosity. Pictures of you and your parents line the walls, but one in particular catches his attention.

You’re smiling up at the camera, eyes scrunched closed behind the round frame of your glasses— with your two front teeth missing.

The sight has him grinning despite himself, already catching more of a glimpse of the girl that’s been on his mind for the better part of that year.

“So… where are you taking her?” Nancy asks casually, leaning against the doorframe of your kitchen.

Eddie turns then, still clutching the flowers tightly in his fist.

“The Palace… and then Benny’s. But don’t worry, I’ll have her back before 11 pm. Scout’s honor.” He grins, raising his other hand in a mock salute.

You can hear their voices floating up the stairs, which only seems to worsen the butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. You take one last look in the mirror to straighten your top and make sure your eyeliner wasn’t smudged before you turn the knob and make your way down the hall.

The creak of the floorboards alerts them both to your presence when you slowly begin to descend the stairs. Your hand grips the railing tightly, eyes finally lifting once you reach the landing.

“Wow,” he whispers in dumbstruck awe.

You can feel your skin warm under the intensity of his gaze, tucking your lower lip between your teeth to hide a grin.

But the sweet moment is quickly squashed when your foot catches on the edge of the step, and you go tumbling forward. Eddie drops the flowers in his haste before closing that short distance between you to catch you in his arms. Your bodies collide, much like what happened earlier in the cafeteria.

Only this time he doesn’t let you go right away.

“Steady now,” he chuckles, and your eyes can’t help but drift lower to stare at his lips. “You okay?”

You nod, not fully trusting your voice when he’s so close like this, you swear he must be able to hear how fast your heart is fluttering beneath your ribs.

“Oh goddammit, the flowers.” Eddie groans, making sure you’ve got your footing before he bends down to pick up the crumpled bouquet.

“Uh, I promise they weren’t like this when I got here...”

He hands them out to you with a sheepish grin, the apples of his cheeks now flushed a soft shade of pink. And from this close proximity you can see the faint freckles dotted along the bridge of his nose.

Man, he sure is pretty…

“They’re beautiful,” you smile, finally finding your voice. “Thank you.”

“… well, you two should probably get going, right?”

You had almost forgotten Nancy was even there.

“Oh what about—” you gesture to the bouquet in your hands, but she quickly cuts you off.

“I’ll put those in some water and lock up for you, sound good?”

You don’t have much time for protest when she carefully takes the flowers from your grasp and nudges you right into Eddie’s chest. You apologize between small giggles when he steadies you again, and Nancy disappears into the kitchen.

His eyes are almost sparkling in childlike delight at the sound of your laughter, and it’s something he’d like to continue hearing for a long time. Eddie guides you both toward the front door. His rings clink against the knob when he swings it open, taking a slight bow before motioning you forward.

“Your chariot awaits, mi’ lady.”

The Palace is packed by the time you arrive, but for a Friday night in Hawkin’s— that’s no surprise.

Young teens dart between the different games with renewed excitement while Keith watches on with a bored expression. Eddie’s hand is held loosely in your own, fingers intertwined while you decide what to play first.

You both agree on air hockey, allowing him to tug you toward the table with a newfound pep in his step. He hands you the blue paddle, teasing telling you that red is always his color before he crouches down to slip two coins in the slot.

“Prepare to be demolished, sweetheart,” he grins cheekily.

Your stomach flips at those seemingly innocent words, and Eddie silently pats himself on the back for how flustered he’s already made you. That’s not something he’s used to, making a pretty girl fumble over her words. But it’s something he’s decided he wants to see a lot more of tonight.

Eddie ends up winning two rounds of air hockey, but his victories were entirely due to the fact that you were so distracted. Poised across from him, you spent more time admiring the way his tongue poked out from between his lips in concentration— or when he had to pull his wild hair back into a bun when it kept flying into his face.

Not that you would ever mention that little fact to him.

“What’s next?” you ask, unable to hide your glee when he takes your hand without hesitation this time.

“Have you tried Dragon’s Lair?”

He nods his head over to the game that was just recently abandoned in a fit of rage by short boy with dark hair. If you were being honest, skee ball and air hockey were more your speed when it came to arcade games. But the look of absolute delight on his face has you willing to try regardless.

And just as you suspected, you’re terrible at it.

You’re barely able to get past that first level without dying repeatedly but Eddie continues to give you an encouraging smile while he leans against the machine. He adores the way your lips are pouted in a slight frown when the dragon engulfs the knight in flames again.

“Here,” he mumbles, sliding in behind you. “Let me help.”

His arms cage you in against the machine, and you can feel the heat from his chest seeping through the thin cotton of your blouse. Ringed fingers gently hover over where yours are stationed on the controls, and in your nervous state you don’t notice the way his fingers tremble slightly.

Eddie guides your hands with ease, all but playing the game for you at this point. But your focus is no longer on the dragons and knights. They instead settle on his hands, and how they completely engulf yours in size. And the way his chain bracelet rattles against your skin with each flick of his wrist on the joystick.

They continue to travel a little higher, noticing how the muscles in his forearms contract each time he pushes that red button in rapid succession. It has your mind wandering to places that it definitely shouldn’t be…

Like how his hands would feel gripping your hips…

Stop that.

When you take a shuddering breath, you get another whiff of his spicy cologne when he leans his head forward. The faint hint of tobacco and mint still lingers on his lips when he blows a breath out in frustration when he finally looses that round.

The words GAME OVER flash across the screen in brightly colored letters, and you feel a little disappointed when he begins to remove himself from you. But you’re suddenly feeling a little bold, gently turning to grab his hand before looking up at him.

“Show me again?” you mumble, chewing nervously on your lower lip.

Eddie grins down at you, eyes flicking down to your mouth for a fleeting moment. But his next move has your brain about to melt out of your ears.

He takes your lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, carefully removing it from between your teeth. He allows the pad of his thumb to graze over your lip while the other slips around your waist. Eddie guides you back around by your hips, quickly resuming his position behind you.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

taglist: @sheneedsrocknroll92 @blckbrrybasket @your-nightmaredoll @missmarch-99 @fandom-princess-forevermore

[kbwrites]

The Lord's Favorite CH. 5

synopsis: Amaryllis (/ˌæməˈrɪlɪs/)[1] is the only genus in the subtribe Amaryllidinae (tribe Amaryllideae). A vibrant bloom that symbolizes new beginnings and fresh starts. They are often associated with winter and the holiday season.

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⚝content: trueform!Sukuna x f!reader, angst, slowburn

⚝wc: 3k

⚝a/n: I've been really slacking on updating this series, gonna try harder I swear.

Sorry.

Even the thought of the word sounded wrong to him. He was a king–ruthless and commanding. His subjects kissed the ground he walked on. There was never a choice he made, that was up for debate. Every criticizing eye was swiftly plucked out, questioning tongue severed.

 But, you—seemed to be a point of contention. Ever since your arrival that was the trend you followed. It was vexing, sure and yet he wouldn’t dream of changing the dynamic.

Why did the sight of you crying so affect him? Why was it that you, a mere servant, could disturb his centuries of carefully maintained control? It wasn’t just your fear that unsettled him; it was the realization that you had managed to penetrate his defenses in a way no one else had.

With a frustrated growl, Sukuna stopped pacing and stared at the reflection in his ornate mirror. The king he saw there was every bit as formidable as he’d always been, but the reflection now held a hint of something else—something vulnerable that he could barely recognize.

His eyes drifted to the door, hoping for any sign of your arrival. He replayed the conversation from earlier, the way you had looked at him, shrunk under his yelling.

As night fell, the emptiness of his bed became a stark reminder of your absence. The usual solace of his grand chambers turned oppressive, and no matter how much he tossed and turned, sleep eluded him. The silence was deafening, only filled with thoughts of you.

He turned over for what felt like the hundredth time, his frustration mounting. For the first time in hundreds of years–the king of curses could not sleep.

Every creak of the palace, every distant sound seemed magnified in the quiet of his chambers. His usual patience frayed, replaced by an unsettling anxiety. He clenched his jaw and stared at the ceiling, the weight of his own thoughts pressing down on him.

The minutes turned to hours.

As the hours dragged on and the first light of dawn began to seep through the heavy curtains, Sukuna finally acknowledged the truth he had been fighting: your presence—or the lack of it—affected him more than he was willing to admit. He needed to find you.

 Throwing off the covers, he rose from bed with a determined stride.

He navigated through the labyrinth of his palace. Looking through every room, his irritation growing each second he failed to locate you.

Finally, he encountered Uraume, who was in the midst of their morning duties. Sukuna’s usual composure was replaced by a rare edge of desperation. “Uraume.” he barked, his voice carrying a sharp edge. “Where is she?”

Uraume’s eyes widened in surprise. “My lord, I—”

“Do not play games with me,” Sukuna interrupted, his frustration palpable. “I demand to know where she is.”

Uraume, taken aback by the king’s sudden intensity, struggled to maintain their usual calm demeanor. “I do not know, my lord. I have not seen her this morning.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenched, his gaze darkening. “Find her.” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Inform me immediately when you do.”

After what felt like hours of searching, Sukuna’s relentless pursuit led him to the library—a place he rarely visited.

As he pushed open the heavy wooden door, his gaze swept over the vast array of bookshelves and reading nooks. His sharp eyes scanned the room with a mixture of hope and irritation.

There, nestled in a quiet corner of the library, he finally found you. You were lying on a velvet sofa, the soft light filtering through the high windows casting a gentle glow over you. Your breathing was steady, but the sight of you so unexpectedly calm, yet so isolated, struck him with a fresh wave of frustration.

Sukuna stood still for a moment, the weight of his anger still mingling in his chest. He had expected to find you hiding, but the sight of you resting so peacefully, despite the turmoil from the previous day, left him momentarily speechless.

“Why are you here?” His voice was sharp. He tried to suppress the concern in his tone, but it seeped through nonetheless.

You stirred at the sound of his voice, slowly opening your eyes. Seeing him standing over you, the mixture of his commanding presence and the faint softness in his gaze was almost disorienting.

“I... slept here.” you murmured, as you sat up.

Sukuna’s expression softened slightly, though his frustration remained evident. “Do not think that you can simply evade me. I was looking for you.”

You looked up at him, trying to find the right words to explain. “I..needed a moment away.”

Sukuna’s brow furrowed, a flicker of hurt flashing across his face. Away? Away… from him?

His anger seemed ready to boil over. He clenched his fists at his sides, visibly struggling to keep his composure.

He started to say something more, but the words choked in his throat. He paused, his face contorting as he wrestled with his emotions. “Come with me.” he said abruptly, his voice strained. 

Without waiting for a response, Sukuna turned on his heel, and you watched as his broad shoulders shifted, tension coiling beneath his skin. The silence that followed felt like an unspoken command, so you rose quietly, trailing behind him as he led the way out of the library and through the grand halls of the palace.

Each turn felt more hidden, the winding path narrowing until the towering palace walls faded behind you. Sukuna moved with purpose, leading you through a barely visible trail as if he had walked it countless times before. The air grew cooler, more secluded, and with every step, the tension between you deepened, thickening the silence.

When the path opened into the garden, your breath caught in your throat. You had never seen this place before—none of the servants had even whispered of its existence. A private sanctuary, tucked away from the rest of the palace. The delicate rustling of leaves, the vibrant flowers, and the gentle trickle of a fountain made it feel like stepping into a dream, so unlike the cold, imposing grandeur of the palace.

You glanced around in awe, but Sukuna remained still, his back to you, as if the beauty of the garden was inconsequential to him. He stopped near the center, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath, barely holding back the storm of emotions that brewed within. You hesitated, waiting for him to break the silence.

"This place..." He paused, as if the words were unfamiliar to him, his jaw tightening with the effort to continue. "No one but Uraume knows of it." His crimson gaze finally meets yours, studying your reaction. You look up at him, caution etched on your face.

“My Lord… why did you bring me here?” You finally find your voice.

His jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides as if he were holding back words he didn’t know how to express. For a moment, he said nothing, his piercing stare taking in every detail of your face.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, the usual edge softened just slightly. “Because...”

He hesitated, his expression hardening once more, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. “Because you needed to see this. Needed to understand that..." He stopped himself again, frustration flaring briefly in his gaze.

He tore his eyes away from yours, staring instead at the quiet garden around you, the flowers swaying gently in the breeze as if mocking his struggle. "I could not sleep." 

“You… couldn’t sleep.” you repeat.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed as if he regretted saying it aloud. "No," he growled, his tone sharper than intended. He shifted his weight, clearly battling with himself. "I couldn’t sleep because you weren’t where you should be." His fists tightened briefly at his sides, and for a moment, you thought his temper might snap again, but he held back. He took a deep breath, looking back at the garden.

“Where I should be…” you echoed, the weight of the words sinking in. Bitterness filled your mouth at the thought.

You had never had a place to belong, passing from one household to the next—no family truly wanting you. Being taught to serve, be invisible, to follow orders without question. “Belonging” was a luxury that other people had, you had only known obligations, expectations, and silence.

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. "My Lord… I’ve never had a place where I was meant to be." Your voice quiet.  You kept your eyes low, avoiding his gaze, afraid of what you might see in it. Afraid of what he might see in it. "I’ve only ever been where I was told… where I was needed. There’s never been a place that was… mine."

“I see,” Sukuna said softly, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between you.

“Your absence… is felt.” His voice was a low murmur, almost introspective.

The admission hung in the air, delicate and uncharacteristic of him. Sukuna’s usual command was replaced with a rare, raw honesty, his battle with his own emotions evident in the tightness of his jaw and the uncertainty in his eyes.

For a moment, you looked up, meeting his gaze. The depth of his words, the way he had fought to express them, was both startling and unsettling. You had never imagined that your presence—or absence—could affect him so deeply.

“I’m… sorry,” you said finally, the words escaping before you could second-guess them. “I didn’t mean to cause such distress.”

“No.” he said eventually, his tone laced with frustration and reluctance. “It’s not just… about distress.” He took a deep breath, the words seemingly stuck in his throat. “Yesterday, I... I lost my temper.”

The awkwardness of his apology was palpable as if each word was a battle against his own nature. The struggle was evident in the way his shoulders tensed and his fingers clenched into fists before relaxing. He was trying to bridge a gap that his usual demeanor couldn’t easily cross.

You looked at him, your mouth agape in shock, maybe the night of no sleep had cause hallucinations. Had you heard him? Were you mistaken?

The usual commanding presence that inspired fear and respect was now tempered by an uncharacteristic hesitation and softness. It was as though you were seeing him for the first time, not just as a king, but as a man grappling with his own emotions.

You quickly caught yourself, regaining composure as you took in the full scope of his vulnerability. The stark contrast between the imposing figure of Sukuna and the genuine, albeit awkward, sincerity he had just displayed was striking. His powerful frame, usually so unyielding, seemed momentarily diminished in the garden’s serene atmosphere.

He turned away briefly, running a hand through his pink hair in a rare show of agitation. He turned his back to you again, but the tension in his posture spoke volumes. “It is… difficult for me, to express… what I mean.”

He cast a quick, almost helpless glance over his shoulder. “You’re... you’re allowed in this garden. Whenever you want. It’s not meant to be hidden from you.”

Slowly, you took a step forward, the shock giving way to a tentative understanding. "Thank you, my Lord," you said quietly,. "For… sharing this with me. And for allowing me a place here."

“You… are welcome.”

Your gaze shifted to a nearby flower, its vibrant petals standing out against the verdant backdrop. Curious, you asked, “What’s this one?”

Sukuna’s eyes followed your gaze, and for a moment, he seemed to find solace in the change of focus. “That’s an amaryllis” he said, his voice regaining a touch of its usual authority.

“Amaryllis..” you practice, tasting the name on your tongue.

“Yes,” he continues, “It symbolizes strength and new beginnings. It thrives even in harsh conditions.” He shifted his gaze back to you, eyes tracing the lines of your face with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

You reached out for him, your hand trembling slightly. Sukuna’s eyes widened slightly, and he hesitated for a moment before he slowly took your hand in his. He guided it firmly to his chest, where his robe parted to reveal the warmth of his skin,a stark contrast to the cool garden air. You could feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart beneath your palm—a heartbeat that seemed to resonate with the depth of his emotions.

He stared intently into your eyes, his own filled with a mixture of sincerity and trepidation. “You have…” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “You have… affected me. More than you know.” 

The air between you grew heavier, your breath catching in your throat as his hand trailed over your face, gentle and calculated. Tracing the soft skin of your cheek, to your jaw—brushing against your bottom lip. As his fingers lingered on your lips, the world outside the garden seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this suspended moment.

“My lord—”  you began, your voice wavering with a question that never fully formed.

For a brief moment, neither of you moved. Your hand still resting on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. The garden around you seemed to quiet, the faint rustling of leaves and the distant chirp of crickets fading into the background as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Then, with a slow exhale, Sukuna guided you to a softer patch of grass further within the garden, a place hidden beneath a canopy of trees, where the light filtered through the leaves in soft, fragmented patterns.

"I meditate here," he said quietly, sharing a secret. He lowered himself gracefully onto the grass, his movements deliberate, leaving just enough space beside him for you to join.

"You… meditate?" you asked, almost without thinking, your tone laced with disbelief.

He turned to look at you, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. "Did you think me incapable of silence and thought?" His voice was tinged with sarcasm, though it didn’t sting. "That I am so detached, so unfeeling?"

The embarrassment crept up your neck, your eyes darting away as you bit your lip. "I didn’t mean—" you began, but the words felt clumsy, an apology for something you hadn't meant to assume.

Sukuna’s gaze softened, and he let out a quiet breath, his amusement fading into something more genuine. "It is…easy to believe," he murmured, "given how I appear." His hand reached out, beckoning you closer. "Come.”

Slowly, you settled beside him, the grass cool beneath your skin as the quiet of the garden enveloped you both. Sukuna reclined, two arms propped behind his head, allowing the stillness of the space to calm his unease. You glanced at him, the formidable king of curses suddenly appearing more human in the soft light of the garden.

An awkward silence stretched between you. Sukuna, clearly uncomfortable with the quiet, cleared his throat and tried to make conversation. "What of your family?" he asked.

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, the pain of your past surfacing briefly. "My family… they died when I was young," you said quietly, your voice betraying a hint of the sorrow you felt. "I was left alone after that."

Sukuna’s eyes widened slightly, and he shifted uncomfortably, his usual confidence momentarily faltering. "I see," he said awkwardly, trying to find the right words. "I didn’t mean to… to bring up something so... personal."

You looked at him, noticing his genuine discomfort and the uncharacteristic hesitation in his gaze. "It’s alright," you reassured him. "It’s been a long time."

Sukuna let out a frustrated breath, closing his eyes briefly. "This…isn't exactly my strength." he admitted, almost begrudgingly.

"And here I thought you were all-powerful in every aspect." a small smirk tugs your lips as you chuckle. Sukuna’s cheeks flushed slightly, avoiding your gaze.

Before you could react, Sukuna moved with surprising swiftness, crawling on top of you and trapping you gently between the grass and his strong arms. His gaze was intense, crimson eyes piercing, boreing holes into your own.

"Do you find this amusing?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver through you.

The sudden shift in position left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at him. The distance between you was minimal, the warmth of his body so close that you could feel the heat radiating from him. "I’m not accustomed to this. It is… difficult. You make it difficult.” 

 He hovered just above you, his breath mingling with yours, “You have a way of unraveling me. It’s... unsettling.”

The warmth between you grew. Every subtle movement of his body against yours sent a shiver through you, making your skin tingle.

Sukuna’s gaze fell to your lips, the tension between you crackling with an electric anticipation. He hesitated, his expression a mix of determination and longing. “What is it you do to me?” he asked, his voice a whisper that seemed to echo in the stillness.

The man who had always been a figure of strength and control was now entirely absorbed by you, and the realization made your heart race even faster.

His nearness was intoxicating, every touch and glance fueling the fire that had been kindling between you. With a sudden, almost desperate movement, his lips descended on yours, capturing them in a kiss that was both rough and dizzying.

His grip on you tightened, his hands framing your face with a desperate intensity. The moment felt like it stretched endlessly, the world outside forgotten as his tongue entered your mouth with an urgency that bordered on frantic. He explored every inch of you, his taste mingling with yours. The kiss was a maelstrom of sensation, his passion overwhelming in its depth.

Your hands roamed the expanse of his chest, feeling the heat of his skin and the silk of his robe on your fingertips.  Sukuna’s groan vibrated through you, He pressed more of his weight into you, his two lower arms gripping your waist with a possessive force, his nails digging into your flesh as if to anchor himself to you. 

As he finally pulled away from your lips, you were met with the sight of him—his pupils dilated, breathing ragged, and his heartbeat quicker now. Sukuna’s chest heaved with every breath, his expression pure hunger.

He wanted to consume you. And you were more than ready to let him.

taglist: @quinnyundertow @devastyle @bokuatsubro @alt-her @novembersavior @twinkyjohnson @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @bubb13gumb1tch @kalulakunundrum @flowerpot113 @caratinluv @koyukilove @memers666 @saikilover7878 @smolbeanzzz @byul9158 @shadava @bellinghambby22 @pastelbunnelby @jvg02 @ohmykwonsoonyoung @goldenglow149 @imnotabot28 @s1urpjuic3 @nctislifue @szired @mold-ed @fuyuji-ii @samisfunky @junni-berry @call-memissbrightside @wil10wthetree @iamthehybrid @poemzcheng @00frenchfries00 @greentea-ellie @worldean @klutzylaena @heyheyheyggg @hillmiaxoxo @lashaemorow @kuudere-raia @didielly @thejujvtsupost @malazloje @dumplings4life0520 @kum1ko-chan @paprikaquinn @damnshorty @dumbmi

[yorshie]

sees your requests open and slides in like a penguin on ice 🧊

possibly showing off a new swimsuit in front of the turtles in hopes it gets Raph's attention because every other hint you've dropped has gone wayyyy over his head (...or so you assume) 👀

showers you in love and sparkles!!! ✨️💕🫂

Kkkkkeeeeeiiiiisssshhhhhhaaaaaaa. *clings to you like a wet noodle*

I scrolled all the way down to the bottom of my requests and gasped when I saw your name. >:3. I gladly shower in the love and sparkles, and hope you forgive me for the amount of silent pining I’m about to shove down everyone’s throat. lol.

Bay Raph x fem reader (I think the only gendered terms are two pieces bathing suit but idk does that count in 2025? Question mark? Idk I’m tired)

SFW

Ok. Breathe. You can do this.

The mid-morning sun cut through the lacy curtains and across the tiny vanity surrounding the sink. The bathroom you were holed up in was better suited for the sixties, with the chair rail topped with faded, flowered wallpaper and the worn floor that couldn’t quite hide the handmade nails driven in to hold the boards in place. You knew plans had been made and then discarded over and over concerning updating it, but no one could quite agree on how to update it, and hardly anyone came up to use the little bathroom cooped up at the end of the hallway to be reminded about it.

Which was precisely why you were holed up in it now. Even though the door hadn’t locked for years, it was the safest place to hype yourself up.

You were failing miserably.

“You got this,” You told your reflection for what felt like the hundredth time, gaze flicking down below your chin before resolutely jerking back up to your face.

A second ruled by your thundering heartbeat, before you gave in. “Nope. I can’t do this.”

It’s just a bathing suit. You reasoned with yourself. Just a bathing suit, modest even for two piece standards if you were being honest but…

God, it….. it was so red.

The exact same shade of red as Raph’s bandana.

You’d hunted for that exact shade of color, of course. You practically had it tattooed to the back of your eyelids, had lost countless hours imagining what the feel of that bandana would be like under your fingers if you were only brave enough to reach out.

You’d contemplated it, once, when leaning against the back of the couch while bantering with Raphael. Had thought about just… reaching out, twirling the nearest loop of fabric about your fingers and wrist like it was something commonplace, something you were allowed to do-

But your bravery had deserted you the moment Raph had looked over his shoulder at you, eyes crinkled soft in silent laughter, relaxed and carefree in the conversation. Something you had thought impossible when you had first met him.

You couldn’t have handled it if that soft look had disappeared, if the armored walls he had slowly lowered during the time you’d known him snapped back into place.

You stared at the red bathing suit again, tugging on it gently in the hopes it might cover up more perceived flaws, like it might answer your unspoken questions, like it might give insight on whether or not this would work.

None of the other things you’d chanced to show Raph how you’d felt had worked, after all.

You wanted… You just wanted to show him…

You let out a pained, warbling curse, head dropping to rest in your hands as you contemplated sneaking back to the room you were sharing with April and pretending you were too sick to go downstairs.

A heavy knock sounded on the door, a muffled voice quickly to follow. “Hey, princess, ready to go?”

You startled, badly, tripping on the worn, warm rug laid out in front of the claw footed tub and having to catch yourself to keep from going completely ass over tea kettle into the cold porcelain.

It hurt, no matter what, slipping on the rim and sliding into the hollow, swim suit bottom riding up painfully on the descent.

Raph called your name out in question while you internally panicked, staring at the door while dread coiled oily and dark beneath your sternum.

”I’m- fine!” You called back, wincing internally when your voice cracked in a lie between the two words.

Evidently Raph heard the tell as well. “uh, huh. Yeah, sure. Try that again, peaches. You good?” There came a testing rattle of the doorknob, and your heart leapt. “You didn’t fall, right?”

“Don’t-“ you struggled to get back on your feet, hands and hip slipping on the tub with a loud squeak when your skin stuck to the cold surface. “Don’t open the door!”

The testing jiggle of the doorknob stopped, and you could feel the stare Raph was leveling at the door through his pointed silence. “You did fall.”

Accusing. You flinched at the sound, stumbling towards the door and leaning both hands against it like that might succeed in keeping him out if he decided otherwise.

“I promise I’m fine!” You hurriedly looked around for your T-shirt, anything, a towel for god’s sake, to wrap yourself in. A helpful thought flitted through your mind that you had left your clothes on your borrowed bed to avoid the exact scenario of trying to hide the bathing suit, and your head thunked against the door in internal shame.

Raph shifted on the other side, feet scuffing slightly. You could hear the sound of stiff fabric rubbing against scales, and realized he must have been on his way out to the pond when he came to check on you, the stiff sound of swim shorts unmistakable.

“Ok…. Well, I got a towel for ya, if you want it, so you don’t have to sit on the grass when we’re done swimming. You ready to go?” It was a lot, you knew, for him to give up the line of questioning. It made the answer you were about to give him sour all the more.

You gripped the door knob tight, your other hand clenching tight enough to drive your nails into your skin as you waffled. “I- I don’t think I can.”

A pointed silence. Then: “What? Why?”

It was your turn to shift, weighing each word. “I’m uncomfortable.”

Raph turned that over for a moment in silence, before you heard another rustle of cloth. “Here- open up.”

You gripped the doorknob tighter, parroting him in words and tone without meaning to. “What? Why?”

“S’ my shirt,” The door opened despite you clinging to it, just a smidge, just enough for him to wedge the article of clothing through the crack. “You can cover up with it, so you can still have fun.”

You took the shirt automatically, staring at it like it was a foreign thing while Raph shut the door once more with a soft click.

It was worn, likely years old, the seams frayed and a number of small holes dotting along the neckline. It would likely swallow you whole, take several rubber bands to hold to your frame, but…

It was red. A more muted color than your bathing suit, but-

You swallowed, hard, setting the shirt on the sink and laying a hand on it for comfort, before steeling your spine.

You heard Raph take a preemptive step when you turned the knob, backing up out of the way, but your eyes were fixed somewhere on his midriff as you stepped out into the hallway next to him.

”You…” His words trailed off, sounding a bit higher pitched than you were used to, and you chanced a look up at his face.

Green eyed wide, he stared at you, gaze tracking down over your torso before he seemed to remember himself and his eyes snapped back to your face. The finer scales around his beak and cheeks mottled, turning a more muted color, as blood rushed to his face. “You -ah, s’… nice-”

He snapped a hand up to his face like that might stop the train crash of words leaving his mouth, and you felt the first warm ember creep alive in your chest, that oily feeling lessening.

Silence, for a long moment, as you both considered each other. Sunlight streamed through the far window across the opened space beyond the bannister, backlighting the side of Raph’s shell and his face a golden color. Somewhere below, you could hear Donnie humming a song.

“I… liked the color.” You told him softly, finally, wrapping one arm around yourself and leaning against the door jam, breaking the stand off.

Raph made a low noise, muffled, behind the meat of his hand, and your gaze dropped in time to see his other fist clench tight before tracking back up the scutes covering his chest.

”You good?” You asked him with that same, quiet voice, feeling that beat of self consciousness grow the longer he stayed silent. Chancing another glance up at him, you found a deep look settling over his face, thoughts flashing like rapid fire hits as microexpressions twisted the features around his fist with an alarming rate.

’Yeah,” he finally breathed, hand dropping to clench at his side with the other. “Yea, m’fine. You uh- you ready, then?”

He still had that slightly hunted look, barely stepping to the side as you nodded slowly and moved past. Your elbow grazed the hard plating of his plastron as you stepped past him, and you heard him suck in a sharp breath at the sensation.

Goosebumps erupted down your spine as you felt him move to shadow your steps down the hall, but when you turned to look over your shoulder his gaze wasn’t on you, that still rather thoughtful scrunch between his eyes. “Your shirt?” You reminded him, gesturing back down the hall.

Narrowed green gaze considered you for a moment, not looking back towards the still lit bathroom. They tracked down your form for a moment, and you felt that kernel of warmth once more.

”Leave it… unless you need it?” The second part was intoned like a revelation, half turning like he’d go back for it.

Your hand on his arm stopped him in his tracks. ‘No,” You squeezed, and felt the muscle ripple in response. ‘I don’t.”

[yazmarina]

toothbrush

for hit play, a drabble event.

—"if you stay with me again, would you mind closing the bedroom door? " (toothbrush by dnce)

max verstappen (f1) x afab!reader

warnings/notes: smut, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, undefined relationship

a/n: i liked this one quite a lot. enjoy some domestic maxie <3

The feeling is disorienting at first.

You're warm, but not uncomfortably so. It's more of a hug, the sensation that wraps around you now. You move to shift on your side when you realize you're quite literally being hugged. Arms tighten around you and this is when your eyes fly open.

You let out a breath when you realize where you are, gentle sunlight streaming through the cracks between the curtains.

A faint purring catches your attention and you crane your neck toward the end of the bed to see the curled up figure of Jimmy, burrowing himself against your leg beneath the sheets.

A groan from above startles you and you turn to see Max peeking one eye open at you.

"Morning," he mumbles, cradling you closer against his frame.

"Hi," you whisper back, breathing in the scent of his laundry detergent and the faint traces of his perfume.

Max blinks his eyes fully open, brushing some of your hair over your shoulder. He chuckles at the sight of your neck and chest, lightly tracing the splotches of red and purple on your skin.

"Sorry, schatje," Max says, rubbing your arm as if to soothe you. "For last night."

You laugh, pulling away from his embrace to stretch. You catch your reflection in the mirror across from the bed. You practically roll off the mattress, a dull ache in your thighs as you stumble closer to the mirror.

Your thin camisole leaves little to the imagination, one strap hanging down, baring even more skin. A faint gasp escapes you as you take in just how much damage Max had done last night.

"Can't remember if I packed a turtleneck," you muse out loud, catching Max's eye in the mirror. He merely grins, leaning against the headboard as his gaze trails down your body.

"Anyways, I need to go," you declare, swiftly turning around to rummage through your travel bag sitting on the table in the corner of the room. You hear Max get off the bed behind you and you feel him stepping closer and closer.

Warm hands find their way on your hips, sliding around your midsection until Max is fully leaning into you, his chin resting on your shoulder.

"What's the rush? You said you didn't have any work," Max reminds, lips pressing against the skin of your neck.

You sigh, pulling out a pair of pants and a plain shirt that you packed. Not the most fashion-forward but with Max Verstappen waiting by your apartment door, itching to take you back to his place, there wasn't much smart packing choices you could have made.

"Yeah, but I don't want to overstay my welcome," you point out, hands pausing at what they're doing. You lay your palms over Max's firm arms, leaning back against him.

"What?" Max sounds genuinely confused. He gently turns you to face him, his head tilted to the side as he looks at you questioningly.

"Overstay your welcome? Baby, did I not tell you that you could stay here for as long as you want?" Max says almost imploringly, hands cradling the sides of your face.

You chew on your bottom lip, avoiding his eyes.

A part of you screams that you shouldn't have gotten involved with him in the first place. You're a reporter and an analyst, for crying out loud. You're meant to be impartial, non-partisan to any agenda, detached from any of the drivers.

It turns out that all it takes is a slightly awkward, more than friendly Dutch driver to break your resolve.

And in record time, too. This time last month, you barely gave Max a second thought. You were new and he was the top dog at this thing. Nothing to indicate that it would turn into more than a professional relationship.

"Really? You'd want me to move in that fast?" You ask, half-joking.

Max shrugs. "Monaco has a housing problem. You could free up your apartment for whichever next tax evader wants to move here."

You burst out in giggles, punching Max lightly in the chest.

"Big words from one of the biggest tax evaders, then," you quip, relishing in the grin that spreads on Max's face.

He leans in to kiss you, lips slotting perfectly against yours. You sigh, quickly wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against you.

"Enough about taxes," Max says against your lips.

"Stay."

Max kisses you again, maneuvering you back toward the bed. You fall against the plush bedding with a gasp, barely having enough time to scoot further up as Max reclaims your lips, tongue licking into your mouth. Your whole body seems to erupt in flames, his fingers already tugging your underwear down your thighs.

"Max," you breathe out as you watch him rid himself of his own boxers. Memories of last night flood back as you catch sight of his length, already half-hard.

He looks at you expectantly but you've forgotten what you wanted to say. A protest maybe, hesitance at continuing whatever it is you have with him. But the light blush on his cheeks, his eyes boring into yours so eagerly—it puts a stop to every interjection you've come up with.

You press your mouth against his instead, reaching over to stroke at his already leaking cock. Max groans into the kiss, fingers tangling in your hair as he tugs, eliciting a wanton moan from you.

"I want you. Everyday."

Max admits this, kissing down the column of your neck. You let go of him in favor of digging both your hands into his side, clutching onto him as if letting go would end in him leaving. His fingers swipe harshly between your folds, finding your arousal already pooling and dripping onto the sheets.

"Stay, please," Max says once more, withdrawing his hand from between your thighs, angling himself at your entrance.

You nod, pulling him in so you can kiss yet again. Max pushes in at the same time, neither of you stopping the sounds that come out of both of you as he sheaths himself within your walls.

It's needy, the way you two move. But none of it is rushed, with Max's hands smoothing down your sides languidly, stroking at your skin in a way that has goosebumps rising all over your arms. He grunts into your neck and you lock your legs around him, keeping him close.

Max feels as if he belongs exactly where he is right now. Pleasure shoots through your entire body like it has never before, each thrust of his hips sending your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

"I-I'll stay," you manage to choke out, fingers carding through Max's hair. He pulls back to look at you, eyes glazed over as if in a trance. Spellbound by you.

"I'll stay as long as you want," you say, angling your hips closer to his, both of you groaning at the change. He goes in even deeper, stilling for a moment to press his length further up. You clench around him and Max gasps, resuming his pace.

It doesn't take long for both of you to reach it, euphoria washing over as you finish in each other's arms. Max spills himself inside you and the sheets are further ruined as your own climax splashes everywhere.

Max eases himself on top of you, careful not to let his full weight crush you. Neither of you two moves for a solid minute, Max still fully inside you.

"How very domestic," you comment with a laugh, kissing the side of Max's head.

He merely groans in reply, finally leaning away and plopping down at your side. You practically hop onto your feet as you look for your underwear, pulling it up to stop any leakage.

"Guess I'm not going anywhere now seeing that you...well...yeah."

The two of you burst out laughing.

"Breakfast?" Max asks, jerking his head toward the door.

You nod. The clothes still splayed out on the table catch your eye.

Maybe you'll wear them tomorrow.

[beanxiv]

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 — something about you : eyedress, dent may

he’s so pretty.

percy jackson, son of poseidon— one of the most powerful demigods to step on gaia’s green earth—

— is pretty.

his dark brows that you cleaned up around the edges for him whenever he had enough patience, his even darker hair that fell into wind-swept waves and loose curls, his sharp nose dotted with freckles that reached the height of his cheekbones— you could go on and on, and on about your boyfriend's beauty.

how he’s a son of poseidon and not aphrodite bewilders you. gods, he certainly looks like he was sculpted by the goddess of beauty.

it's what you thought about almost every time you woke up next to him. he looked so peaceful, as if he hadn't been to hell and back (literally), and saved the world on numerous occasions (also literally.)

it’s a breezy summer morning and his cabin window is open so the wind is gentle and sweeping the curtains this way and that. the abalone walls reflect light from the sun, casting a nearly transparent rainbow across his freckled cheeks.

you reach out and brush your fingers against it, and he nuzzles into your hand even in his sleep.

and even in his sleep he’s the prettiest thing you've seen.

even when he drools.

speaking of,

“what, do i have drool on my face or somethin’?” he murmurs and his morning voice makes your stomach do a little flutter akin to the way it always did when you first started dating.

your grin is an answer enough and he groans, turning over to look at his alarm clock and wipe his cheek in the process. “it's noon,” he groans again, sliding a hand down his face. “we missed breakfast, and we’re definitely late to activities.”

“it's not my fault you slept like a rock,” you hum as he pulls you back against his chest.

“well, it's your fault we were up all night,” he retorts playfully, poking you in the side and making you yelp. “b’sides, you could've woken me up, jerk.”

“aw, but you look so pretty when you're sleeping,” you tease once you recover, “and even better when you’re silent and not bothering met.”

“you love when i bother you,” he rolls his eyes and pulls you closer, nipping at your nose. ever the sassiest man you know.

you hum in faux consideration, as if debating  on his words, “i guess.”

“you know,” he corrects, brushing your hair back with gentle fingers. the same hands that had killed so many monsters, the same hands that nearly put misery out of her misery.

 the same hands that held you, comforted you, caressed you, gentled, and loved you. hands that would never lift to harm you.

you take that hand and kiss his knuckles, and he quite literally melts into your touch, with a soft sigh thst comes out almost as a hum.

he pulls his hand back, pulling you toward him in the process, and kisses your forehead, then your brow, then your nose and cheeks, until he's peppering feather-light kisses around your face.

“good morning, pretty.” he murmurs against the corner of your lips. no matter what, he never fails to give your a proper ‘good morning’ greeting (so what if it is half past noon?)

“good morning, percy,” you grin back, waiting for him to just kiss you.

and so he does.

and it's soft, with his hand sliding to rest at your nape in order to pull you close enough that he hums against your lips, and you reciprocate the sound.

your fingers card into his hair and he all but shudders against you, lips parting enough for you to brush your tongue against the seam.

his free hand moves to brush against your waist, fingers cool underneath your shirt. it starts creeping lower and before he makes you both even more late, you pull back.

he chases after your lips with the same pout that always tugs at his lips when you pull away too soon for his liking.

you push him back, fingers planted on his lips, with a grin. “brush your teeth first, sleepyhead. then we have to scour the kitchen for whatever is left from breakfast— if it hasn't already been sacrificed or given to the harpies.”

percy sighs before planting a kiss to your fingers and pulling back to slide out of the warmth of his bed, “aye, aye, captain.” he half heartedly saluted and stalks off to the bathroom, boxers low on his hips and back muscles and biceps flexing as he lifts his arm to rake his fingers through his hair.

you follow after him after stretching, after all after only a few sleepovers, you’d started leaving spare toiletries and clothes. since it's just percy (and occasionally tyson) in the cabin, you're always more than welcome to stay night. even chiron turns a blind eye (mr. d doesn't care enough to even notice.)

percy’s already got his toothbrush in his mouth when you walk in so he runs your toothbrush under the water and squeezes some toothpaste on before handing it to you.

you brush your teeth next to him, and it's quiet save face for the usual camp sounds— kids and counselors shouting, the sound of the tether ball, volleyball, newer campers screaming when they realize the climbing wall isnt just a climbing wall—

the usual.

percy finishes brushing first and washes his face, dragging the water into his hair and slicking it back a bit in the process.

again, his biceps flex as he does, and they're just so bite-able. if you didn't have a mouth-full of foamy toothpaste in your mouth, you would bite them. but you do so you don't.

instead you spit out the toothpaste and rinse your mouth then toothbrush before setting it in the same cup percy’s is sitting in. 

“so i brushed my teeth,” percy looks at you, and you're confused at first as to why he’s stating the obvious until he steps forward making you step back into the counter.

he swoops down and catches your lips in a kiss that toes the line between soft and demanding. his hand lifts to cup your jaw, tilting your head up toward his.

you think to pull away, remind him about breakfast.. but maybe being late isn't that bad. maybe you can be just a little more late.

and maybe — no, you definitely have perseus jackson completely wrapped around your finger and he's definitely proud of it.

© beanxiv — all rights reserved. copying, reposting, translating, and modifying on any platform or by any means is not allowed.

[hangesophtalmologist]

the weight of your world on my shoulders

lando norris

pairing: lando norris x driver!reader

tropes: rivals to lovers?, forbidden romance

genre: fluff, angst

synopsis: waking up in the same hotel room as your infuriating rival would have been so much less trouble if he didn’t make you feel that way… or if your team principal wasn’t on the hunt for you. And most importantly, if you weren’t both F1 drivers.

warnings: suggestive content, angst

The sharp rays of morning sunlight streamed through the gap in the hotel curtains, illuminating the chaos in the room. You groaned as you turned over, your face half-buried in a pillow, and blinked groggily at the unfamiliar surroundings. Beside you, messy curls were spilled over the pillow as a body stirred, bushy brows furrowing as the man took in the scattered remnants of last night’s celebration.

Your eyes widened as realization dawned. “Oh, no.”

Lando sat up abruptly, the sheet slipping off his torso to reveal his bare chest. “What the hell?” he mumbled, running a hand through his messy hair. His gaze fell on you, half-dressed in last night’s pants and a bra and his heart stuttered.

The look of horror on your face would have made him laugh if it wasn't for his own confusion. You yanked the sheet over your lap, shifting away from him as you tried your best to look everywhere but his naked torso.

“Yeah, what the actual hell," you repeated, sending him an accusing look. "Did we...?” you started with a frown, trailing off awkwardly.

“I…” Lando’s mouth opened and closed as his brain struggled to piece together the events of the previous night. “I don’t know. Did we?”

Your eyes narrowed, and a flash of memory hit you like a freight train. You had argued about whose room it was—fighting as always, stubbornly shouting at each other.

But the only thing you could remember after that was Lando’s clumsy attempt to unclasp your bra, his hands fumbling and his drunken frustration palpable. The blurry memory made your stomach flip, heat rushing to your cheeks in an embarrassing display of fluster. “You!” you gasped, crossing your arms defensively across your chest.

Lando’s eyebrows shot up, his gaze feeling all too heavy on your bare skin. “Me what?”

“I'm going to the bathroom,” you snapped, scrambling out of bed and heading straight for the bathroom, your steps hurried but unsteady.

Once inside, the door slammed shut and you pressed your back against it, heart pounding. This could not be happening. Everyone from your team principal to the fans would kill you both if they knew—but you'd have killed yourself first from shame. Lando? Seriously? Your insufferable rival and the cockiest, most arrogant man to ever live? You had spent way too many years throwing insults at his face to be found in his—or your—whose room was it in the end?—bed half-naked. Shame on you, you thought, I hope you haven't been this stupid.

"This is why you never drink," you pointed an accusing finger at your reflection in the mirror.

Intending to wash the hypocrisy off your skin with a cold shower, you reached behind to unhook the offending piece of lingerie, only to discover that it was still impossibly stuck. No amount of twisting or pulling seemed to work. So the failure of your attempts - having led the active participation of your coworker -  wasn't due to the alcohol. It was indeed not budging.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered, praying to any god in any religion to hear your plea and either unclasp this cursed bra or strike you down with lightning.

Outside, Lando softly knocked on the door. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”. Lies.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” he commented, his voice laced with amusement.

You opened the door a crack, still clutching the clasp behind your back. “Just a logistical issue. None of your concern.”

You'd rather shower fully clothed than let this- this dangerous man approach you once more.

His smirk grew, green eyes sparkling with mischief. Damn he really was attractive.

“Need help?”

Your glare was enough to kill, but the growing heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “Oh, you've done enough, Norris.”

He chuckled, gripping the side of the door and gently pushing it open, ignoring your protests.

"Come on, I already tried last night. What's the harm?" he smirked as he stepped into the bathroom, invading your senses with his scent, his warmth, his voice, and the otherworldly vision of his sculpted naked chest.

"So you do remember, you dipshit," you muttered to conceal your fluster. Still, you gave in, timidly offering your back to him. "I'm warning you, no funny business."

Lando’s lips twitched as he stepped closer, the air thick with a mix of amusement and something far more dangerous. You could tell he was holding his breath—when he finally exhaled, the coldness brushed against your back and sent a jolt through you. You cursed inwardly at the effect he had on you.

“Hold still,” he murmured, his voice lower than usual. Then his knuckles grazed your skin, and it was like your entire body was burning in flames.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken tension. You could feel his nervousness through the fidgeting around the clasp, through how silent he was—no jokes, no teasing, no comment on the shivers that kept running on your skin with each of his movements. Just the deafening batter of your hearts.

The proximity was unbearable; the air between you seemed to sizzle.

His fingers stole the breath that was caught in your throat as they grazed your back with more force. You didn't know if Lando was purposefully taking his time or if he was genuinely struggling, but all you could think about was his hands on your skin, his breath on your shoulder, and how careful he was, trying not to touch you too much and how close you were to losing your m-

“There,” he said softly, the clasp finally giving way.

You inhaled sharply, snapping out of your thoughts. Quickly, your arms jumped over your chest, clutching your bra, and you turned to face him. Shit. Your body was overheating and you feared you just made it worse. You couldn't escape his burning gaze. Lando was looking down at you with such intensity you felt like you were being set on fire. Again.

His eyes lingered on you for a long moment before he cleared his throat. “I don’t think we slept together,” he murmured, finally breaking the silence.

Relief eased the tension in your shoulders, and you finally found your voice. “Do you remember everything?”

“No, I don't remember much, but,” he clicked his tongue, a slow, cocky grin spreading across his face, “there’s just no way I’d leave your neck without any mark.”

Jaw. Dropped.

Your lips moved to respond, to curse his arrogance but no sound came out. Shit. It was hard to think when flashes of forbidden scenes kept inundating your imagination, and your heart threatened to burst out of your chest.

Lando, cautiously and almost predatorily scrutinizing each inch of your face, must have read your thoughts—something in his eyes snapped. Almost shyly—as if bracing for a rejection—he leaned in, his lips brushing your neck and sending you both into oblivion. Slowly, he kissed the skin there, searching for a sensitive spot. When you let out a small sound of pleasure, his hands tensed on your waist.

For a second.

Then hell broke down and it was like you had unleashed its wildest flames as his hands, once well-behaved, were now insatiable and eager to burn every parcel of your skin and hold you closer than ever. You gasped, heat flooding your body, your resolve crumbling under his touch. Your fingers dived into his rebellious curls, pulling him away and closer at the same time, earning a soft groan that reverberated against your neck.

When you heard him curse, you realized you could feel him everywhere—his warmth engulfing you in your mutual insatiable desire.

Then came the knock at the door.

As if a spell was broken, you jumped in surprise and pushed Lando away, your heart racing. “Shit,” you hissed, still panting while exchanging a panicked look with him. "What do we do?"

"Go open the door," Lando whispered back, his eyes wide with insistence.

"Are you mad? I’m freaking half-naked!"

"Me too," he protested. "And I’m not exactly presentable," he added through gritted teeth.

"You’re a man, you won’t shock anyone with your tits," you whispered-yelled, missing the point he was trying to make and pushing him out of the bathroom. "It’s your fault anyway!" you muttered as you locked yourself in.

Lando sighed despite the smile that fought his way to his lips. He scrambled to answer the door, throwing on a discarded shirt and running a hand through his hair.

Toto Wolff stood there, his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

Fuck. This was not his room.

“Norris,” Toto said in a measured tone, a lot less friendly than usual. “Why are you in Y/N’s room?”

Lando blinked, his brain scrambling for an answer. “Uh… it’s— I'm... we- we swapped rooms by mistake. You know how these things go. Lots of champagne last night.”

Toto’s gaze was skeptical, his eyes flicking to the room’s disheveled state. “What’s your room number?”

“I… don’t remember,” Lando lied, stalling.

From the bathroom, the sound of the water turning on made Toto’s eyebrow arch higher. Lando cursed internally—you just had to take a shower right now and make things worse.

"I suppose I would be wrong to assume Y/N is currently showering?" the German man asked sternly, and the question seemed more like a threat than an inquiry.

They’d definitely be both in tremendous trouble if any of their team found out about this night—even if technically, nothing had happened. Until three minutes ago.

"Ha, what? Her?" Lando faked a laugh, a tad bit too high-pitched to be authentic. "I told you, she slept in my room on another floor. This is uh- um? My- well, my girlfriend."

The dubious expression of Mercedes' team principal cracked into a perplexed one, a frown carving a wrinkle between his eyebrows.

"Weren't you single?"

"Not anymore," Lando insisted, a fake smile tearing his face in two. "So, I'd appreciate it if you could..."

“Oh yes, of course,” Toto nodded slowly. “Well, I'll ask the reception for your room number. Don't do these... swaps again, it's inconvenient.” He turned and left, but not before casting one last suspicious glance over his shoulder.

The second he was out of sight, Lando shut the door and bolted for the bathroom, knocking urgently. “Y/n! Toto’s onto us.”

You emerged hastily, your hair damp, a toothbrush in your hand and a bathrobe clutched around you. Water dripped onto the carpet as you stared at him, wide-eyed. “What did he say?”

“He-" Lando's voice dropped as he took in your appearance, and he had to swallow thickly to continue. "He wants to talk to you."

“Great,” you muttered. “I can’t stay here.”

All sense of urgency seemed to have evaporated from Lando's mind as he tried his best not to follow the path of the raindrops running down your wet skin. “We need to get you to my room before Toto figures this out,” he finally got out, mumbling incoherently as he grabbed your arm. “Come on.”

You rushed out, still scarcely dressed, barely managing to slip on some sliders before you parted ways—you to the elevator, him to the stairs, staying behind to stall Toto in case he was already coming your way. As both of you reached his room simultaneously, you darted inside, locking the door behind him.

You plopped yourself on the bed, putting a hand over your pounding heart as you layed down. I can't believe I raced in a hotel in a bathrobe because of that idiot, you thought. But your mind wasn't focused on that. It couldn't stop replaying the moment his lips touched your neck - and you could feel your treacherous, treacherous body yearning for more.

This wasn't like you - you shouldn't feel comfortable being so exposed near your co-worker, shouldn't feel butterflies at the proximity with your rival, should feel regret about waking up by his side. But you didn't.

Your thoughts drifted again - maybe you're at ease because you want this intimacy. Slapping your hands across your forehead to slap those ideas away, you pouted, too confused with the external and internal chaos to think clearly.

“This is your fault,” you muttered, more meaning to your words than what he could understand. "I toldyou it was my room."

It was more meant to yourself than to him, but he chuckled nonetheless. “You’re the one who complained your bra wasn't comfortable to sleep in,” the driver teased, sitting beside you. "I just helped."

“Lando…” Your tone was a warning.

He laughed again, and your stomach tied itself into knots. You closed your eyes, trying vainly to distance yourself from him even if it was just for a second. But his arm brushed yours as he lay down next to you and it undid all your careful efforts to curb your racing heart.

Both of you knew Lando should go before Toto arrived - but you couldn't bring yourselves to voice it out loud. Maybe it was because you knew this was a forbidden situation that you couldn't bring it to an end, knowing it could never happen again. Your neck still burned from the touch of his lips.

It was so much easier to ignore the tension - masked by meaningless banter and insults - between you two when you could still deny how attracted you were to him. Clearly, you'd overestimated the power of your reason over your feelings. A romance between two drivers? Not. Possible. You knew it. But your heart wasn't racing for a pilot - it was racing for the boy you'd raced against for years. You'd known for years. And that you happened to race against still.

"Y/n," Lando said your name - but it was different from usual. It was like he was unsure of it - like he was tasting it for the first time.

Heart pounding, you opened your eyes, turning your head towards where his rested on the mattress. Your heart stuttered over the proximity and that flick of something that haunted his gaze when he looked at you. His eyes flickered to your lips, less than a second but you caught it and butterflies swarmed your stomach.

"I-"

The knock on the door cut his sentence short.

Toto again.

Your bubble exploded and you jumped on your feet, not noticing the curses leaving your rival's mouth.

"Just a minute!" you shouted across the door.

Lando reluctantly stood up, in stark contrast to your agitation - and even had the nerve to look confused when you made big, urgent signs at him.

"Clothes, you bonehead," you hissed quietly, watching as he jogged across the room. "No, not McLaren gear, are you crazy?"

"I don't have anything else!" Lando whispered back, rummaging through his luggage. "Ah, there."

He threw a jogging and a hoodie your way, holding a laugh when it slapped you across the face. Not resisting the urge to wipe his smile, you swiftly grabbed the slider of your right foot and yeeted it at his head, only missing because he darted into the bathroom to hide himself and stifle his laugh. You scoffed at his antics, quickly dressing and composing yourself to answer the door.

Toto’s imposing frame filled the doorway, his expression unreadable.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice clipped. “I had trouble finding you.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you leaned casually against the doorframe, displaying an annoyed expression. "This little- Norris insisted my room was his, so I had to swap if I wanted to get a few hours of sleep."

Toto’s sharp eyes scanned the room behind you. “Is that so?”

“Yep!” you said quickly, your voice a little too chipper.

The man stepped forward, and you had no choice but to let him in. You watched as his gaze fell on the bed, noticing that it was already made - not knowing it was because no one had slept in it.

“I came to talk to you about a team meeting," the team principal finally admitted, visibly relaxing. "But first, this situation with Lando reminded me of something I wanted to tell you. I know we don't often talk about your love life and whatsoever, because I respect that you're a private person."

Oh God, end me right now.

"Toto, we don't need to talk about this now," you chuckled nervously, all too aware of Lando's presence right next to them.

"Please, Y/n. My wife has been nagging me about that dating clause in your contract. I want to make sure that you know I have no intentions of disrespecting you or underestim-"

"Toto, Toto." You gently cut short the conversation, harshly bringing yourself back to reality. As if a fog surrounding your mind evaporated, the consequences of your actions dawned onto you.

"I signed the dating ban because it doesn't change anything for me, and it reassures you. I will never-" you paused. The words had been carved in your brain for years, reminding you exactly what you were fighting for and what were your priorities. Yet they had never tasted so sour on your tongue. "-ever date someone in the business. I'm not granted the indulgence that men have. I have the burden to be irreproachable because I refuse to give weapons or basis for speculation on my merit to the people who want to keep women out of F1."

There was anger in your eyes. You were angry at the world for being that way, at Toto for forcing you to voice out loud the weight he knew you had to carry, at Lando for making your determination waver. At yourself for wavering.

Your tone was accusatory when you spoke again. "You should know this better than anyone. I have to be perfect, Toto. On every aspect."

Though if this morning proved one thing, it was that it proved to be harder than you had anticipated.

Toto sighed, crossing his arms against his chest in a disapproving manner. "You know, it is Suzie that told me to talk about this with you. Yes, I know what they have said about her and I can imagine very well what they could say about you. But this is not a realistic way to live your life. I didn't ban you from dating the rest of humanity."

Ouch. Didn't need him to remind me I've been single for a painfully long time.

"I know. I won't lie to you and say I didn't feel insulted by the clause, but I understand. For all it's worth, I appreciate that you made Lewis sign it too."

"Of course," the team principal offered you a gentle smile. "Well, with all that being said, I did get worried when Lando opened your door this morning. I don't know where she gets that, but Suzie says there is something between you two. I almost thought she was right."

You froze, an all-too-tense smile forcing its way on your face. "No way, we've just known each other a long time. I can't stand that dumb face of his. I barely get through the weekends, let alone-"

The sound of your phone ringing from the pocket of the discarded bathrobe interrupted you, and Toto bent down to pick it up. His shoulders tensed immediately upon seeing the caller ID, lips pressing into a thin line, and you widened your eyes when he held it out to you. Lando. Why did that fool have to call you right now-

"Must be about returning his stuff," you stammered, your mind racing. "Excuse me for a sec'."

Slipping inside the bathroom where the curly haired driver hid, you whispered furiously, asking what he was doing - calling you right as you were assuring your team principal that you never interact with him. Not answering, Lando blinked several times, momentarily stunned by how his hoodie seemed to hang perfectly on you. He cleared his throat, swallowing thickly and muttering something you didn't quite catch - about you knowing how to kill a man or something.

"What?" you pretended to talk over the phone, shooting him a pointed look, growing acutely self-aware under his intense staring.

Tearing his eyes away from your figure and focusing back on the situation, he signed to your neck and when you pushed past him to look into the mirror, an horrified gasp fell from your lips. Your pulse quickened. If Toto saw the faint bruise - the hickey -  there would be no saving this situation. Thank God, Lando had remembered before anything happened but still-

“You asshole," you tried to slap his arm, but the man dodged with an apologetic smirk. "What do I do now?"

“Relax,” Lando said quietly, barely above a whisper, the ghost of his hand hovering above your shoulder. “It’s going to be fine. Just… don’t let him see it.”

You groaned, quickly letting your hair down to cover the mark. But it wasn’t enough. You needed a solution. “Great advice, genius. Any idea how to proceed?” you kept pretending to speak over the phone.

Make-up? you mouthed, but Lando shook his head negatively. Instead, searching his bathroom drawers, he victoriously grabbed a box, turning back to you with a smug look.

It was box of bandaids.

You stared at him, incredulous. “That’s your solution?”

“You have a better idea?” he silently shot back, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips.

Without waiting for your response, he stepped closer to you and gently pushed your damp hair aside. His fingers lingered against your skin, and you froze, your breath hitching as his touch sent shivers down your spine.

“Lando…” you warned, your voice a whisper.

“I’ll be quick,” he murmured, his eyes meeting yours for a fleeting moment. Frowning at the lack of light, he directed you toward the sink, his hand grazing the small of your back and sending your heart pounding against your chest.

You tried to give him more room by plopping yourself on the sink, but him placing himself between your legs and leaning toward your neck was doing nothing to help you both.

Yet, this time, there was something daunting about the rapid rhythm of your heart - like it was frantically chasing after something it could never have. The conversation you just had with Toto removed the blissful veil of denial that the night had tucked you in.

You had grabbed the doorknob of a door that was supposed to stay locked.

When Lando finally placed the band-aid over the mark, his thumb brushed softly your jawline, and you were glad you were sat because your knees nearly gave up. Finished with its task, his hand slowly fell to your thigh, burning the skin there. You inhaled sharply, closing your eyes to compose yourself.

Your resolve wouldn't crumble this time, you thought.

But when, determined, you finally reopened them, you weren't prepared for the arrow of guilt that pierced your heart. Lando's smile was stiff. Resigned. Accepting the wall you'd built between you two.

He'd heard you. Of course.

You didn't know how he felt or what he thought about what happened between the two of you. What you told Toto shouldn't really matter; yet somehow it felt exactly like when you say the wrong thing and don't realize it until it is too late.

You shouldn't feel remorse, but the aching pain in your chest looked a lot like it. There was no going back. You closed the door before you got to see what was behind, not admitting to him that you would have liked to take a peek.

"Thank you," your breath carried the meaningless words. There was nothing left to say. The silence had said enough. Lando simply nodded, his eyes full of the words sealed behind his lips.

You emerged from the bathroom, dragging behind a weight that felt a lot like your sullen heart, to find Toto sitting in the armchair, his sharp gaze flicking to you. You did your best to look casual, despite the rising tension in the room.

Toto’s piercing gaze immediately locked onto you, his expression unreadable. His brow lifted as an inquiry, one you deliberately ignored.

Taking one more second to collect your thoughts, you exhaled loudly. "Sorry. What was it that you wanted to talk about?"

Your team principal still looked skeptical but he let it slide. For now. “Be at the paddock in an hour. And maybe try not to get involved in any more... swaps with Norris.”

You nodded quickly, and Toto rose to leave. But just as he reached the door, he paused, turning back toward you.

“One more thing.”

Your stomach dropped. “Yes?”

“Do you simply happen to own hoodies from his merch or is it his?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What?”

Toto’s eyes fell to where a logo was printed on the hoodie - a Quadrant logo. If you could facepalm right now, you would have crushed your skull with the force of despair. Since you couldn't, your mind raced instead, scrambling for an excuse. “I, uh… lost a dare. Had to wear his merch for an entire day. But I'll change for the team meeting.”

“Hmm,” Toto said, clearly unconvinced. He glanced at the bathroom door, then back at you. “Make sure you’re focused today.”

You nodded again, barely breathing until he finally left.

You sighed, leaning against the door and rubbing your temples. “This is a disaster.”

When Lando slid out of the bathroom, the same ache returned in your chest. You looked at each other across the room, feeling like you were across two poles of the planet.

"We're screwed?" he asked with a faint smile, his mischievous glint returning slowly in his eyes.

"Totally. But thanks anyway."

"Of course. Not like it was my fault or anything."

A genuine laugh escaped your lips, a familiar warmth flooded your stomach. Lando's face softened upon hearing the sound. For a moment, the air between you two settled into something lighter, the tension from earlier dissolving just a bit. You finally muttered the courage to let yourself focus on Lando and take in the sight of him - no matter the feelings that arose inside you.

He looked different here. Not just your rival. Not just your co-worker. Leaning against the doorframe, staring back at you with an intensity that made your pulse stutter, he felt like something more - something you weren’t sure you were ready to name. His eyes lingered, trailing over your face like he was memorizing it and the easy smile he wore didn’t quite reach the flicker of uncertainty beneath it.

There was no playfulness in the way he shifted, his knuckles grazing the edge of the bathroom door as if debating whether to step closer. You were all too aware of the distance separating you two - guiltiness gnawing at your heart. You felt like a hypocrite, for wanting him to crush the very distance you held onto so dearly.

When a knock surprised you both again, you were almost relieved, desperate to escape the web of contradictions you were tangled in. Lando, as if reading your mind, sighed heavily. His jaw tightened before he stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him a bit harsher than intended.

Ignoring the uneasy feeling in your heart, you opened the door with a forced smile plastered on your face.

"Yes, Toto, I—" You stopped mid-sentence, your words catching in your throat as you looked up at the unexpected face in front of you. "Oh. Um—Marc, hi."

Standing awkwardly in the doorway was Marc, the young McLaren engineer you'd befriended at the start of the season. His brown eyes widened upon seeing you, lips stretching into a genuine smile. "Hi, hey! Um- I- Toto told me I'd find you here," he greeted you, clearly nervous and shifting awkwardly on his feet.

"Yeah, there was a bit of a room mix-up last night," you explained, relaxing, your voice softening as you tried to make him feel at ease. No matter how terrible his timing was, you couldn't bring yourself to send him away. "How are you?"

"I'm good, good," he replied, but the unease in his tone was palpable. "Uh... sorry if this isn't the best time. I just—well, we talked a lot last night at the party, and, um, it was really fun. And I’ve been thinking about it. About you, actually... for a while."

Your heart dropped to your stomach, your smile faltering. Oh no. Not now, not here, please-

"I know it's not really... well, romantic. But I just wanted to say this before I lost the courage..." he continued as dread settled into your stomach. "Would you like to have dinner with me somed-"

His words died in his throat as the sudden sound of the water being turned on suddenly cracked through the room. Lando. You turned around with a gasp as you realized what was happening.

"Oh." Marc’s face fell, the realization settling over him like a cloud. He looked away, his cheeks reddening.

"No, it's not what you—" you started, but Marc was already stepping back, the hurt written all over his face.

"It’s fine," he said quickly, his voice trembling slightly. "I assumed- I mean, I should've known- I get it."

"Marc, I don't-"

"You don’t owe me any explanation, Y/n. Don’t worry- it's me."

"I'm so sorry, it's not-"

"Don't apologize, please. Let's- yeah I'll just go. Just forget about it, it's all good."

Before you could stop him, he was already retreating, throwing you a small, pained smile. Your throat tightened, and you opened your mouth to call his name, but the words wouldn't come.

The door clicked shut behind him, and you stood frozen, wishing you could melt into the floor. You’d never meant to put him in that position— to put such a kind and humble man through this embarrassment... God you wanted to disappear of the Earth's surface. It was all too much.

Frustrated, you stormed into the bathroom, your heart pounding in your chest as you pushed the door open with more force than necessary.

Lando stood by the sink, fully dressed, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows in that effortless way that made him look annoyingly attractive. The water ran freely, steam curling around his arms, though he paid it no attention, focusing instead on his phone.

You grabbed the faucet and twisted it off with a sharp snap. The abrupt silence in the room was deafening. Lando slowly lifted his gaze, his brows raising in mock surprise.

"Really, Lando?" you snapped, crossing your arms tightly across your chest.

He leaned against the counter, crossing his own arms in response, mirroring your posture. The sharpness in his eyes was new, laced with something unreadable—something that made your breath catch in your throat.

“What’s going on?” he asked with a nonchalance that only served to infuriate you more. But there was something in his voice—something dangerous lurking beneath the casual facade.

“Are you happy with your little stunt?” you shot back, stepping closer.

His smirk deepened, head tilting slightly as if amused by the accusation. “You did the same thing when I opened the door to Toto.” His eyes flickered with that teasing glint, but you weren’t in the mood to play his games.

You took a breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. “It’s different. And I was actually showering. Do you have any idea how that looked for Marc?”

Lando scoffed, the sound soft but cutting. “I’m sorry Marc discovered you spent the night with another man,” he said, voice laced with mockery and something darker - almost possessive. “Which you did.”

Your frown deepened, confusion flickering across your face. “It wasn’t like that, and you know it.”

His eyes darkened, and he stepped closer. The space between you evaporated, leaving only the subtle crackle of tension hanging in the air. His gaze dropped to your lips for half a second before meeting your eyes again.

“Do you actually like him?” His voice was lower now, softer but strained—as if the question was something he didn’t want to ask but couldn’t hold back. His tone sent a shiver down your spine, and your heart slammed against your ribs.

A scoff escape your lips - the answer was obvious, but it was none of his business. “No. We’re fr-”

“Then I spared you an awkward rejection. I don’t see what you’re complaining about,” he cut in, the smugness returning to his features.

You pressed your lips together, your frustration losing strength as he effortlessly turned the situation in his favor. “It wasn’t fair to him,” you muttered, more to yourself than him.

Lando’s jaw tightened. “How’s that fair to me?” His voice dropped, gravelly and low, the weight of his words hitting you like a freight train. “Slept with me... then flaunted all the other guys you have? I didn’t know you were such a heartbreaker, Y/n.”

You blinked, your pulse quickening despite the teasing glint in his eye. He was toying with you, but the undercurrent in his voice held something else. Something more.

“Oh, I slept with you now?” you said, trying to brush off the weight of the moment with humor. “You better not go around telling people that.”

He didn’t laugh. Instead, the flicker of mischief in his eyes disappeared, replaced by a frown. “Right. Wouldn’t want you out of contract next season.”

Your heart stumbled, his words slicing through the facade you tried to keep up. It was the first time he acknowledged what you’d said to Toto.

“Hmm.” It was all you could manage, your throat suddenly tight.

Lando leaned back, watching your reaction carefully. “Is Marc aware that you legally can’t date him?”

There it was again. The jealousy - subtle but unmistakeable. Well, not really subtle. But definitely unexpected - and you did not know how to deal with it or with how it made you feel. Wanted.

“I can date him. He’s not Mercedes personnel. Or... a driver.” The word felt heavy on your tongue, your eyes flickering to the door as if searching for an escape. "You should read your contracts more carefully, Norris.”

He held your gaze, something unreadable flickering across his features.

“I don’t have the clause in my contract,” he said after a beat, the words casual but heavy with implication.

You froze, blinking up at him. “What?”

From what you heard, most of the drivers had to sign a dating ban similar to yours - a subtle way of assuring everyone that they wouldn't date you more than anyone else. Assuring the sponsors that they wouldn't have to deal with an unwanted scandal or controversy.

His gaze was unwavering, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he were daring you to understand the weight of what he was saying.

“I refused to sign it.”

The confession lingered in the air between you, heavy and intoxicating. Your heart thudded violently in your chest as his eyes bore into yours, stripping away any pretense you tried to cling to.

He didn't elaborate, didn't give you the satisfaction of an explanation. Instead, he pushed himself off the sink, brushing past you with that same infuriating calm he always wore when the conversation veered too close to something real.

He paused at the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. His gaze was soft - understanding. But immensely conflicted.

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

You stood frozen, staring at the empty space where he'd just been, heart thudding unevenly in your chest.

It took a moment for it to hit you.

He refused to sign it.

The realization settled over you slowly, like the soft trickle of rain through cracks in a window. Lando had always been reckless, but not about things like this. Not about things that could jeopardize his career.

You felt it now—woven beneath his teasing words, beneath the irritation and jealousy. He hadn't needed to say it out loud.

You pressed your palm to the cool edge of the sink, exhaling shakily as your reflection stared back at you.

Lando Norris didn’t sign the clause because of you.

And for the first time since the season started, doubt tugged at your heart. You were proud of your sacrifices. But the what-ifs slipped through the cracks of your conviction, and suddenly, you wished you didn’t bear such a heavy weight on your shoulders.

[mandoalorian]

happily ever after [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: President!Bucky Barnes x First Lady!Reader

Synopsis: After everything you've been through, you and Bucky find solace in a new, peaceful chapter of your lives. You adopt a cat, begin building a future together, and find joy in simple moments. In the quiet of the White House, you both reflect on your journey and the love you've rediscovered.

Word Count: 5500

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content, employee x employer, somnophilia, m recieving oral, f recieving oral, 69, tooth-rotting fluff, domestic!Bucky... the big finale.

Authors's note: I don't normally do these author notes, but I really just wanted to say a massive thank you to everyone who has read and supported this series. This was my first ever Bucky series, and my second Bucky story I'd ever written point blank. It was born out of love, born out of people asking for a "part 2" and a "part 3" of my Congressman!Bucky one shots and because of you it's turned into a full, 20 chapter story. Writing this has been one of my favourite experiences in my four years of owning this blog. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

The epilogue will be posted later this week.

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

Morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden, stirring you from a deep, dreamless sleep. At first, you thought it was the warmth of Bucky’s body pressed against you that woke you—his arm still slung over your waist, his breath steady against your neck. But then you felt it: a slow, deliberate heat between your legs, a sensation that jolted you awake with a gasp.

“Bucky?” Your voice was a sleepy rasp, eyes fluttering open as you shifted, only to find his head buried between your thighs, his tongue already working you with a lazy, relentless rhythm. The sight alone sent a shiver through you—his dark hair tousled, eyes half-lidded with focus and desire as he looked up at you.

“Morning, doll,” he murmured against you, the vibration of his voice making you arch. He didn’t stop, his tongue curling inside you, rough and precise, like he’d been planning this all night. “Couldn’t wait—had to taste you again.”

“Oh God,” you whimpered, hands flying to his hair, tugging as your hips bucked against him. “You—fuck—you’re insane.”

He chuckled, the sound muffled as he gripped your thighs, pulling you closer, his fingers digging in just enough to leave marks. “Insane for you,” he said, pulling back just long enough to speak, his lips glistening. “Woke up hard as hell, thinking about you. Figured I’d wake you up right.”

“You’re doing—shit—more than that,” you managed, voice breaking as he dove back in, his tongue plunging deeper, rougher now, like he was starving for you. “Bucky, please—”

“Please what?” he teased, voice dark and playful as he nipped at your inner thigh, then soothed it with a slow lick. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. I’m all yours.”

“Don’t stop,” you begged, desperate, your head tipping back against the pillow as he obeyed, his mouth relentless, driving you higher. “Just—keep going—love you—”

“Love you too,” he growled, the words half-lost against you as he doubled down, one hand sliding up to pin your hips, the other slipping beneath you to lift you closer. “Taste so fucking good—could do this all day.”

You were unraveling fast, the combination of his tongue and that rough, possessive grip pushing you to the edge. “Bucky—I’m—” Your words dissolved into a moan, fingers tightening in his hair as you shattered, trembling beneath him.

He didn’t let up until you were spent, finally pulling back with a smug, lovesick grin, kissing his way up your stomach to your lips. “Good morning,” he said again, voice husky as he settled over you, brushing a soft kiss to your mouth.

You laughed, breathless and dazed, pulling him down to cuddle against your chest. “You’re a menace,” you muttered, still tingling, your arms wrapping around him. “Best wake-up ever, though.”

“Glad you think so,” he murmured, kissing your jaw as he shifted to settle beside you, one arm draped lazily over your waist. “Now, how about breakfast? Or round two?”

You smirked, a mischievous spark igniting as you propped yourself up on an elbow, meeting his gaze. “I could eat,” you said, voice low and suggestive, letting the words hang between you.

Bucky’s eyes darkened, catching your meaning instantly. “Oh, you’re trouble,” he growled, a grin tugging at his lips as he sat up, pulling you with him. “C’mere, doll—let’s make it mutual.”

Before you could respond, he maneuvered you both, his strength effortless as he flipped onto his back and tugged you over him, positioning you just right. Your knees settled on either side of his head, his hands gripping your hips with that rough, possessive edge you loved, while you hovered above him, facing down his body. The sight of him—hard and ready again—sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

“Like this?” he asked, voice husky as he pulled you down closer, his breath hot against you. “Gonna take care of you while you take care of me.”

“Perfect,” you breathed, already leaning forward, your hands bracing against his thighs as you kissed along his stomach, teasing your way lower. “Love you like this—greedy and mine.”

“Love you too,” he groaned, his words cutting off as you took him in, slow and deliberate, mirroring the way he’d started your morning. His hips jerked slightly, a rough curse escaping him as his tongue found you again, diving in with that same relentless focus. “Fuck, doll—you’re gonna kill me.”

You hummed around him, the vibration making him shudder beneath you, his grip tightening on your hips as he pulled you down harder against his mouth. “Keep talking,” you managed, pulling back with a pop, just enough to speak, your voice shaky with the pleasure he was giving you. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Like—like you’re everything,” he panted, voice muffled but raw as he worked you with rough, hungry licks. “So good—too good—don’t stop.”

“Never,” you promised, diving back in, your rhythm matching his, fast and desperate now. The room filled with the sounds of your shared need—his low groans, your gasps, the creak of the bed beneath you. His hands roamed, one sliding up your back to press you closer, the other digging into your thigh, urging you on.

“You taste so damn sweet,” he growled against you, the words sending a jolt through your core. “Could live down here—fuck, I love you.”

“Love you,” you echoed, breathless, your nails digging into his skin as you felt the tension coil tight again. “Bucky—I’m close—”

“Me too,” he rasped, his tongue plunging deeper, rougher, driving you toward the edge. “Come with me, doll—let go.”

That was all it took. You unraveled together, your cries mingling with his groans as you both hit that peak, trembling and clinging to each other in the messy, perfect chaos of it. When it was over, you collapsed forward, still straddling him, your cheek resting against his thigh as his hands softened, stroking your skin gently.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, voice wrecked but warm as he helped you shift, pulling you up to lie beside him. He wrapped you in his arms, both of you sweaty and spent, his lips brushing your forehead. “You’re insatiable.”

“Says the guy who started it,” you teased, cuddling into his chest, your breathing slowing as you traced lazy patterns on his skin. “But yeah—breakfast can wait.”

He chuckled, holding you tighter. “Damn right it can. Rest up, sweetheart—we’ve got all morning.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky as you and Bucky stepped out of the car, hands intertwined, the air crisp with spring promise. The adoption shelter—a cozy brick building with a sign reading “Paws & Hearts”—sat just outside D.C., its windows decorated with paw prints. You’d been talking about getting a pet for weeks, and after this morning’s intensity, the idea of bringing home a furry companion felt like the perfect next step.

“You sure about this?” Bucky asked, squeezing your hand as you approached the door. His voice was warm, teasing, but there was a flicker of excitement in his steel-blue eyes. “Once we go in, no turning back—I know you’ll fall for the first fuzzy thing you see.”

You grinned, nudging him with your shoulder. “Says the guy who’s been googling ‘best cat toys’ all morning. Don’t act like this wasn’t your idea, Barnes.”

He chuckled, holding the door open for you. “Guilty.”

Inside, the shelter smelled faintly of cat litter and pine cleaner, the hum of soft meows filling the air. A cheerful volunteer greeted you, handing over a clipboard of forms, but your attention was already drifting to the rows of cages lining the walls. Bucky trailed behind, his hand resting on the small of your back, peering over your shoulder as you scanned the cats—tabby, black, ginger—all blinking up at you with varying degrees of curiosity.

Then you saw her. A small white cat with piercing blue eyes, perched regally in her cage, her fluffy fur pristine despite the shelter setting. The tag on the door read “Alpine—Female, 2 yrs, Quiet but Affectionate.”

“Bucky,” you whispered, tugging his sleeve. “Look at her. She’s perfect.”

He leaned closer, studying the cat with a grin. “White fur, blue eyes? She’s practically my twin,” he joked, then softened as Alpine stretched a paw toward the bars, sniffing at you both. “Yeah, she’s got that ‘I’m in charge’ vibe. Think she’d fit in with us?”

You nodded, already smitten, reaching to let her bat at your fingers through the bars. “She’s coming home with us. I can feel it—she’s our girl.”

The volunteer approached, smiling as she unlocked the cage. “Alpine’s a sweetheart once she warms up. Want to hold her?”

“Absolutely,” you said, and Bucky stepped back to let you take the lead, watching with quiet amusement as the cat was placed in your arms. Alpine nestled against you instantly, purring like a tiny motor, her soft fur brushing your cheek.

“Look at you two,” Bucky murmured, reaching out to scratch behind Alpine’s ears, his voice low and fond. “Already a team. House full of girls. Guess I’m outnumbered now.”

You laughed, shifting so he could get closer. “Come on, tough guy—hold her. She’s yours too.”

He hesitated for half a second—President James Buchanan Barnes, all muscle and authority, suddenly unsure with a fluffy cat—then took her carefully, cradling her against his chest. Alpine blinked up at him, then bumped her head under his chin, marking him as hers. “Well, damn,” he said, a grin breaking through. “She’s got me hooked already. What do you say, doll? She’s the one?”

“Definitely,” you replied, leaning into his side as you watched them bond. “Alpine Barnes—sounds right, doesn’t it?”

“Perfect,” he agreed, his free hand finding yours again as he looked at the volunteer. “We’ll take her. Whatever paperwork you need, let’s get it done.”

An hour later, you were back in the car—Alpine in a new carrier on your lap, a bag of supplies in the backseat, and Bucky behind the wheel, glancing over with a mix of pride and contentment. “First family addition,” he said, voice soft as he started the engine. “Think she’ll like the White House?”

“She’ll rule it,” you teased, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “Just like her dad.”

He laughed, lifting your hand to kiss your knuckles. “Damn right. Let’s get her home, sweetheart—she’s got a big day ahead, meeting her new kingdom.”

As you drove off, Alpine meowed softly from her carrier, and you couldn’t help but feel like your little family had just gotten a whole lot fuller.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The White House buzzed with quiet chaos, but a new energy had filled the air—a soft, furry kind. You had knelt on the plush rug in the private residence, watching Alpine, the fluffy white cat you and Bucky had adopted, take her first tentative steps around her new home. Her blue eyes had darted from the towering bookshelves to the sunlight streaming through the tall windows, her tiny paws sinking into the rug like she’d been testing the waters of a grand adventure.

“She’s got that ‘I own this place’ vibe already,” you had said, glancing up at Bucky, who’d leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his navy suit slightly rumpled from the day so far. His ocean coloured eyes had softened as he’d watched Alpine sniff a velvet ottoman.

“Runs in the family,” he’d teased, his Brooklyn drawl slipping through. He’d pushed off the doorframe and crouched beside you, reaching out to scratch Alpine’s chin. She’d leaned into his touch, purring like a tiny motor. “You good here for a bit? I’m thinking she deserves some top-shelf gear. Toys, treats, the works.”

You’d smiled, warmed by how seriously he’d taken this. “I’ve got her. Go spoil our girl.” You’d nudged his shoulder, and he’d caught your hand, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles before standing.

“Be back soon, doll.” He’d grabbed his phone, already dialing as he’d headed out. “Sam, you free? Need your expertise on something.”

You’d shaken your head, amused, and turned back to Alpine, who’d started batting at a stray thread on the rug. “Alright, missy, let’s get you settled.”

Bucky slid into the passenger seat of Sam’s sleek black SUV, the Secret Service tailing them at a discreet distance. Not that either of the men needed the security. The pet store had been a short drive from D.C.’s chaos, tucked in a strip mall with a neon sign. Sam had grinned as they’d stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling.

“Man, you’re really going all out for this cat,” Sam had said, eyeing the aisles stuffed with feathered toys, glittery collars, and bags of organic treats. “What’s next, a diamond-encrusted litter box?”

Bucky had snorted, grabbing a basket. “Alpine’s got standards. Can’t have her thinking we’re cheap.” He’d tossed in a plush mouse toy, then a laser pointer, his movements deliberate but distracted, like his mind had been somewhere else.

Sam had noticed, because of course he had. He’d leaned against a display of cat beds, arms crossed. 

“Alright, what’s up? You didn’t drag me here just to debate chicken versus salmon treats.”

Bucky had hesitated, his metal fingers tapping the basket’s edge. He’d glanced around—nobody but a clerk restocking kibble in the next aisle—and lowered his voice. “I’m gonna propose to her.”

Sam’s eyebrows had shot up, but his grin had been instant, wide and genuine. “Bucky Barnes, you old romantic. ‘Bout time. You got a plan?”

Bucky had rubbed the back of his neck, a flush creeping up his cheeks. “Not yet. Just know I want it to be right. She deserves... everything. We talked a little about it last night, and we’re on the same page. But I didn’t wanna do it without a ring,” He’d picked up a catnip toy, turning it over in his hands like it’d been a stand-in for his thoughts. “Been carrying this weight, you know? President or not, I’m just a guy who wants to make her happy. Forever.”

Sam had clapped a hand on his shoulder, his voice softening. “She’s already happy, man. You see how she looks at you? Like you hung the moon. You don’t gotta stress this.”

Bucky had exhaled, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Still want a ring that’ll make her cry—in a good way.” He’d paused, then added, “You in? After this, I mean. Help me pick something out?”

Sam had laughed, steering him toward the treat aisle. “Oh, I’m in. Gotta make sure you don’t pick some gaudy thing that screams ‘1940s mob boss.’”

“Watch it,” Bucky had muttered, but he’d been grinning now, piling more toys into the basket—a scratching post, a fluffy bed, and a bag of treats labeled “Gourmet Tuna Delight.” His phone had buzzed with a text from you: a photo of Alpine curled up on your lap, captioned, She’s claimed me. 

His heart had done that soft flip it always did when you’d been involved.

“Alright, Romeo,” Sam had said, grabbing a feather wand and waving it dramatically. “Let’s wrap this up and go find a jeweler. Alpine’s got her haul, and you’ve got a future fiancée to surprise.”

Bucky had nodded, his nerves settling into something steadier, brighter. He’d had you, Alpine, and a plan forming—one that ended with a ring and a promise he’d been ready to make since the day he’d met you.

The pet store bags had rattled in the backseat of Sam’s SUV, stuffed with Alpine’s new treasures, as they’d driven deeper into D.C.’s quieter streets. The jewelry store Bucky had chosen—after a quick, discreet call to a trusted aide—had been a small, elegant shop tucked between a bookstore and a café. Its sign, “Elliot & Sons Fine Jewelers,” had glowed softly in gold lettering, and the windows had sparkled with displays of diamonds and sapphires that caught the late afternoon light.

Bucky had paused outside, his breath hitching as he’d adjusted the collar of his jacket. The Secret Service had lingered at a respectful distance, blending into the foot traffic. “This is it,” he’d said, more to himself than Sam, his voice tight with something between nerves and determination.

Sam had clapped him on the back, steering him toward the door. “Relax, man. You’ve faced down worse than a jewelry counter. Let’s find something that’ll make her say yes before you even pop the question.”

Inside, the shop had smelled faintly of polished wood and lavender, its glass cases gleaming under soft lighting. 

The doorman’s jaw dropped when the pair entered. “Holy shit, it’s Captain America and—“ Bucky felt his heart hammer against his chest. How was this sentence going to end? The Winter Soldier? “—It’s the president!” The man beamed. Bucky immediately relaxed and offered the doorman a smile, raising his finger to his lip in a ‘shushing’ gesture.

A grey-haired jeweler, Mr. Elliot himself, had greeted them with a warm nod, sensing Bucky’s purpose without needing a briefing. “Looking for something special?” he’d asked, his eyes crinkling as he’d gestured to a tray of rings.

Bucky had nodded, his metal hand flexing at his side. “An engagement ring. For someone who... means everything.” His words had faltered, but the weight behind them had filled the room.

Sam had grinned, leaning casually against a case. “She’s got style, this one. Likes things classic but not flashy. Am I right?”

Bucky had shot him a look, half-grateful, half-annoyed. “Yeah. Simple, elegant. Something that feels like her.” He’d scanned the trays, his heart thudding as he’d tried to picture the ring on your finger. A round diamond had caught his eye, set in a delicate gold band with tiny engraved details, but he’d hesitated, glancing at Sam. “What do you think?”

Sam had tilted his head, studying it. “Solid choice. Timeless, not over the top. But keep looking—make sure it’s the one.” He’d nudged Bucky’s shoulder. “You’ll know it when you see it. Trust me.”

Bucky had exhaled, moving to another case. The jeweler had pulled out a few more options—a pear-shaped stone, a vintage-inspired band with filigree—but none had felt quite right. Then, tucked in the corner of a velvet tray, he’d spotted it: a cushion-cut diamond, sparkling softly, set in a platinum band with two smaller stones framing it like quiet companions. It had been understated yet breathtaking, like the way you’d smiled at him over coffee back at the safehouse or the way you laughed at his corny jokes back when he was still just a shameless, flirtatious Congressman.

“That’s it,” Bucky had said, his voice steady for the first time since they’d walked in. He’d leaned closer, picturing it on your hand, imagining the moment he’d slide it onto your finger. His chest had tightened, not with doubt but with certainty.

Mr. Elliot had smiled, lifting the ring carefully. “Beautiful choice. The center stone’s flawless, and the side stones symbolize unity. Size?”

Bucky had rattled off your ring size without hesitation—he’d memorized it ages ago, just in case. Sam had raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “You’ve been planning this for a while, huh?”

“Longer than you’d believe,” Bucky had muttered, a flush creeping up his neck. He’d turned to the jeweler. “Can you have it ready soon? Like, really soon?”

“Of course, Mr. President,” Mr. Elliot had said smoothly, no hint of surprise at Bucky’s title. “We’ll polish and box it by tomorrow.”

As the jeweler had stepped away to process the order, Sam had crossed his arms, grinning like he’d just won a bet. “Gotta say, I didn’t think you’d pick something that perfect on the first try.”

Bucky had chuckled, but his eyes had stayed on the ring, now being nestled into a black velvet box. “She makes it easy. Always has.” He’d paused, then added quieter, “Thanks, Sam. For being here. Means a lot.”

Sam had waved him off, but his expression had softened. “Anytime, man. Just make sure I’m invited to the wedding—and not stuck on cat-sitting duty with Alpine.”

Bucky had smirked, pocketing the receipt as they’d headed for the door, the Secret Service falling into step behind them. The weight of the moment had settled over him—not heavy, but warm, like a promise he’d finally given himself permission to keep. He’d had the ring, the plan, and you waiting back home, probably curled up with Alpine on the couch. For the first time in a long time, the future had felt like something he could hold onto.

The D.C. skyline had faded into a soft purple dusk as the SUV had pulled up to the White House, the pet store bags still rustling in the back. His heart had felt lighter than it had in weeks, the velvet box from the jeweler tucked safely in a hidden compartment of his briefcase. The Secret Service had escorted him inside, but he’d waved them off at the residence’s entrance, eager for the quiet of home—and you.

He’d stepped into the private living quarters, the familiar scent of cedar and your favorite candle wrapping around him like a hug. The room had been bathed in the golden glow of a single lamp, and there you’d been, curled up on the couch with Alpine sprawled across your lap. The cat’s fluffy white fur had glowed against your sweater, her paws twitching in a dream as you’d absently stroked her back, a book open but unread in your hand.

Bucky had paused in the doorway, his breath catching at the sight. No matter how many times he’d come home to you, it had always hit him the same way—like he’d stumbled into a life he didn’t quite deserve but would fight to keep.

“Hey, doll,” he’d said softly, setting the bags down by the coffee table. His voice had stirred you, and you’d looked up, your smile instant and warm.

“Hey, you.” You’d tilted your head, eyeing the bags. “Did you buy out the entire store?”

He’d chuckled, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over a chair. “Had to make sure Alpine’s got options. Can’t have her getting bored on us.” He’d crouched by the couch, reaching out to scratch Alpine’s ear. Her eyes had cracked open, and she’d stretched lazily, letting out a tiny yawn that showed her pink tongue.

You’d laughed, shifting to make room as Bucky had settled beside you, the couch dipping under his weight. “She’s already claimed half the furniture. Look at this.” You’d pointed to a faint claw mark on the throw pillow, but your tone had been more amused than annoyed.

Bucky had grinned, slipping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “Guess we’re officially cat parents now. No going back.” His lips had brushed your temple, and you’d leaned into him, your warmth grounding him after the day’s whirlwind.

Alpine had stirred then, apparently deciding the moment needed her input. She’d clambered off your lap and onto Bucky’s, her paws kneading his thigh like she’d been marking her territory. He laughed—a low, genuine sound—and scooped her up, holding her against his chest. “Alright, princess, what’s this? You jealous already?”

You’d watched them, your eyes sparkling with something soft and unspoken. “She’s got good taste. Can’t blame her for wanting you all to herself.”

Bucky had met your gaze, his heart doing that familiar flip. “She’s gonna have to share,” he’d murmured, his voice carrying a quiet promise he hadn’t quite let himself voice yet. The ring’s weight had lingered in his mind, not heavy but electric, like a secret he couldn’t wait to share.

You’d reached over, scratching Alpine’s chin as she’d purred in Bucky’s arms. “Think we’re doing okay so far? With her, I mean?”

Bucky had looked at you, then at Alpine, her blue eyes half-closed in contentment. “Yeah,” he’d said, his voice steady. “We’re doing great.”

He’d meant more than the cat—meant the life you’d built, the way you’d made even the White House feel like a home. He’d wanted to say it then, to spill everything about the ring and the future he’d seen so clearly at the jeweler’s, but he’d held back, savouring the moment’s quiet perfection.

Instead, he’d leaned over, kissing you softly, Alpine still nestled between you like she’d approved of the whole scene. The cat had let out a tiny chirp, and you’d both laughed, breaking the kiss to shower her with attention—scritches and coos and promises of treats from the bags Bucky had yet to unpack.

As the night had settled in, with Alpine eventually hopping down to chase a stray sock, Bucky had kept you tucked against his side, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. He’d felt whole, like every piece of him—soldier, president, man—had finally found its place. The ring could wait for its moment, but right then, with you and Alpine filling the room with warmth, he’d had everything he’d ever needed.

When morning had dawned crisp and golden, the White House bathed in October light that poured through the residence’s tall windows. Bucky had been up before you, a rare occurrence, slipping out of bed to pace the Lincoln Bedroom with the velvet ring box in his pocket. His nerves had hummed—not with doubt, but with the weight of what he’d planned to say, the life he’d wanted to promise you. Alpine had trailed him, batting at his shoelaces, oblivious to the gravity of the day.

You’d stirred later, finding him in the kitchen, already dressed in a soft sweater and jeans, a far cry from his usual suits. He’d handed you coffee, his smile warm but tinged with something deeper, like he’d been holding onto a secret too big to keep. “Wanna take a walk?” he’d asked, his voice casual but his eyes searching.

You’d nodded, intrigued by the quiet intensity in him, and soon you’d both been strolling through the South Lawn, Alpine’s leash clipped to her tiny collar as she’d pranced ahead, chasing leaves. The Secret Service had kept their distance, giving you the illusion of privacy, though Bucky’s hand in yours had felt like the only anchor in the world.

He’d led you to a quiet corner of the Rose Garden, where the blooms had still clung to their last days of color. A wooden bench had sat beneath an old magnolia tree, its branches heavy with memory. Bucky had stopped there, his grip on your hand tightening as he’d turned to face you. Alpine had flopped onto the grass, rolling onto her back like she’d sensed the moment needed her charm.

“Doll,” Bucky had started, his voice low, rough with emotion. He’d taken a breath, his blue eyes locking onto yours, and you’d felt the air shift, like the world had tilted just for you two. “I’ve been thinking about us. About everything we’ve been through.”

You’d tilted your head, your heart picking up speed, but you’d stayed quiet, letting him unravel whatever had been winding tight inside him.

“It started in Brooklyn,” he’d said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You were hauling boxes up those rickety stairs, swearing under your breath, and I couldn’t help myself—I had to carry one for you. Didn’t know then you’d end up carrying so much more for me.” His thumb had brushed over your knuckles, grounding himself. “You were just a stranger, but something in me knew. Even then.”

You’d smiled, remembering that day—the way his easy kindness had caught you off guard, the spark of his laugh when you’d thought he was a bodybuilder. “I thought you were just a guy with too much time on his hands,” you’d teased softly, but your voice had trembled, sensing where this was going.

Bucky had chuckled, but his eyes had stayed serious, deep with memory. “Then you came to work for me, trying to keep up with you—sharpest PA I ever had. You ran my life like you were born for it, kept me honest, kept me grounded. But it was more than that. Every late night, every briefing, every time you’d hand me coffee and our fingers’d brush... I felt it. This pull. Like you were the one thing I couldn’t plan for.”

He’d paused, his jaw tightening as he’d searched your face. “I kept it professional. So did you. God, you were fierce about it—career-driven, focused, worried about crossing lines. I respected that, but it killed me sometimes, knowing you felt it too and wouldn’t let yourself give in.”

You’d bitten your lip, the truth of those years rushing back—the stolen glances, the unspoken tension, the way you’d buried your feelings under work until they’d clawed their way out. “I was scared,” you’d admitted quietly. “Scared of losing myself. Of losing you.”

Bucky had nodded, his gaze softening. “I know. But you gave in, doll. You let yourself fall, and I’m still here, catching you every day since. We built something real—messy, complicated, but ours.” 

His voice had cracked then, emotion spilling over. “We fought HYDRA together. Side by side, tearing down their lies, their control. You weren’t just my partner—you were my strength. Every step, every battle, you reminded me who I was. Not the soldier, not the congressman, not even the president. Just... me.”

Tears had pricked your eyes, his words carving into the deepest parts of you. You’d seen it all flash through his gaze—the Brooklyn stoop, the campaign offices, the late-night strategy sessions, the adrenaline of uncovering HYDRA’s secrets, the quiet nights when you’d finally let love win. It had been a long road, but you’d walked it together.

Bucky had dropped to one knee then, the movement so sudden it had stolen your breath. He’d pulled the velvet box from his pocket, opening it to reveal the cushion-cut diamond, its side stones glinting like promises kept. “I don’t deserve you,” he’d said, his voice steady now, raw with certainty. “But I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything. You’re my home, my fight, my future. Everything we’ve been through—it’s led me here, to this. Will you marry me?”

Your heart had stopped, then raced, the weight of his words sinking in. The garden had blurred around you, the roses and magnolia fading until it was just Bucky—your Bucky—looking up at you like you held his entire world. Tears had spilled down your cheeks, and you’d nodded, barely able to speak. “Yes,” you’d whispered, then louder, “Yes, Bucky, yes.”

He’d surged to his feet, slipping the ring onto your finger with hands that trembled just enough to make your chest ache. The fit had been perfect, the diamond catching the sunlight as he’d pulled you into his arms, kissing you like it was the first time and the last. You’d clung to him, laughing through tears, the joy so big it had felt like it might burst.

Alpine had chosen that moment to leap up, meowing indignantly at being ignored, and you’d both broken apart, laughing as Bucky had scooped her up, holding her between you. “You’re part of this too, princess,” he’d murmured, scratching her chin.

As the moment had settled, Bucky had pulled you close again, his forehead resting against yours. His voice had dropped to a whisper, thick with something new. “There’s someone I want you to meet. My sister, Becks. She’s... she’s family, and you’re my family now. I need her to know you, to see how much you mean to me.”

You’d smiled, remembering the conversation you'd had about Rebecca weeks ago, how he'd wanted you to meet her. Your heart swelled at the thought of meeting the sister he’d spoken of so fondly, the one tie to his past he’d held onto through everything. “I’d love that,” you’d said, your fingers tracing the ring, grounding yourself in the promise of it all.

Bucky had kissed you again, softer this time, and you’d stood there in the Rose Garden, Alpine weaving between your legs, the future stretching out like the golden light around you—bright, certain, and yours.

Bucky had laced his fingers with yours, his warmth steadying you as always. “Whatever’s next,” he’d said, his voice low, “we’ve got this.”

You’d smiled, squeezing his hand, the future bright and open before you. “Yeah,” you’d said. “We do.”

And as Alpine had chirped, chasing a stray petal across the grass, you’d known this was your ending—not the kind that stopped, but the kind that carried you forward, together, into whatever lay beyond.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Taglist: @imaginecrushes @maplepepperoni @sleepysongbirdsings @sunday-bug @bunnyfella @lktunes12-blog @bellamoret @mrsnikstan @greatenthusiasttidalwave @pancake-05 @theylovethesky @avengersfan25 @nydubs @abitofblues @ferretferretferret @helen-2003 @notreallythatlost @opheliagreenaway @flowerluvr @calzone-d @lil-riddle-kiddle @nameless-ken @ladyvenera @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @josis-teacup @marissa8208 @houseofaegon @starfly-nicole @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @reidswifeyyyyyy @mcira

[ghsface]

WILDEST DREAMS... - spencer reid

Sumary: It was a one night thing

Warnings: smut 18+, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (Don't do it), and a little bit angst

Author's note: I was inspired a little by Wildest Dreams by Taylor Mother Swift bc in my head the song is written for Matthew Gray Gubler (I know it's not written for him but let me live in my fantasy). I also imagined Spencer in season 7 while I was writing this so keep that in mind, or just imagine it however you want, and I'm sorry if there are mistakes/misspelled words, my native language is not English.🩶

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚𖹭

The rain fell in curtains over the city, blurring the outlines of the buildings and silencing the usual bustle of the streets.

The lights of the cars reflected on the wet asphalt, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that seemed straight out of a dream.

You were in the usual cafeteria, trying to concentrate on your book, but your mind wandered to Spencer Reid.

From the first time you saw him, there was something about him that attracted you in an inexplicable way.

His eyes, full of knowledge and a subtle melancholy, his messy hair and that unique way of speaking.

You had shared several moments on the team, but none like the one that was about to happen.

The doorbell rang, and you looked up to see him enter, soaked and a little disheveled, but with that irresistible aura of mystery and intelligence.

Spencer saw you and a slight smile appeared on his face. He approached your table and sat in front of you.

“Sorry I was late,” he said, shaking the water out of his hair.

“Don’t worry.” You smiled at him, feeling a slight tickle in your stomach. There was something about the atmosphere that night, something electric that you couldn’t ignore.

They spent the next hour talking, sharing stories and laughter. Every time their hands accidentally brushed against each other, an electric current ran through your body.

The conversation flowed naturally, as always, but this time there was a palpable tension in the air.

As the coffee shop was about to close, Spencer suggested they walk a little to clear their minds.

You nodded and the two of you went out into the rain, not caring that you got wet. The conversation continued as you walked through the empty streets, but your thoughts were elsewhere, on what could happen if you let yourself get carried away by the impulse of the moment.

Finally, they arrived at Spencer’s house and he looked at you with those deep eyes and you knew he felt the same way too.

Without saying a word, you both walked in and headed to the elevator. The silence between you was intense, heavy with anticipation.

As you reached the apartment, Spencer opened the door and ushered you in first. The room was lit by a dim light, creating an intimate atmosphere.

He closed the door behind him and, without saying anything, approached you. You could feel his ragged breathing, his nervousness mixed with desire.

He took your face in his hands and kissed you with a softness that contrasted with the urgency of his movements.

His lips moved over yours, exploring, discovering, while his hands slid down your body, sending waves of pleasure through your skin.

The kiss became more intense, more desperate, as if they both knew that this moment was fleeting, a wild dream that would fade with the dawn.

You let yourself be carried away by the passion, by the feeling of his hands on your skin, by the taste of his lips. Spencer led you to the bed, his movements sure but full of a tenderness that disarmed you.

His hands slowly moved down your back, unbuttoning your blouse and sliding it off your shoulders.

His lips followed the same path, leaving a trail of burning kisses. You shuddered as you felt his hands unclasp your bra, freeing your breasts for his lips and tongue to eagerly explore.

His touch was a contrast of softness and firmness, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body.

You helped him remove his shirt and slide his pants off, eager to feel his skin against yours.

His hands ran over your curves, memorizing every inch, as his breathing grew heavier.

You bit your lip as you felt his erection press against you, increasing the anticipation.

He laid you back on the bed and positioned himself over you, his eyes locked on yours as his hand slid across your belly, slowly moving down until he reached your crotch. His fingers found your wetness, exploring you skillfully, drawing moans of pleasure from you.

You arched against him, wanting more, needing more. “Spencer, ple-please…” you whispered, your voice filled with longing.

With a look of absolute desire, he leaned down to kiss you deeply, while his fingers kept up their relentless rhythm. He brought you to the edge of climax, again and again, until you couldn’t take it anymore. Finally, he withdrew his fingers and positioned himself between your legs, his eyes searching for your approval.

You nodded, and in a slow but determined movement, he sank into you. You both let out a moan of pure pleasure in unison.

The feeling of being completely filled by him, combined with the intensity of his gaze, had you lost in a whirlwind of sensations.

Spencer began to move, slowly at first, savoring every moment.

But urgency soon took over both of you, and his thrusts became faster, deeper, taking you to the edge again and again.

Every bump of his hips against yours, every brush of his skin against yours, brought you closer to the edge.

“You’re amazing…” Spencer murmured, his voice cracking with effort.

Your nails dug into his back, marking his skin as the pleasure intensified. You felt your climax approaching, an overwhelming wave of ecstasy that you couldn’t stop.

With a gasp, you let yourself go, your body shaking beneath him as you reached the peak of pleasure.

Spencer followed soon after, his body tensing as he spilled himself inside you.

The world seemed to stop for a moment, leaving only the feeling of being together, of being one.

You stood there holding each other, breathing together, feeling the connection you had created. You knew this moment couldn’t last forever, that it was just a wild dream, but as long as you were in his arms, anything seemed possible.

Eventually, reality caught up with you, but the memory of that night was etched into your memory, like a wild dream you would always remember.

Spencer looked into your eyes and whispered, with a sad smile, “I’ll never forget this night.”

And you knew, deep down, that you wouldn’t either.

The next day, you found yourself in the office with Emily, JJ, and Penelope.

They were aware of your crush on Spencer and looked at you with curiosity and complicity in their eyes. “Well?” JJ asked, a playful smile on her face.

You blushed, remembering every detail of the night before. You took a sip of your coffee, trying to find the right words.

“It was… amazing.” You finally said, your eyes shining with the excitement of the memory.

Emily arched an eyebrow, interested. “How amazing?”

You sighed, knowing you couldn’t keep anything from them. “We kissed in the hotel room and… everything was so intense. His hands, his lips, everything. It was like time stood still.”

Penelope giggled and tapped you on the shoulder. “We knew Spencer had something special, but wow!” JJ leaned into you, his expression more serious. “And what happened next?”

You bit your lip, remembering the feeling of his body against yours, the way his thrusts brought you to the edge of ecstasy again and again.

“It was passionate, intense. I felt like every move of hers was bringing me closer to climax. I’d never experienced anything like that.”

Emily smiled, understanding. I’m glad it finally happened.

You nodded, feeling a mix of joy and nostalgia. “Yes, but I also know it was a fleeting moment. I don’t know what will happen now.”

Penelope gave you a comforting hug. “The important thing is that you lived that dream. Now, no matter what happens, you’ll always have that memory.”

The four of you were silent for a moment, sharing the intimacy of the moment. You felt grateful to have friends like them, who supported and understood you.

Finally, Emily broke the silence. “Well, whatever it is, you know we’re here for you.” JJ nodded, smiling. “Yes, and remember, Spencer is a complicated guy, but he’s also a good man. If this has a future, I’m sure you’ll figure it out together.”

You felt comforted by his words, knowing that no matter what happened, you wouldn't be alone. And as you remembered the intensity of the night before, you couldn't help but feel a spark of hope for what could happen now between Spencer and you.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚𖹭

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly🫧

[rivalswrites]

#1 heating pad??

Before you read, please be warned that I'm writing based on my impressions of them not only in the game (though it's the biggest inspiration), but some of them with the movies/shows in mind too.

I'm going through it rn y'all, totally made this just for myself haha. Reader given no specific gender (though assumed to be afab due to y'know, having a uterus (mentioned in fic))

Masterlist

Summery: Rocket helps reader with cramps by basically being a fluffy heating pad for them

Pain and suffering, that's all you could think about. The bedroom was completely dark, the blackout curtains keeping the moonlight out. Your hand resting on your lower abdomen to try and magically make the cramps go away, though obviously it doesn't work.

The slight migraine wouldn't go away, despite taking stuff for it and not having been in a bright room for hours. Instead of seeking out one of the many medically informed people that were all held in the Baxter Building you just continued to lay on your back, staring at the ceiling and wishing your life would end; or that you could rip out your uterus, whichever came first you supposed.

A blinding light of the door opening made you groan and raise your arms to cover your face with. “What the hell man,” you said, voice dry and slightly gravely “at least close the door if you're gonna stay.”

“The flark happened to you.” Your instructions were left ignored by the raccoon standing at your door, hand still on the knob even. The audacity of this rodent.

“Close the door!” You told him even louder than before, to which he complied this time. Begrudgingly, you could hear him scoff and mutter under his breath. With the light finally gone you could go back to resting your hands on your abdomen. The warmth of your hands provided very small comfort, but you'd take it.

Rocket scurried up and sat on your bed, his eyes reflecting no light and yet still you could see them glow like the little critter he was. “I did what you asked, now answer my question” he demanded, taking in the image of your miserable form.

“I'm just on my period, cramps and stuff y'know.” He did not, in fact, ‘know’. Tarrin bodies were weird, he knew, but from the look of it this was a self sabotaging thing- was your body trying to kill you? Jeez, even he wouldn't wish that on Quill.

He scoots closer, little feet claws resting gently on your arm as he gets a look at your face, “Are you going to die?” The question makes you scoff and then laugh. “It certainly feels like it, though it won't. Happens every month, and I haven't died yet” you signed, raising a hand up and resting it on top of his head. He groans and tries moving his head away but that just fuels your desire to pet him more.

With another once over you, he decides to be nice and doesn't pull away more when you start petting him. “Do you…” he hesitates, this really goes against his bad guy persona “do you need anything?” You think about it, hand still on your abdomen pressing harder to try and combat the cramp that just developed.

“I don't suppose you know what a heating pad looks like?” You ask, and he could hear the slight waver in your voice. Your hand on his head returns back to the other one to push against the cramp too, though it doesn't help more. “No.. I don't” he mutters in reply, watching your actions carefully.

“Fuck…” you whispered, “should've gotten one earlier. Maybe I can ask Quill…” your head turns from side to side, glancing around the bed “now where's my phone…”

Rocket was insulted, the way you thought Peter would be more help than him, he'll show you- this plan is definitely to prove he's better than Peter, not because he actually wants to help. From context clues, like the name 'heating pad’ and the way you're holding yourself he can make an assumption on what you need. He doesn't have anything on hand, so he just shrugs off the jacket he was wearing and flops his body on top of your hands.

Surprised by his unexpected contact, you jump slightly, pulling your hands quickly from under him. “What-” you cut yourself off, letting the feeling of his warm fur sink in with the contact if your skin. “Oh, that's nice,” you mutter. Rocket scoffs “‘course it is, way better than Quill could ever do.” He mutters the last part about Quill to himself.

Hands rest on Rocket's back, slowly carding through fur as he rested horizontally on you. It was a peaceful moment, and his warmth provided you something much better than your hands.

“Thanks…” you whispered, hands coming to a stop- still on his back- as the earth spread and let the tired feeling fully wash over you. Finally you could get some sleep.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Don't go mentioning this to anyone, ya hear me?” He bites back, not even moving from his position. Actions spoke louder than words. “Don't want this ruining my reputation, I spent years building it up y'know.” His little rant sadly didn't meet your ears, as you were already fully asleep. Man were you tired.

“Flarkin' terrins...”

[gilbertscurls]

Snoop (pt. 2) ➵ Matt Sturniolo

summary: after you've found a small box in matt's drawer, the time finally comes.

The day had finally arrived—your five-year anniversary with Matt. He’d been teasing you about a surprise for weeks, but never let any details slip. After your discovery of the ring in his sock drawer, the anticipation had become almost unbearable. You hadn’t let on that you knew, though—part of you wanted to let him have the moment exactly as he’d planned it.

That morning, Matt had been unusually quiet, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a kind of nervous energy. He’d packed an overnight bag for both of you, insisting on taking you somewhere special. The excitement in his eyes, though mixed with some nerves, made you even more eager to see what he had planned.

As the car wound its way through the tree-lined road, the golden light of the setting sun filtered through the leaves. The drive was peaceful, with only the sound of the radio playing softly in the background. You were holding his hand, your heart pounding as you both sat in comfortable silence. Whatever was coming, you could feel it in the air.

After what felt like forever, Matt pulled up to a secluded clearing by the edge of a sparkling lake. The sight before you took your breath away. Tall pine trees surrounded the area, their branches swaying gently in the evening breeze. The lake stretched out before you, its surface reflecting the fiery hues of the setting sun, and in the middle of the clearing, there was a pathway lit by soft, twinkling fairy lights that led to a small, open pavilion draped in white curtains.

You turned to Matt, your eyes wide. “This is beautiful…”

Matt smiled, his face soft with emotion as he looked at you. “It’s not over yet. Come on.” He took your hand and led you down the lighted path toward the pavilion.

As you reached the center of the pavilion, your heart swelled. There was a small table set with candles, your favorite flowers, and soft music playing from somewhere in the distance. It felt like something out of a dream, like the whole world had been designed for this exact moment.

Matt stood in front of you, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to take yours. His eyes were locked on yours, and you could see the depth of emotion in them—something you’d always known was there, but that felt even more powerful tonight.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice quiet but steady. “There’s so much I’ve been thinking about for the past few months. We’ve been through so much together—more than I ever thought possible when we first started dating. And every single day with you… it’s just made me more sure that I don’t want to spend my life with anyone else.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as he spoke, your heart beating so hard you thought he might hear it.

“I’ve had this whole speech planned out,” he continued, his voice wavering just slightly, “but now that I’m standing here, none of the words seem good enough. How do you tell the person you love more than anything that they mean the world to you? How do you put into words what it feels like to wake up next to your best friend every day, knowing that this is exactly where you’re meant to be?”

Your tears spilled over, and Matt gently squeezed your hands, his own eyes glistening now.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… you’ve made me the happiest person I’ve ever been. And I don’t want to wait any longer to start the rest of our lives together.”

Matt took a deep breath and let go of one of your hands, reaching into his pocket. Your heart stopped as he knelt down on one knee, pulling out that same small velvet box you’d found weeks ago.

He looked up at you, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

The world seemed to pause in that moment. The twinkling lights, the soft music, the golden light of the setting sun—all of it blurred as you looked down at the man you loved, your chest tight with overwhelming emotion.

With tears streaming down your face, you nodded, barely able to get the words out. “Yes. Of course, yes.”

Matt’s face broke into the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen as he stood, slipping the ring onto your finger. The instant the cool metal touched your skin, you felt a rush of joy so profound it took your breath away.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tight as the tears flowed freely from both of you. You felt his heart pounding against yours, and in that moment, you knew that this was it—this was your forever.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft pink glow across the sky, you stood there in Matt’s arms, knowing that the next chapter of your lives had just begun. And it was going to be more magical than you ever could have imagined.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash

[koalayoo]

ʀᴜꜱᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀɪɴᴛᴇʀʟʏ ᴋɪꜱꜱᴇꜱ

rafayel x gn!reader

content: SUGGESTIVE, rafayel is a menace, pretty fluffy imo, let me know if i missed anything

author's note: this was written specially for one of my friends! hope you enjoyed it and that you get more lnd content now.

wc. 1.2k

You could feel a headache coming on. Where did you put your keys? 

You paced back and forth through Rafayel’s studio. You had checked his work station where you had pleaded for the man last night to put the brush down and make his way to bed. It laid haphazardly on a step of the wooden ladder; the paint dried down on the fibers, causing it to shape into a slanted dew drop. With a plop, you drop it into one of the many glasses of water filled with other brushes so that it can soak.

“Thank me later.” You murmur under your breath with a croak as if Rafayel could hear you and spare the room one last glance before moving onto the next.

It was the largest room in the studio. You had checked every inch meticulously, the cracks between the orange leather couch, behind the lapis blue cushions. Around every luscious plant, every canvas, every sculpture. Even the random bathtub you questioned the presence of. However, the sun was rising since your first search and it seeped in through the gigantic glass windows spanning across the length of the walls. The sheer white curtains do nothing to stop the onslaught of light. Above you, the transparent semi circle ceiling allowed impossibly more morning brightness to fill the expanse of the room. You felt bare. Exposed. However, the mental security that you were on private land away from everyone else soothed your mind. The birds could enjoy the sight of you.

You had hoped that with the growing illumination that you would capture a glint of reflected shine from your keys. However, another long and lengthy look left you rendered helpless as your keys were. not. in. sight. You cursed the person you were last night for getting caught up in everything Rafayel. 

‘Tweet Tweet’ and you cursed the birds too. A headache was definitely coming on. 

You entered the kitchen and gave every part a hard stare. No glimpse of a key anywhere. You sighed ready to move on. Your feet dragged on the cool titles, getting reminded of lugging Rafayel’s tall body into the kitchen last night.

“‘M tired…” He whined out, fully encompassing your back as he allowed himself to be pulled along. “Then get to bed.” You gruffed, making a show of pulling at his arms like a horse's reins.

“‘M also thirsty…” He continued on, voice growing quieter as though he had any semblance of time and space. You hummed in acknowledgement, stopping by the kitchen and filling up a glass of water from the tap.

“Here.” You nudged his chest with your elbow, turning around to face him. Before you could, his face slowly leaned closer to your neck, his breath hot on your neck. The tiny hairs stood on edge like swords. The feeling sent a frisson of excitement down your back. His lips left soft pecks as he travelled along your nape, further down and down and down until getting blocked by the collar of your shirt. One hand travelled the curve of your hip, reaching up to take the glass and placing it down, grabbing you and turning you around. His hands found themselves slotted in the indents of your waist and you were slotted down onto the counter next to you. Your legs opened up in a V shape to accommodate the width of him. Rafayel’s arms wrapped around you like a familiar red ribbon from months ago. His forehead pressed against your shoulder as he left small pecks as he trailed the skin.

“T-thought you were thirsty?” You huffed out stunned, letting out years of breath you didn’t know you were holding.”

“Mhm~ could drink you right up…” Rafayel lazily laughed, his exhaustion catching up to him as he pulled you into a kiss. Lips against lips. And he wasn’t too tired to…

Yeah. That’s enough of that. The bedroom was the last place to check. Rafayel was sprawled underneath the blankets, breathing deeply in and out. The sun’s soft radiance shone in through the dome, caressing his smooth skin. Your eyes traced along the tiny moles, freckles and beauty marks scattered across his curvature. A dot near his shoulder blade, another further down concealed behind cloth. It was your own canvas to explore. If it was a constellation you would hold each star within your hands, cultivate its heat and hide it deep within the alcove of your heart.

Toes stand upright as you walk sneakily through the bedroom. Front to back. Front to back. You tried your best to be quiet, sparing glances at Rafayel’s form to make sure he wasn’t waking up. Your keys weren’t on the floor, in your clothes, or tangled up within the sheets. Moving to Rafayel’s side of the room, you look around piles of books and chairs. It was really pissing you off now. This organised chaos was annoying. You sighed, louder this time. You’d just send Rafayel a message later and ask someone to pick you up. You were getting late.

However, before you could turn to leave, a wrist captured yours, pulling you onto the bed. Your head makes contact with a broad chest and you internally roll your eyes. “Ugh Rafayel?!” You whisper-shout, looking up at him. Eyes remained closed as if to feign sleep but you knew better, sitting up and placing a palm against his abs to push him down. 

“Geez, alright, didn’t know you were that desperate to get away from me.” He opens his eyes, pouting. A rasp evident in his tone. “Didn’t know you were so sleezy,” Wide palms grip your waist. “do I only serve one purpose to you?”

You take a deep breath in.

“No- of course not- it’s just…”

His frown grew bigger as his eyes threw complaints. 

“I have work, Rafayel. A job. I can’t laze around all day.”

“You can.”

“I can’t.” You rebuke. 

It would be nice to stay cozied up in his studio, attached to a warm body, attacked with affection but you can’t afford that. But then his much larger hand grabs the back of yours and you feel yourself melt. Your hand meets his face and you have the urge to brush purple locks out of the way. He guides your hand lower, fingers tracing down his cheek, towards his nose, down his lips. He bites your finger playfully before bringing it further down.

You feel his pulse. Calm. Steady. Your fingers itch, an urge to squeeze. There’s no time to act on that impulse. Your fingers continue to be pulled down and he begins to spell something out with your finger. The tough ridges and bumps of his body make the task harder. A curve, some straight lines- oh.

S - T - A - Y

A boyish grin appears on his face. You attempt an intimidating frown, a furrow on your brows. 

“Art is a job too, you know, and I could be your best masterpiece yet.”

You feel your hand continue to draw shapes and symbols on his body. You shake your head, beginning to pull away.

“I’ll tell Thomas to pay you,” He quickly blurts out. “something tells me I’m about to be very inspired.” 

He pulls at your arm; you allow yourself to be pulled in. Chest against chest. He smirks, feeling victorious. He had won this time. His fingertips gently caress your chin, tilting you in for a kiss. You lean in closer, about to seal the deal before your eyes catch the twinkle of a certain piece of metal underneath his pillow.

“Rafayel!”

reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated! let me know how you like this. this is my original work.

[theonottsbxtch]

99 PROBLEMS PT2| MV1

an: after many requests, i've changed up our beloved max. this has not been proof read so pls don't judge i am tired and have had the shittiest week of my life i swear but im slaying i promise!

wc: 5.5k

part one

The morning after was a slow burn of pain.

Noah woke up with a headache that felt like someone was hammering on his skull, each pulse a reminder of his poor life choices. His mouth was dry, and the room seemed to spin even though he was lying still. The sunlight creeping through the curtains made his head throb even harder.

He groaned and pulled the blankets over his head, trying to bury himself in the comfort of the pillow, but it was no use. The light was relentless.

With a resigned sigh, he threw the covers off and staggered to the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror was enough to make him want to crawl back into bed—hair a tangled mess, his face pale, and his eyes bloodshot. He splashed water on his face, feeling the coolness settle his nerves slightly, but he still wasn’t ready to face the world.

A thought occurred to him—he hadn’t eaten last night, and he needed food if he was going to survive this hangover. He stumbled toward the kitchen, squinting against the light.

The kitchen felt like a foreign land. The open windows made it bright, the kind of brightness that seemed determined to make him suffer. Noah squinted, trying to locate anything he could eat without being blinded.

Lights off, he thought, grumbling. He reached up, turned off the overheads, and then fumbled his way around the counters until he found the stove. The dim light coming from the street lamps outside was barely enough, but it was better than the harsh sunlight.

He opened the fridge and pulled out eggs, butter, and a bottle of orange juice, setting them on the counter. He moved with the deliberate slowness of someone trying not to trigger the next wave of nausea, and as he grabbed a frying pan, something on the counter caught his eye.

A small bag. A lipstick. A pair of earrings.

Noah froze.

He had no idea whose stuff it was at first, but the instant he saw the ID half-hidden under a paper towel, he couldn’t look away.

He reached for it cautiously, flipping it over to see the name on the card: Rosa, 21 years old.

He stared at it, blinking in disbelief.

Twenty-one.

His brain took a second to process the shock. He’d seen a lot of women come and go last night, but this was different.

His dad—Max—had slept with someone only four years older than him.

He shook his head, trying to push the thought away, but it lingered, making the room feel hotter and his stomach churn.

He bent down, rubbing his temples to stave off the headache, and that’s when he saw them—clothes strewn across the floor. A dress in a heap near the kitchen table. A pair of high heels kicked to the side like someone was in a rush to get out.

Eugh, Noah thought, feeling his stomach twist in disgust.

Thank god he’d come home early with Charles. He’d heard the stories—heard about what Max was like when he had a good time—but seeing it for himself, well, it was a whole different level of uncomfortable. He would’ve had to witness this, the aftermath, the leftovers of his dad’s typical antics.

Noah closed his eyes, leaning back against the counter as if he could shut out the entire night. He’d had enough of his dad’s antics for the next year—or lifetime.

Sighing deeply, he pulled the pan from the stove and cracked the eggs into it, the sizzling sound a small distraction from his thoughts. The smell of cooking eggs filled the room, but it didn’t do much to calm his nerves. It was just another reminder that life went on, even when things felt messed up.

As he scrambled the eggs, he couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d seen—the lipstick, the earrings, the stupid ID. Four years older than me?

He made himself a plate of scrambled eggs, avoiding the now-infamous counter, and took a seat at the table. He sat there quietly for a while, the silence pressing in around him.

Noah was just finishing his eggs when he heard footsteps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, and to his surprise, Rosa—Max’s most recent conquest—emerged from the hallway wearing nothing but one of Max’s oversized t-shirts. She looked a little uncomfortable, and her eyes flickered nervously toward him as she stepped into the kitchen.

Noah immediately pointed toward the hallway. “The dress is right there,” he said flatly, trying not to look at her.

She hesitated, clearly flustered, and then lowered her gaze. “I—sorry, I just—uh…” She trailed off, clearly not sure how to act around Max’s son.

Noah watched her, already knowing the answer but still asking. “Why did you do that?”

Rosa bit her lip. “He’s... he’s Max Verstappen,” she said quietly, as if that somehow explained everything.

Noah felt a pit grow in his stomach. He leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “He’s at least fifteen years your senior,” he replied, his voice laced with disbelief.

She seemed taken aback by the bluntness, but nodded sheepishly. “I... know. I don’t usually—well, I guess I’m not exactly thinking straight when it’s him, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Noah said dryly, then added for her benefit, “It’s Max Verstapen, right?”

She bit her lip, then grabbed her dress from the hallway and quickly went to change. Noah couldn’t help but feel relieved—he had no idea what to say to her, and honestly, he didn’t need to.

The sound of footsteps coming from the hallway brought him back to the moment. A few seconds later, Max appeared, stretching lazily as he entered the kitchen. His hair was still a mess from the night, but his grin was as wide as ever.

“Morning mate,” Max said, ruffling Noah’s hair as he walked by. 

Noah just stared at him, unimpressed. “Twenty-one, really?” he asked, shocked.

Both of them ignored her as she walked out, Noah still in disbelief.

Max chuckled, clearly not fazed, and started rummaging through the fridge. He opened a carton of eggs, cracked a couple into a pan, and began cooking.

It wasn’t long before Max’s phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at the screen and swore under his breath, muttering, “Fuck.”

“What?” Noah asked, curious, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Max looked up, his face briefly reflecting an uncharacteristic moment of stress. “My personal assistant,” he muttered. “She’s off annual leave today.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “What’s so bad about that?”

Max sighed dramatically. “She keeps my life together, kid. Without her, I’d be completely lost.”

As if on cue, they heard the front door creak open. The sound of heels clicking against the floor echoed in the hallway.

Max’s face fell. “Oh, double hell,” he muttered.

Noah looked at him, confused. “Who’s that?”

The door to the kitchen swung open, and a woman walked in, looking both exasperated and amused at the same time. She was in her early thirties, with sharp features and a no-nonsense attitude that immediately made her stand out.

She didn’t waste any time. “Blocking me during my annual leave doesn’t work, Max Emilian,” she said in a voice that brooked no argument.

Max stood up straight, putting on his most charming grin, which, unsurprisingly, didn’t seem to work on her. “Hey, sweetheart, how was the holiday?”

She didn’t even look at him before turning her gaze to Noah, who was watching this whole scene unfold with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

She raised an eyebrow. “Who’s this?”

Max froze for a split second before clearing his throat. “Uh, this is my son... Noah,” he said, sounding almost awkward.

The second she heard “son,” her eyes widened in shock. “MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN,” she snapped, her voice sharp as a whip. “What on earth have you gotten yourself into now?!”

Noah couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the way she was laying into his dad. Watching Max get his ass handed to him by someone who clearly had authority in his life was, honestly, one of the funniest things Noah had seen in a long time.

He leaned back in his chair, his mouth twisting into a grin. “This is... amazing,” Noah muttered under his breath, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Max, on the other hand, looked like he was regretting every decision he’d ever made. “Sweetheart, come on,” he said weakly. “It’s not that bad.”

“No, Max,” she said, crossing her arms, unimpressed. “It’s exactly as bad as it looks. I leave you alone for three weeks, and you end up with a what? a 16 year old who clearly looks hungover!” She turned to Noah, her expression softening just a little. “Nice to meet you, by the way. But please—please tell me you’re smarter than your dad.”

Max groaned and rubbed his temples, clearly still nursing the hangover. “Ugh, I’m hungover,” he muttered, dragging himself to the kitchen table and sitting down.

She didn’t even glance up from the folder she was pulling out of her bag. “Don’t care,” she said with a roll of her eyes, clearly unimpressed by his state.

Noah snorted with laughter, the sound escaping before he could stop it. He couldn’t help it—there was something undeniably hilarious about watching Max get shot down so effortlessly. Watching the great Max Verstappen, the Formula 1 champion, get treated like an everyday guy was something he hadn’t seen before.

She caught the laugh from across the room and shot Noah a playful smirk. “You think this is funny, huh?” she asked, but her tone was light, not harsh.

Noah raised both hands in surrender, still grinning. “You have no idea,” he said, shaking his head. “This is gold.”

Max shot him a sideways glance but didn’t say anything—probably because he was too busy trying to drag himself through the worst hangover of his life. He ate his food silently, still looking miserable, while she—who, honestly, looked like she had her life together more than anyone else in the room—slid a thick folder across the kitchen table in front of him.

“Here’s the menu,” she said, flipping it open. “You’ve got a race in two weeks. Act like it.” Her voice was firm, almost maternal, but there was a certain softness to it that suggested she genuinely cared about Max’s well-being. And maybe Noah’s, too.

Max groaned again. “Really? The race is two weeks away. Can’t you just let me suffer in peace for one more day?” he asked, looking up at her with a feigned pout.

She didn’t even blink. “I don’t care,” she said again, flipping through the folder with surgical precision. “You’ve got media events, sponsorship meetings, and training sessions that you will attend. You can wallow later, when you’re not about to crash a car into a wall. So do me a favour and get it together, darling.”

Noah watched the exchange with a growing sense of admiration for her. She had a way of keeping Max in line that Noah hadn’t even thought possible. The pet names, the obvious affection she had for him, it was like a love language they both spoke—but she could flip into business mode faster than anyone he’d ever seen.

Max’s face softened, and he finally gave in, wiping his face and nodding. “Fine. Fine,” he muttered, his voice rough. “You’re right. Just... can I get through one cup of coffee before I start pretending I’m an athlete again?”

She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. “You’re not pretending, you are an athlete,” she said, her tone turning teasing, but still with that edge of authority that made her impossible to ignore. “But I’ll let you have your coffee.” She shot a glance at Noah. “Don’t get any ideas. You’re not allowed to slack off like him.”

Max snorted. “What ideas? He’s seventeen,” he shot back, clearly exhausted but trying to rally for the sake of their ongoing back-and-forth. “You think he’s gonna let me off the hook?”

Noah grinned. “If you can get away with it, I might give it a shot,” he said with a wink, feeling a rare moment of camaraderie with his dad—well, his dad when he wasn’t being an idiot.

She just shook her head. “I don’t get paid enough for this.” She pushed the folder over to Max again. “I’m serious, Max. The team’s not gonna wait for you to nurse a hangover. You’ve got a busy week, and you need to start acting like it.”

Max finally straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck, but then something like a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He looked at her with that familiar cocky glint in his eyes, a look Noah had seen a hundred times before. But this time, it wasn’t as obnoxious—it was affectionate.

“Alright, alright, you got it, princess,” Max said, using one of his usual pet names. She didn’t flinch, but Noah swore he saw the faintest trace of a smile tug at her lips.

Noah felt like an outsider looking in on this little dynamic, but in that moment, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously, princess? Can’t you do any better?”

She looked at him, her eyes narrowing playfully. “Don’t get me started on the pet names,” she warned. “You’ll regret it.”

Noah chuckled, obviously enjoying the banter. He turned back to her. “If I call you princess, will you cut me some slack?”

“Not in a million years,” she replied with a smirk, her voice as calm as ever.

Max sighed dramatically, clearly not used to being outside of a joke, but he dropped the act, finally flipping through the folder in front of him. “Alright, alright. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Noah leaned back in his chair, watching the two of them with a mix of awe and amusement. It was clear—she wasn’t just a personal assistant. She was the one who kept Max’s world from falling apart, and soon maybe Noah’s, too. He’d never seen his dad so... well, manageable before. She’d probably seen it all—his dad’s hangovers, his cocky attitude, his late-night escapades—and yet she still kept things running smoothly.

Maybe that’s what he’d needed all along—someone who could manage the chaos, someone who could actually keep him grounded.

“Well, I guess I can’t slack off anymore either,” Noah muttered, pushing away from the table and grabbing his plate. “Guess I’m in this with you, huh?”

Max looked up at him and gave him a playful nudge. “You know it, kid,” he said, grinning. “The real work starts now.”

She stood at the counter, her movements fluid as she made a cup of coffee for Max. She placed it gently in front of him, then gave him a look that made it clear she wasn’t done yet.

“Your room,” she said firmly, raising an eyebrow. “Strip your sheets, air it out. It smells like sex in there.”

Max groaned, but his tone was playful. “Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he muttered, picking up the coffee and winking at her as if it was no big deal.

Noah watched the exchange, silently chuckling to himself. It was actually kind of adorable how well Max and she worked together. They didn’t seem like just a typical boss-assistant duo—they had a rhythm, a comfort with each other that made it hard to believe they weren’t more than that.

She raised her eyebrows at Max, clearly not impressed by his teasing. “Go,” she commanded, making a shooing motion toward the hallway.

Max rolled his eyes but shuffled off to his room, his back already to them.

She then glanced over at Noah, her expression softening now that it was just the two of them. “Alright, kid,” she said, her voice changing slightly. “Now, how did you end up here?”

Noah hesitated, unsure how much to share. He wasn’t used to talking about his family—about his mum. But she had a way of making him feel safe. She didn’t press, didn’t rush him, but her eyes were kind, giving him the space to speak if he wanted to.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, trying to find the words. “I was an accident,” he finally muttered, looking down at the table. “My mum... she was one of the many girls in and out of his life. She never really stuck around, I spent more time with my grandma.”

She nodded, encouraging him with a soft, understanding smile. She was so good at making him feel like his feelings mattered, like he wasn’t just a burden. “And after that?” she asked, her tone gentle but full of curiosity.

Noah paused, swallowing hard. “She just had enough, I guess. She couldn’t wait until I turned 18, so she shipped me off here to my dad.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, a little embarrassed by how honest he was being. “I don’t know if she ever really wanted to be a mum. But when it came down to it, she couldn’t even handle me for a few more months.”

Her expression softened even more, and she leaned forward slightly, her voice low and comforting. “That must’ve been really tough on you.”

Noah gave a half-shrug, but there was a weight to it. “It was. But, I mean... what can you do? She made her decision, and now I’m here. With him,” he said, glancing toward the hallway where Max had disappeared, an almost nostalgic look on his face. He wasn’t sure whether it was disappointment or something else—maybe just the surrealism of the situation.

She watched him closely, like she was trying to read him. “Do you want to stay after your eighteenth birthday?” she asked carefully. “Or do you think you’ll go back to the States, I’m assuming that is where you’re from?”

Noah felt a tight knot in his chest at the thought. He hadn’t really thought about it—hadn’t been asked. His whole life had been in limbo for the past three weeks, ever since he’d arrived in Monaco. “I don’t really know,” he said, exhaling deeply. “I’ve only been here for a few weeks. I turn 18 in a couple of weeks... and I guess I’m still figuring things out. It’s... it’s a lot to take in.”

She nodded again, giving him time to process the weight of it all. “Of course,” she said, her voice warm. “But listen, if you want to leave, we can make up for the missed child support. If you don’t feel comfortable here, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, okay?”

Noah didn’t know what to say at first. He felt like he hadn’t even had time to adjust to life with his dad before people were talking about the next step. But then something in her words hit him. We can make up for the missed child support. She was offering him an option. She wasn’t trying to guilt him into staying; she was giving him a choice, and that felt... different.

“But if you want to stay,” she added with a smile, “we can make up for lost time. And I’ll take you shopping.”

Noah chuckled, feeling a little lighter at the thought of her offer. It was a small thing, but it was enough to make him feel like he had options. Like maybe, just maybe, he could make a life here.

“Shopping, huh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Is that the deal-breaker?”

She smiled knowingly. “A little retail therapy never hurt anyone. Plus, it’s a good way to build a real wardrobe.”

Noah smiled back, surprised by the warmth in his chest. For the first time in weeks, he felt like he wasn’t just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe—just maybe—he could find a place for himself here.

Over the next few days, Noah couldn’t help but notice the unique dynamic between his dad and her. It was almost like a carefully choreographed dance—Max would slack off, mess around, maybe even throw a tantrum, and she would step in like a well-oiled machine, putting everything back in order without missing a beat.

She was the one who could actually control him, Noah realised. Not that Max ever looked like he was being controlled—he had that cocky, self-assured air, like the world owed him something. But she was the one who could gently rein him in, who knew exactly when to cut him off, when to play the tough love card, and when to let him have his moment of weakness.

And Noah saw it. He saw how Max listened to her. He’d always thought that Max did whatever he wanted. But with her around, he noticed a shift. She was the one who could keep Max grounded in ways Noah never could, and in that, Noah saw something—something that made him wonder if, maybe, she was the only one who could be perfect for his dad.

It was race week, and everything was running at full throttle. Max was his usual self, the high-octane Formula 1 driver, constantly on the go, living off adrenaline and the expectations that came with it. They boarded the private jet with a few of the other drivers, and as soon as they were in the air, Max and his mates turned their attention to technical talk, while Noah, feeling out of place but not entirely unwelcome, found a seat beside her.

As the engines hummed in the background and the landscape below them blurred into a sea of clouds, Noah let himself relax for the first time in what felt like forever. She was reading through a set of files, occasionally glancing up at him with that comforting, steady gaze she had perfected.

“So...” Noah said, breaking the silence after a while, “How did you get this job?”

She looked up, offering him a warm smile as she closed the folder in her lap. “That’s a loaded question,” she said, her voice playful but still laced with that underlying wisdom. “How much time do you have?”

Noah grinned, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve got all the time in the world, it seems. Might as well learn something interesting.”

She chuckled softly. “Fair enough. Well, I’ve always had a thing for organisation. I’ve worked in a lot of high-pressure environments, but this—” she motioned around the jet, a flick of her hand that encompassed the luxury, the chaos, the busy hum of the race world “—this was different. I actually came into it by accident.”

Noah raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Accident? How does someone accidentally end up working with the best Formula 1 drivers in the world?”

She shrugged casually, like it was no big deal. “I used to be a personal assistant for a couple of big-name corporate execs, and after some... interesting situations, I realised I needed a change. My family had always been involved in motorsports, so I started working for a racing team, just answering emails, scheduling meetings. Then one day, Max’s manager called me in to help out with his chaotic schedule. The rest is history.”

Noah laughed. “I’m guessing Max’s schedule is a nightmare?”

She gave him a knowing look. “You could say that.” She lowered her voice as though she was telling him a secret. “Max’s not the easiest guy to manage, but we get along just fine.”

Noah nodded, his curiosity piqued. “What’s it like... working with him? I mean, really working with him?”

Her expression softened, and for a moment, she seemed almost nostalgic, like she was remembering the past. “He’s a pain, honestly. He doesn’t listen half the time, and he thinks he can do whatever he wants. But that’s Max, right? He’s got this fire in him, this energy that doesn’t let anyone or anything hold him back. And... well, someone has to keep the wheels turning when the engine’s running at full speed. That’s where I come in.”

Noah couldn’t help but grin. “Seems like you’re the only one who can actually keep him in line.”

She gave him a small smile, her eyes sparkling with that quiet confidence. “I don’t keep him in line—I just know how to get him to do what’s necessary. There’s a big difference.”

The jet hummed steadily, and Noah leaned back in his seat, thinking about what she’d said. She was good. Too good at her job to be just another assistant. She was like the secret engine that kept Max running, and Noah didn’t think he’d ever fully understand why she chose to work with him, but he didn’t mind. She clearly had everything under control.

“So, do you like it?” Noah asked, after a beat of silence. “The job? I mean, it’s got to be crazy, right?”

She smiled at the question, looking thoughtful. “It’s a lot, yes. But it’s also rewarding. I’ve always loved a challenge, and Max... well, he’s a big one. But he’s also got a heart under all that arrogance. It’s just buried deep. You’d have to stick around long enough to see it for yourself.”

Noah stared at her for a moment, absorbing her words. He wasn’t sure if he believed she meant that, but it made him wonder about his dad in a way he hadn’t before. Maybe she was the one person who understood Max better than anyone. Better than he did, that’s for sure.

As the flight continued, the other drivers gathered in the back, talking racing tactics and joking among themselves. Max glanced over at Noah, giving him a quick nod before returning to his conversation with the others. But even from where he sat, Noah couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but he felt... maybe a little bit more at home in this strange new world.

It wasn’t just about living up to the chaos or trying to impress his dad. It was about finding a balance between who he was and what this life could offer him. And maybe, just maybe, the one person who could make him see it clearly was sitting right in front of him, offering him coffee and a chance to truly know her story.

Race day had arrived, and the atmosphere was electric. The entire paddock was buzzing with energy as the team prepped for the race. Max’s PA was in the hospitality area, typing away at her laptop, responding to emails and making sure everything was in place for the post-race debrief. Her calm, focused demeanor was the eye of the storm, while around her, chaos seemed to swirl.

Noah had been lingering nearby, watching the action unfold. The race cars lined up, the drivers warming up in their suits, engineers giving last-minute adjustments. But Noah couldn’t shake the feeling that there was still so much he didn’t understand. Formula 1 was more than just fast cars; it was strategy, timing, and a whole world he hadn’t fully cracked yet.

She noticed him staring into the pit, looking like he was trying to figure it all out, and her lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. She closed her laptop and pushed her chair back, standing up.

"Hey," she called over to him, "You look a little lost. Want to get some fresh air?"

Noah blinked, his gaze lifting to meet hers. "Sure. I mean, I could use a break."

She motioned toward the balcony, a quieter spot away from the noise of the paddock. "Come on. Let’s go up there. I'll teach you a few things about the race."

They made their way out, and as soon as they stepped onto the balcony, Noah took in the view of the circuit below. He hadn’t even noticed the race started. Or was this the formation lap? He was sure he read something about that. The track was alive, filled with motion, the cars zipping around as the tension built toward the start.

She leaned against the railing, her arms folded as she studied Noah. “So, how much do you know about all this? The strategy, the pit stops, all that?”

Noah shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious. “I know a decent amount. I mean, mum sometimes put on the race for me to shut me up, but I didn’t really get into the details. She wasn’t into it, and I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it.” He paused, then added with a bit of a sheepish grin, “So I know the basics, but it’s a lot more complicated than I thought.”

She nodded, a knowing look crossing her face. “Yeah, it’s a lot more than just fast cars and fuel. Let me give you the rundown.”

She began explaining the finer details of race strategy—the tire choices, how teams monitored fuel and tire degradation, the timing of pit stops, the importance of keeping track of the weather. As she talked, Noah found himself listening intently, his mind absorbing the information. She wasn’t just teaching him about the race; she was showing him how the puzzle pieces fit together.

“You’re getting it,” she said, smiling at him as he absorbed it all. “The strategy isn’t just about winning; it’s about staying ahead of the competition at every turn. A good driver can have the skill, but it’s the team that makes them successful.”

Noah nodded, feeling a new sense of respect for everything that went into a race. “I get it now. It’s more than just the guy behind the wheel.”

She grinned. “Exactly.”

The sound of the race engines revving up brought them both back to the present. The cars were lining up, and she could feel the tension building as the race was about to begin. She turned toward Noah, her tone shifting slightly. “Alright, time to get back to work. Max has quite a few places to make up.”

They both turned toward the pit, and with a knowing glance, she led Noah back inside.

The race was intense, but as the laps ticked down, Max started to pull away from the pack. Noah could see it happening before anyone else—his dad was dominating, racing like the champion he was. It wasn’t just about the car; it was about Max’s relentless drive.

And then, it happened. Max crossed the finish line in first place, and the entire team erupted in celebration. Noah felt a strange mix of pride and awe. This was his dad—he was winning, and it was like nothing else mattered in that moment.

She was already moving, heading straight for the garage to make sure everything was set for the post-race celebrations. Noah followed behind her, curious but also wanting to see what happened next.

As they entered the garage, Noah couldn’t help but ask, “Why are we back here?”

She turned to him with a knowing smile. “Away from the cameras,” she said simply. “Sometimes the celebrations should be private.”

The doors opened just as Max walked in, his face flushed with triumph, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on her. Without a second thought, he crossed the space in long strides, pulling her into a tight hug.

Noah watched them, a small smile tugging at his lips as he saw the chemistry between them. It was impossible to ignore—the way Max’s arms wrapped around her, how she laughed softly in his arms, as though they had all the time in the world. It wasn’t just the physical connection between them, it was the way they fit together. They had this unspoken understanding, this quiet intimacy that Noah couldn’t deny.

For the first time, he felt like an outsider—just a kid who had stumbled into a world he didn’t fully understand, yet somehow found himself caught in the middle of something bigger than himself. Watching them together, he couldn't help but think they were cute—and it was a thought that made him feel oddly warm inside.

Max pulled away from her, looking down at Noah with a mischievous grin. “Atta boy, kid,” he said, pulling Noah into a hug. The older man’s arms enveloped him easily, and for a second, Noah felt the weight of everything—his confusion, his place in all of this, but also the new undeniable love for moments like this, moments he never had. 

It was rare, moments like these, where Noah felt like he truly belonged in this world, like he wasn’t just a spectator in anyone’s life. The hug felt like a reassurance, like Max was showing him, in his own way, that he was happy he was here.

As they pulled apart, Noah found himself grinning, the rush of the race and the moment of connection filling him with something he couldn’t quite name. But whatever it was, it felt real.

She stepped forward, brushing off a stray piece of hair from her face. “Good job, Max,” she said, her voice soft but proud. “You didn’t screw it up for once.”

Max shot her a playful look. “Who are you calling a screw-up?”

She winked at him. “You, it’s just not obvious because I pick up your slack Max Emilian.”

Noah looked between them, watching the playful banter, and for the first time since he’d arrived in Monaco, he felt like things were... right. Whatever this was between his dad and her, it was something real. And maybe, just maybe, it could be the foundation for something that could help him find his place in this chaotic world.

taglist: @linnygirl09 @mirrorball-6 @miyasuni

[archivequinn]

hi! i wasn't having a good day today and reading your fic made me feel better. can you write a fic where the fem reader is sad and eddie is there to make her feel better and hug her and be there for her. i really need that right now.

This is my first fic request. I hope you enjoy it and whatever is upsetting you, I hope you feel better soon. If you want to talk someone, you can send me a dm. I wish you all the best and thank you for sending me this request. 🩷🙏🏻 Summary: When you cry, Eddie is there for you, your thoughtful caring and romantic boyfriend trying to calm you down.

“I'm here” eddie munson x fem!reader

You stand at the kitchen counter as the interior of the caravan fills with the rhythmic sound of the rain hitting the tin. Every time the knife in your hand touches the wood, the sound echoes in the void, but for you it is just a desperate attempt to drown out the silence. You are trying to chop vegetables, your fingers wrapped so tightly around the handle of the knife that your knuckles are white. It's as if the sheer strength of your hands will be able to untie the huge, immovable knot in your chest. But that tie… Oh, that tie won't move. It's as if someone has pressed their hands on your stomach, grabbing the center of your stomach and you can't breathe properly. You try to swallow, and each time you swallow it sinks in deeper, as if there's a stone lodged deep in your throat.

Your eyes start to fill at that point. Vaguely at first, just like a blurred curtain, but then… the odd drop hangs on the tips of your eyelashes, just before it falls on your cheek. You try not to blink because once you let go, that dam wall will break.

Your breaths are ragged and your face is focused on the blurred sight in front of you. “Don't,” you whisper to yourself. Don't cry. But the tears don't listen. First one trickles down, burning your cheek and making its way down. And then another, and then more… First silent, in thin lines, then freer, more uncontrolled.

“Please stop, Eddie shouldn't see you like this,” you mutter to yourself, your voice sounding broken, almost like someone you don't know. But it's so hard to breathe; even when the pressure in your chest eases a little, you still can't take a deep breath. Your arms grow weak, your shoulders shake involuntarily. You lean against the counter, put the knife aside and cover your face with your hands. Your fingertips feel the warmth of your cheeks, touch your slightly damp skin.

Eddie's almost home. You shouldn't meet him like this. You take a deep breath, this time managing to draw the air fully into your lungs, but the exhalation is ragged and shaky. As you wipe your eyes with your hands, you notice in your pale reflection in the mirror that your nose is reddening and your eyelids are beginning to swell. Your lips are still trembling, but you have to hurry. You flinch as the door handle turns and the metal hinges creak open. Your back is to him, you hold your breath. Knife in hand, the sound of the vegetables you're chopping echoes through the kitchen, but your hands are actually shaking. You shouldn't face him; your eyes are red, your cheeks still wet.

“Hey, sweetheart!” Eddie's cheerful voice fills the caravan, instantly interrupting the sad rhythm of the rain. You hear the door slam shut hard and his footsteps rush in. “I'm stuck in traffic, you can't believe it! But look what I brought.”

His laughter is interspersed with the rustle of paper bags. “I wandered around the DVD store so much, I wondered which one you'd like, but…”

He pauses for a breath, then adds with sweet guilt. “…then I decided to take it all, whatever you want to watch, okay?” You hear the bags being placed on the kitchen table, and then the deep silence is broken by another excited voice from Eddie, “And this is for you.”

The smell of roses fills the air, accompanied by the sound of plastic paper shaking slightly at the end of his sentences. Eddie's proud and happy voice is soft but sure, “I saw this on the road, I know you like roses…” You put the knife down, but you still have your back turned. You force a smile on your face, “Thank you, Eddie,” you say, but your voice is so thin and shaky that even you realize it.

You try to swallow, but you can't. Your eyes, though tightly closed, are still misty, and the tears begin to roll down your cheeks one by one.

Eddie's footsteps approach you from behind, as if he realizes something is wrong. “Baby, are you okay?” he says softly at first. But you still don't turn to face him. He pauses for a moment, not knowing what to do, then gently puts his hands in your arms and tries to turn you towards him.

“Hey, look at me,” he says in a calm but worried voice. You have to turn away reluctantly. Eddie looks at your face with his brown eyes and freezes for a moment at what he sees. Your red nose, your swollen eyelids and those stubborn tears rolling down your cheeks...

Eddie's expression changes instantly. Worry shows itself in the small wrinkles on his forehead. He puts his hands on your shoulders and starts rubbing them gently, his voice soft but unable to hide his panic, “What happened?”

A moment of silence, listening to her breathing. “Baby, does something hurt somewhere? Did something happen?” he says, running his hands quickly over your face and arms, as if to check if you're hurt.

“Eddie, I'm… I'm okay,” you say, your voice shaky and close to a whisper. But your lips are still trembling and this time you don't try to hide your crying. Eddie tilts his head slightly to the side and looks into your eyes. The worry in his brown eyes is blended with a soft patience. He holds you like a piece of shattered glass, gently squeezing your shoulders with his fingertips.

“Sweetheart, please tell me.” His voice is like a whisper. “What happened to you?” All you can do is look at him helplessly. The tears in your eyes start to flow again and without a second's hesitation Eddie pulls you to him and hugs you tightly.

His arms wrap around you like a cocoon, as if to protect you. As your cheeks rest against his chest, you can hear his heartbeat, rhythmic and calm, as if he's going to make everything all right. “Okay,” he says softly, kissing you through your hair. “Okay, I'm here. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out together. Okay?” And in that moment, it's as if the tight knot slowly begins to unravel. Eddie's scent, his warmth and his reassuring voice. The peace of being with him, even when you're crying, relieves some of the heaviness in your chest. Eddie realizes you haven't told him what happened, you won't tell him. Still, he doesn't ask questions. Silently, he holds you tighter. His arms close around you like a wall of trust, as if to let you know that no matter what happens, he won't let you go. He buries his head lightly in your hair and takes a deep breath. As that breath disappears between the strands of hair, his warmth envelops your whole body.

His fingertips gently touch your face. He wipes your wet cheeks, instead of trying to stop the tears, he lets them flow, as if he carries that sadness, that weight with you. He leans your cheek to his lips and kisses it gently, once, twice… then again. He leaves small, patient kisses. The salty wetness of your cheeks touches his lips, but he doesn't care. One of his hands slips softly into your hair, his fingers running through it, caressing the strands. “Okay,” he whispers, his voice so soft that even the raindrops sound louder. He places a long, deep kiss on your forehead. “I'm here.” Without letting go of you, Eddie sits up slightly and takes slow steps towards the bed. When you sit on the edge of the soft mattress, he takes you in his arms as if you were the most precious thing in the world. He holds you against his chest, your head resting right over his heart. His heartbeat… those rhythmic, powerful beats, like a safe harbor in the middle of a storm. He holds you tightly, one arm wrapped around your back while his other hand continues to stroke your hair. Every movement of his fingers is soothing, every touch full of patience.

And you, with your head on his chest, sobbing in the warmth. Your sobs shake, your body shakes, but Eddie is there, standing firm. Every time you shake, his hands move tighter around your back, every time you breathe, he strokes your hair more gently.

He pulls you into his arms a little more, presses his lips to your hair and whispers again, “It's okay… Come on, cry. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.”

Time stops for a while. The sound of the rain is a distant backdrop, nothing in the room but Eddie's scent, his heartbeat and the calm rhythm of his breathing.

Your cry echoes in his chest, but he still holds you still. He envelops you in his love, as if he wants to take the weight of the world off your shoulders. And you feel that it is once again possible to breathe in his arms, even if your tears don't stop.

taglist: @nicholaschavezslut69