#don't ask what they turn into besides it being something wheeled

[paulyenvol6]

Look What You Made Me Do

Joel x female reader (No Outbreak AU)

All Joel wants is to get you home quickly, but he wasn't prepared for the tiny skirt you had picked out this morning. Together with your teasing, he finds he has no choice, but to pull off the road and make you see what happens when you push him too far.

Contains: smut, oral (m & f receiving), fingering, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie, choking, degradation, objectification, dumbification, doggy, riding, mean!Joel, brat taming, daddy kink, dom/sub dynamics, car/public sex, spanking, dirty talk, possessive & jealous behavior, crying, gagging, use of words like whore and slut, slight aftercare

Wordcount: 6,171

Masterlist

Joel couldn't believe his eyes.

"Jesus, honey."

He dropped his head, slightly shaking it while taking a deep breath and praying that he wouldn't lose it.

"What?" you asked sweetly, your smile almost detectable in your tinkling voice. Joel's grip around the steering wheel tightened as he lifted his head with a sigh and took in your whole appearance. The scandalously short tennis skirt, the white top that did a poor job of hiding your perky nipples and the pink bow in your hair.

"You were out lookin' like that?" Joel furrowed his brow and shamlessly ran his gaze down your barely covered body.

"Yeah. Anything wrong with it? Is my hair ruined? Is the bow still in there?"

Your voice was dripping with acted innocence which drove Joel insane. He knew that you were aware of what you were doing, the effects of your appearance on men clearly visible to everyone who had two functioning eyes.

"Fuckin' christ, baby…," Joel growled, but started the car.

He was furious and wanted to reclaim what was his, but if he was being honest with himself, he wanted to do so by fucking your brains out. What was he to do with you sitting beside him like that? A little thumb at your lips, your legs crossed and the hem of your skirt fluttering in the wind, gradually revealing more of the soft skin of your thighs. And then there were your breasts that were showing so well underneath your tight top, putting on display curves that were only meant for his eyes.

"You don't like my outfit?" you whispered after a while and Joel silently cursed as he thought about how many more miles they had to go before he could toss you onto the bed and fuck you until all you could think about was his cock instead of coming up with new outfits you could go out with and turn heads with.

"I like it. I like it so much that I don't want anyone else to see you in it," Joel said coolly and through gritted teeth. You clearly didn't think of the situation as that serious because you just grinned and playfully ran a hand down your front.

"Ohhh Joel. That's so sweet of you. You know that I like when you get all angry and possessive," you breathed, leaning toward him and pressing a kiss right next to his ear.

"You're not gonna like it when I'm fuckin' done with ya. Now sit back down."

You giggled, but obeyed his order, sinking back onto your butt, but your body still vibrating with laughter while you looked outside. And he could have sworn that your skirt was pushed even higher up your legs. His eyes reflexively darted to you every now and then, his heart pounding so loudly that he could feel and hear it in every part of his body and his back sweaty and so hot, it was almost unbearable. He had to do something and although the car was getting closer to his house with every passing second, the longer he drove, the less capable he felt of lasting the way home. And you weren't exactly making it better. 

"Maybe I wore it for you, daddy," you sulked and arched against the backrest, your breasts standing out so deliciously. So bitable. You watched his profile, observing every twitch of his brow, every flinch of his lids and every grind of his teeth with great satisfaction. Part of you wanted nothing more than for Joel to lose it, take the next drive out and fuck you right here and right now, no matter where the road would take you. And you had a feeling you were close to achieving your goal; you just had to push him a little further.

"Stop," Joel hissed through his clenched jaw, his knuckles painfully white from the amount of force with which he held on to the wheel. It was his only way to ground himself because apart from that he was completely at your mercy, his ears with no choice but to listen to each of your sweet words and his mind too weak to stop the occasional glances in your direction.

"What?" you asked all guiltlessly and unknowingly although the glint in your eyes was more than telling. Slowly, and without taking your eyes off him, you glided a hand between your legs and bit down on your bottom lip, sighing in relief as two of your fingers came in contact with your clothed pussy.

"Jesus FUCKIN' Christ, baby, I have to concentrate right now," Joel shouted, panic clouding his mind and his heart racing even faster, but perhaps the main reasons for his reactions were your mindless and irresponsible actions. He wanted to wipe away the sweat drooling on his forehead, but he feared to let go off the steering wheel and risk causing an accident because his body was so tense and felt like it was on fire. His hands clutching to it was the only thing calming him and keeping him from devouring you like a wild animal.

"But she's aching for you, daddy…," you moaned, carefully starting to roll your hips in accordance to the movements of your hands and rejoicing when Joel glared at you from the corner of his eyes.

"She needs you so bad… She's been droolin' for you all day. Just take a look under my skirt, it's so so wet, daddy. And it's all for you."

Your voice was so quiet and airy, Joel's teeth sank down on his lower lip to supress a groan. He needed you. And he needed you now. He needed you in every way known to mankind and if he didn't do anything about it soon, he was sure he would either burst in his jeans or cause an accident by being hypnotized and mesmerized by you and stopping to look at the traffic.

"Can I touch her?" you asked, no, whined and by the looks of it, pressed the palm of your hand against your clit, creating some stimulation, but not enough to properly please yourself.

"No!" Joel barked, shifting his hips slightly because his pants were uncomfortably tight around his hard dick which was only distracting him further from the traffic.

"You keep those hands to yourself now until we're home. And I swear to god, babygirl… I'm not gonna go easy on you. Walkin' around in this goddamn short skirt and tryin' to distract me all the fuckin' time. I want you to shut up now, fold your hands in your lap like a good girl and keep still until I've parked this fuckin' car."

He really hoped that his words and the dominance in his voice might have an impact on you, but he seemed to be wrong. For a moment it worked and Joel was almost about to exhale without even having noticed that he had held his breath in tension, when you spoke up again, a mischievous grin on your lips that Joel wasn't able to see.

"I could give you a hand, daddy, you know? It hurts me to see you feeling so uncomfortable. He probably just needs my hand stroking up and down and then you'll feel much better. I can see how painful it must be… Just wanna be good for you."

Joel grinded his teeth in frustration and then suddenly turned the steering wheel around, making you gasp in surprise. With newfound determination, born of a flash of inspiration, he took the next gateway and drove the car onto the highway, heading wherever it might lead.

"What are you doin', Joel?" you asked with big eyes. While you had fantasised about him taking you in the car out in the nowhere, you hadn't expected him to actually do it.

"Shut up," Joel snapped, pinching his eyes as he stared ahead of himself in concentration.

There was a crossroad and without really knowing why, he chose to turn right where the forest seemed to become denser. And it was true, a couple of miles later the two of you found yourselves on a rarely travelled country road leading in serpentines through the thick forest. The small path to your right was more than convenient and so, driven by pure and throbbing lust, Joel chose to turn the indicator to the right and drove the car into the forest. By now, you were aware that speaking was unnecessary so you settled with smirking to yourself and listenening to your own racing heartbeat.

After one or two more minutes all you could see around you were tall fir trees, through which the sun rays could just reach and create mystical patterns across the thicket. That's where Joel stopped the car. He turned the keys, sighed deeply and then reached to cup your face and pull you flush against him. His lips began to devour your mouth, forcefully pushing against you and using his hands to turn and tilt you the way he wanted you. He tasted of coffee and mint, his lips a little dry - probably from the way he had sucked and bit down on them the past minutes - but god he had never felt better.

Joel's tongue carefully – at least in contrast to the rest of his actions – brushed over your lips, demanding entrance and you were pleased to grant him access to your mouth. Everything was heated, the air in the car already too thin and stuffy, but right now neither of you could bring yourself to pull back and open a window or a door. You couldn't, even if you wanted to try.

A large calloused hand that didn't allow any doubts was firm on your cheek, holding you in place just like it was feeling the softness and heat your face radiated. His left hand was no less bold, making its way down to explore more of your body, which frankly wasn't very well covered anyway. He groped your breasts, roughly kneading the flesh and squeezing it every now and then to elicit a soft whimper from you. Soon, the piece of clothing was pulled over your head and carelessly landed to your feet where you curled your toes into the fabric and trembled as Joel twisted a stiff nipple between two fingers.

"You're so fuckin' dirty, aren't ya? Did all of this just to drive me insane…," Joel murmured against your lips, softly picking at your bottom lip. His beard stubble grazed your upper lip, thrilling you with tingles and scratches.

"Please, Joel… Need to feel you. On my pussy, please…"

"Yeah? Not so cocky now, are ya, babygirl?" he commented with a scoff and slid a hand around your waist to pull you closer although the car seats were a restriction, causing him to growl in dissatisfaction.

"Fuckin' hell…," Joel cussed and then suddenly brought a hand under your skirt and cupped your pussy without a warning. You yelped against his lips, jolting backward, but Joel's hand under your chin kept you right where he wanted you, his fingers delicately, yet warningly brushing over your skin.

"Stupid 'lil girl… You don't know what situation you just brought yourself in."

He withdrew, watching your face from a small distance as he began palming your clothed center and it was more than satisfying to finally have him touch you, but he was yet to fight off the smoldering, coiling heat around your clit.

"Joel," you murmurated, your hands grasping his face as if anything could settle his swirling mind right now, but even your pretty doe eyes didn't move anything in him.

He was controlled by his dick and his dick wanted to wreck you.

The air between you crackled as if a small fire had combusted far away, the air torrid and incandescent and so full of animalistic lust, that you felt like you were about to do things that were out of your reach. And his palm felt so… heavy and firm against your core, yet so vague and unsure in what he was doing, but of course you knew it was all a mask. Joel would have been able to make you cum within minutes, especially with you being in a state like that. He was choosing not to. He was choosing to make you suffer and you knew that you deserved it.

Reflexively, you began rolling your hips against his palm, part of you hoping that he would give you that freedom, but you should have known better. Joel's hand around your chin travelled dowards to gently squeeze your throat once, then twice before using it as leverage as he leaned in to bite the skin of your jaw.

"No. And you better not test me."

"Joel," you pressed, your eyes pinching shut and your chest heaving under the air restriction. He carefully, as if to tease you, moved his flat hand, rubbing the base of his palm against your stiff clit, but it only elicited a painful wail from you. Everything was too slow, too vague and too soft and you needed to let him know.

"Please. Please, daddy." Joel's hand suddenly snatched your throat tightly, causing you to cry out, and then nudged his nose against your temple.

"Oh yeah? I'm daddy now? You're all needy 'n' whiny 'n' need me to take care of ya so you call for your daddy? S'not how this works, sugar."

You clasped your hand around his, pulling and scratching while you gasped for air, but Joel was deliberate and unwavering as he held you firmly, pushing your boundaries and making you suffer until he loosened his grip when he saw your eyes rolling back. You whimpered, your eyes fluttering close when he pressed his palm against your core more firmly and then started to rub. It was still slow, but the movements were more powerful and with much more force so you considered it progess. Joel's right hand that had previously been around your throat wandered to the back of your head, ensnaring his fingers in your hair and gently, yet unambiguously yanking you back.

"I don't think you deserve this, babygirl… Don't think you deserve to have your pussy treated this well. Tell me. Tell me why I should go on instead of leaving you drippin' for me."

You moved your hands to his in panic, gripping his wrist while giving him your biggest deer eyes.

"N-No... I need it."

The slap came unexpected and you squealed although it hadn't been very forceful.

"Tell me why I should give it to ya. You show up 'ere dressed like a fuckin' whore that looks like she'd spread 'er legs for any creature with a dick and then you won't stop bothering me on our way back home even though I told you a hundred fuckin' times to shut your mouth. You haven't been good. You've behaved like a ungrateful bitch."

Tears pooled in your eyes, the realisation of your mistakes clear to you all of a sudden.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, daddy. I – I… I only wanna be good for you. And I thought you'd like my outfit. Thought you liked seeing my l-legs."

Your voice broke at the last syllable, his palm flush against your throbbing clit provoking you to let out a low whine which was rumbling in your chest. His calloused skin felt so good against your bundle of nerves, you wanted to scream, but at the same time you wanted to beg him to give you more.

When he withdrew, you jerked forward, controlled by a desperate need to cage his hand between your legs, but of course you didn't stand a chance. Joel just laughed at your attempts and then reached behind your head to form a makeshift ponytail while you were still regretting the loss of contact. He tilted your head, forcing you to look in his eyes and then jutted his jaw forward, his tongue darting out to lick over his lower lip.

"Show me what you got. You say you're sorry so you're gonna prove it. Show daddy how sorry you are and if you're good I'll think about fucking this pussy."

The clinging of his belt made you drop your gaze to where he singlehandedly unbuckled it along with his jeans. He had you tight in his grip while shoving down his jeans and then taking his dick out of his boxers.

"See that, babygirl? He's aching for ya. And you're gonna make it better 'cause you're the goddamn reason for this mess. Gonna lick it all up and treat him like you wanna tell him how much you regret your mistake. Have I made myself clear?"

Joel tugged at your ponytail, shaking you slightly to remind you to answer him and then grinded his teeth at your round eyes that seemed to be in awe of his leaking member.

"Yes, daddy," you whispered, but were looking down again.

"Go on then. C'mon, ain't got all day."

You adjusted your position in the passenger seat, moving your legs up so that you could kneel on the seat cushion. Then, you lowered your head to his center, all while Joel guided you with his hand. He hummed to himself watching your hand reach for his base and then exhaled sharply when your tongue that was peeping out of your mouth came in contact with his tip.

"Jesus, don't get all shy on me now," Joel barked, his left hand that wasn't in your hair reaching over your body to deliver a smack to your butt. "You know you want it. You know you wanna make a mess all over it 'cause you know it's gonna please daddy."

A wet sound gushed from where his tip was nudged against your lips and then you parted your lips at once, letting him glide down your throat in one go, the sensation so overwhelming that he painfully pulled at the roots of your hair.

"Shit, yeah… That's it."

Joel kept you in this position for a while, his hand leaving you no space to pull back despite your squirming and his dick tapping against the hilt of your throat. Only when you gagged did he let go and relaxed his hand so you could draw back to catch your breath. You inhaled greedily, darting up to him under your lashes and whimpering when you felt pressure on your scalp again.

"You go right back to work, babygirl… Ain't gonna let ya go until I'm satisfied. You wanted this, teasin' me all the way and now you're gonna take it. I'm gonna give ya what you wanted, you just wait…"

He moaned, his dick embraced by your tight walls again and started to make you bob your head around his length. He didn't go as deep as previously, but the brutal pace he set was enough to make you drool and gag, your eyes squeezed shut to prevent yourself from tearing up. You couldn't give him that satisfaction. Not after the way you had behaved earlier. Joel obviously knew how easily he was able to turn you into a needy puppet just by saying a few rough phrases to you or by making you choke on his dick for a little while, but crying and weeping around him now after such little time would definitely be one too much.

With the little freedom you had – your hand at his base pumping him and occasionally playing with his balls – you brought him further stimulation, but Joel took from your mouth what he wanted. Your tongue barely had time to trail up and down his shaft as he fucked your throat, your main focus being not to throw up all over his dick and covering your teeth with your lips. Nonetheless, your tongue sliding and drawing patterns across his length caused him to curse from time to time and your pussy sensuously clenched around nothing each time. At some point, and you hadn't even noticed his free hand traveling down your back, he kneaded the flesh of your ass, jiggling it in his palm and then actually slipped it between your legs again, pulling your tiny panties to the side. You rejoiced, a muffled yelp spilling from your mouth and your hips buckling, which made Joel scoff in arrogance.

"Keep your mouth right there. Don't ya fuckin' move or I swear to god I'll stop."

He went around your clit in tight and precise circles, making you wonder how he managed to maintain such a clear head while you were down here struggling to remember how to breathe. But perhaps it was just Joel's fingers knowing every inch of your body so well that he knew exactly where to rub, how much pressure to apply and when to flick your clit to the side. He had you soaked and slick for him in a matter of minutes and Joel noticed it himself when he eased his thumb into your hole, lowly grunting and pushing your head down to have his dick buried deep inside of you for a moment before freeing you again and returning to his steady pace.

"I bet you've been this wet since you stepped into my car. Bet you wore that to distract me and hoped I'd fuck you in that car. Let's see if you're gonna get that… Need to try harder to get my dick in your pussy, babygirl. And I think daddy isn't quite aware yet of how sorry you truly are."

Part of you knew that Joel was playing tricks on you. You simply didn't buy that he would actually neglect your pussy, one of his favorite places in the world just because you happened to act like a brat today. He was turned on and horny so ignoring your pussy would surely be a punishment for him too. Still, another much more desperate and frustrated part, told you not to test it and rather do as he told before you actually ended up sitting in the passenger seat with your drenched panties, your clit throbbing, swollen and craving a release while Joel drove the two of you home – Joel all satisfied of course. And if that were to happen, it would be the biggest catastrophe you could think of.

Therefore, you tried even harder with the freedom he granted you. You swirled your tongue around his magnificent length, grazing his veins like you meant to worship and memorise every single one and doing your best not to fight back too hard when he pressed your face down his manhood.

"Jesus christ… That's it… take it."

Meanwhile, Joel wasn't ungracious either. He was stilll playing with your pussy, rubbing and tapping against your clit in a way that made it hard for you to properly focus on pleasing him from time to time. Your movements became sloppier, your concentration fading, but it seemed as though Joel had no problems reminding you, pressing a hand on the back of your head to force himself down your throat.

Drool was smeared all over the lower half of your face, mixed with a few tears that had made their way down your cheeks and of course his precum that you hadn't been able to swallow entirely. It was messy and obscene – and so were the sounds that the two of you were producing on each other's bodies – but who cared out here in the woods with no one around?

When Joel finally released your head you were almost feeling disappointed. Not because he had made it particularly easy for you, triggering your gag reflexes and pushing you to the limits the past minutes, but because his hand between your legs came to a stop as well. You let out a noise of disapproval, darting up to him while shifting your hips in search of him, but Joel showed no reaction.

"Backseat," was all he ordered you to do, opening the driver's door to enter the car in the back while you climbed between the seats in the front. An electric wave went through your body at the sight of him, his jaw tight and his teeth grinded, his whole body tense like he was restraining himself, which drove you wild. You must be a view too with your face all messy and dirty, but Joel still limited himself to the bare minimum. Manhandling you the way he wanted you. Giving you short commands.

"Take your panties off," he barked, opening the buttons of his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders while you were pulling down your drenched panties with trembling hands. When you looked at your boyfriend again, he was comfortably sitting in the backseat, his hands on the seat on either side of his hips and his legs slightly spread. His eyes were flashing as he patted his thigh, chewing on the inside of his cheek which made his neck flex so deliciously.

"Go on. Fast."

The limited space in the car slowed you down when you crawled onto Joel's lap, but in the end you managed to find a steady position, your legs straddling his thighs and your arms around his neck.

"You know what to do, dirty slut," Joel hissed, his expression still cold even as he was looking into your best puppy eyes. A slapping sound echoed against the car walls as his hand came down on your ass and you jerked forward.

"Come on. You better ride me well or I'll pin ya down on the ground outside and fuck you 'til the animals know my name."

Although the prospects of his words weren't too bad either you really didn't want to be introduced to the muddy forest soil so you gave him a nod, meeting his gaze while you grabbed his hard dick and glided it through your folds. You wanted to be good, work precisely and sensually, but in response Joel took hold of your hair and tugged it back, his teeth sinking into your skin at your jaw.

"I ain't got all fuckin' day, babygirl. You're gonna get to work right now."

You whimpered at the sting on your scalp, writhing in his grip, but managed to bring his tip to your dripping entrance where you circled it once, then twice before inserting it in your pussy. Joel and you groaned in unison, your fingers clutching the locks in the back of his head and your thigh shaking dangerously as you sank down on him.

"Jesus fuckin'…"

You considered the fact that he wasn't able to finish the sentence a good sign and it motivated you further to be so good, he would lose his mind. You took your time while allowing him to fill you, but didn't go too slowly either. In your mind it was the perfect mixture between tasting and savouring every moment and giving him enough so when he was inside of you to the hilt, you proudly grinned to yourself.

The smile was knocked off your face when Joel buried his fingers in your ass and gave your cheeks a firm squeeze.

"Stupid doll. Stupid fuckin' doll who's always tryin' to please me so desperately but can't ever make it right. Always have to guide you an' tell you what to do 'cause you're too fuckin' dumb to come up with it yourself."

He wrapped a hand around your neck, palming your throat while slowly rolling his hips underneath you.

"I thought after 2 years of dating I turned you into a good 'lil sex toy. Taught you how to be good for daddy. But look at this. Look at you puttin' in such a great effort but messin' it up every goddamn time. S'fuckin' pathetic."

You squealed and whimpered, your hands grasping his broad shoulders while he fucked into you from underneath without giving you time to adjust to his thick length.

"Now now…," he commented on the way your nails scratched his skin, kneading the side of your ass that jiggled every time Joel thrust up into you.

"Please. Please, Joel," you pressed, your voice airy and thin, not knowing what you were asking for.

"Shut up," he instantly growled, cutting off your air supply further and laughing at your pathetic little gasps. You were struggling to keep yourself up, your legs burning and your torso threatening to hunch over so you grabbed his bicep in a desperate attempt to cling to something. Joel had obviously noticed the fact that your body was beginning to be too weak to support you, but he was yet to act upon it. He was just whispering dirty things in your ear, degrading you to a pitiful mess while making you bounce on his fat dick.

"Remember how you wanted this? You still do, huh? Do you regret beggin' me like a filthy whore just 'cause you couldn't wait for 20 fuckin' minutes? I would've fucked you nice 'n' slow, babygirl… Maybe tease you just a 'lil bit for wearin' that slutty skirt, but I would've given it to my princess. Would've laid you down on your back and prepare you with my tongue and then slowly feed you my dick. And then make the both of us come and maybe even lick up the mess between your legs afterwards… But now… Look at you. Look at you cryin' and beggin'. It could've gone differently. Could've make it beautiful and romantic and sweet. But you acted like a cheap slut and so I'm gonna treat you like a cheap slut."

With these words Joel suddenly draped an arm around your waist and the other around your shoulders, lifted you off his dick and flipped you onto your stomach. The rough fabric of the seats left an irritating burn on your bare skin, but before you could complain about it, Joel had pulled you up by your hips so you were forced to be on all fours. Your head was spinning, your dry mouth agape and your pussy already stimulated by Joel, who hadn't wasted a second to enter you again.

"Jesus fuckin' christ… Such a good tight hole for me to use… A shame that you're such a slut. We could have so much fun together if you stopped bein' a brat."

He hit your backside hard, the pain so sudden and sharp that you arched your back away from him.

"Joel!" you pressed, your head dropping forward to rest on your hands.

"I know. I know, babygirl. You're feelin' all bad and regretful for behaving that way and you wanna be good and please me, but for some reason you piss me off again and again. Never fuckin' learn."

His hands felt like iron around your hips, his fingers leaving red marks on your skin and his dick thrusting in you at a punishing pace. Your cervix felt numb under the assault, but a kind that was strangely arousing to you. Part of you feared to let Joel know how much you enjoyed all of this because it was supposed to be a punishment after all, but somehow it didn't feel like that to you. Sure, his treatment was bordering on pain from time to time, your throat still sore and definitely bruised from his thick dick and your pussy was beginning to sting as well, but the pleasure was taking up much more space than the discomfort. In fact, the pain only seemed to add to the intoxicating thrill of it all, but you were afraid that letting Joel know wouldn't play into his cards.

It wasn't like he didn't care about you at all though. Why else would he have glided his hands between your legs again and circled your clit with that much expertise? Your eyebrows drew together, your breath hitching in your throat and your stiff nipples desperately pulsing for any kind of stimulation. Everything was overwhelming, your body on the verge of collapsing and your senses overstimulated by Joel and his dominant presence. Not only could you feel him with every inch of your body, his words had also put you in some sort of mesmerizing trance. You were humming to yourself, tears in your eyes that weren't caused by pain this time, but mere lust and the craving to reach your orgasm.

"I want you to cum for me, baby," Joel hissed under breath, his hips rapidly snapping against yours and his thumb around your nub sloppy and messy, but so good.

"Y-Yes. Yes, Joel, please..."

The last word turned into a yelp, your eyes so small you could barely make out the car door right in front of your nose.

"Cum. C'mon, babygirl. Soak my dick. Wanna feel you clench around it. Make daddy proud, c'mon."

He slapped your left cheek, then your right before slipping an arm around your body to twist your nipple betwen his fingers.

"Fuck. Fuck, Joel – I – "

You stopped, stumbling over your own words and then your body tensed up. You buckled and arched your back as waves of shock washed over you, causing you to moan and whimper and in the end you collapsed as if all your energy had been drained. Lucky for you, Joel was there to catch you and held you in place while he was still chasing his own high. You were quietly whimpering, your heartbeat fast and unsteady, but when you heard a low growl rumbling in Joel's chest everything was forgotten. You could always sense when he was orgasming based on his noises, his husky voice and catching breath so distinct. Feeling him cum inside of you was one of your greatest pleasures in life and so you savoured every moment of his dick twitching inside you and painting your sore walls with white, sticky ropes of his seed.

"Joel," you whispered, a high-pitched squeak spilling from your mouth while your pussy clenched around his length in delight.

"I know, baby," he groaned, keeping a hand firm on your hips to make you stay in place.

Then the two of you were embraced by silence for a few minutes. You were breathing heavily, your bodies and faces sweaty and flushed with the aftermath of your heated encounter and the two of you yet too exhausted to change your positions. But finding that not only was it time for you to really go home now, but you were also in need of a shower, Joel eventually withdrew his flaccid member from you and shoved his underwear up.

"Jesus," he sighed, spanking your ass one last time before picking up your panties from the floor of the car and slipping your feet through the holes. You raised your knees to help him and then turned around on clumsy legs, your skirt falling into place again.

"Joel," you mumured, unable to articulate your needs, but he understood, reached for your waist and pulled you toward his chest.

"I know, baby. Did so good. Gonna get us home now, okay?"

You nudged your nose against his collarbone, shaking your head and holding on to him like life depended on it.

"No. Don't wanna let go."

His body vibrated with soft chuckles, his palm stroking over your still bare back.

"Ohh sweetheart… It's only 5 more minutes. Then we'll be home and we're gonna shower and then we'll cuddle on the couch. I'm gonna get you somethin' to eat 'n' to drink and then we're gonna spend the afternoon together. I promise."

He carefully took hold of your head, slowly raising it from his chest and then smiling at your big eyes that were sparkling with defiance.

"I promise, babygirl. Daddy's gonna hold you all afternoon and night if you want that. We can watch a movie and I'm gonna let ya choose which one. How does that sound?"

You bit down on your bottom lip, searching his face for any sign of untruth, but could only find soft brown deer eyes that were radiating adoration.

"Okay," you whispered, giving him a explorative smile and allowing him to pull your top over your body and guide you out of the car and to the passenger seat.

Joel held the door open for you, then leaned over to fasten your seatbelt before quietly slamming the door shut and entering the car from the other side. Once there, he connected his hand with your bare thigh and squeezed it gently.

"I love you, princess. Gimme a kiss."

You nodded, stretching your body toward him and pressing your lips on his.

"Good girl," Joel cooed, cupping your chin before adjusting in the driver's seat. The he gave you a wry grin.

"And if you're always so good, daddy never has to be so rough with you again."

Your lips twisted in a smile, your eyes glancing at his profile while he started the car.

If only he knew that this really wasn't in your interest.

[kjiscrawlingbackformore]

Peace - Act I : Chapter ten

Lottie Matthews x fem!reader

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Reader comes back to her hometown and transfers to Wiskayok High School after getting expelled from her previous high school. Follows Junior year into Senior year, all the way up to the crash. (Eventual NSFW mdni)

Warnings: None

A/N: The goal was to kinda bring some subtle signs of Lotti's symptoms. But also 🥺😭 gosh my sweet angel lottie

Ever since Lottie told you the truth, you two have been inseparable. Enough for Jackie to joke a little too much about being replaced for it to be a joke, and the Yellowjackets to tease about Lottie being your shadow.

With Lottie being home alone most nights, and your aunt being well, your aunt. Sleepovers at hers have become almost an every-night occurrence. Especially the nights you don't feel like third wheeling Jackie and Shauna. (To Jackie's dismay, of course.)

She had your toothbrush and clothes in her second drawer on the left now. It was like you both fit like a puzzle. It was nice. Like really nice. Here you were, sitting on Lottie’s floor, the tall brunette sitting across from you. Both of you are in your pajamas, reading through flashcards.

“Okay—le mot pour ‘mirror’?” You quiz Lottie, flipping the flash card.

Lottie frowns, her eyes bouncing from you to behind you. “Uh... miroir.” She says distracted.

You beam at her, “Yes! See, you’re nailing this.”

Lottie frowns, rubbing her temple. “I’m not. It’s like my brain’s filled with static.” She mumbles in frustration.

You place the flashcards beside you. Your eyes now focused on the sudden turn of energy coming from Lottie. “We can take a break if you want.” You suggest softly, your hand reaching for hers in reassurance.

“No—I just need to focus.” Lottie snaps, not letting your hand fully reach her.

You swallow the hurt that spiked in your chest and pull back a bit, nodding. You grabbed the stack of flashcards beside you to go back to work. A few minutes pass. You notice Lottie blinking rapidly, staring just over her shoulder.

You purse lips. Should you ask what she was looking at? You met her line of sight to see nothing. Your eyes took in the soft red on her cheeks and the long eyelashes as you studied her face. God, she is so beautiful. Your heart races in something you couldn't quite understand.

“Hey. What are you looking at?” You ask gently.

Lottie blinks, like your voice was far away, eyes still fixed. “Nothing. Sorry. Thought I saw something.”

You pause, waiting for her to elaborate. And when she doesn't, you ask, “Like...?”

Lottie offers a small, shy smile, “It’s stupid. It happens sometimes when I’m tired.”

She starts writing in her notebook again in a sign that the conversation was over, but her hands are shaking slightly. Her gaze flicks toward the corner of the room again. Your eyes watch her closely now. Finding it hard not to ignore her, with the shift in the air.

Your heart clenches as you see her hands stutter in their writing. You sigh, before asking softly again, unconvinced. “You sure you’re okay?”

You feel yourself jump at the sound of Lottie slamming her pencil down and shutting her notebook closed. “I can’t think. The words keep moving. I’m trying to remember if I took my meds this morning, and now I can’t remember what time it was, and—God, I hate this.” She rushes out in frustration, her eyes becoming glassy.

You nod, “Hey. It’s okay. We don’t have to do this right now.” You assure her calmly.

Lottie shakes her head, “You don’t get it. If I fall behind, it’s over. Teachers expect me to be the smart one. The perfect one. If I mess up, they’ll look closer.” She says her voice is tight, and her fingers fidget on her lap.

“At what?” You ask softly.

Lottie doesn’t answer. She looks like she is trying to find the words. After a minute, she sighs in a defeated way.

“At me,” she says lower than a whisper.

She presses her palms to her eyes. When she speaks again, her voice is barely audible. “There’s a voice. It’s not saying anything clearly. Just... whispering. Like radio static in the back of my skull. It’s been doing that since last night.”

You don’t say anything. You watch as the room fills with silence. Your heart was in your stomach at everything she said. To live like that sounded frustrating. You frown, scooting closer to her and reaching over to cover Lottie’s hand with your own. Her eyes snap to your connected hands.

“Then let’s turn it off for today. Let’s go for a walk. Or sit outside. You’re allowed to pause.” You suggest, hoping it would be helpful.

Lottie finally meets your eyes, and they are filled with water, and…fear. Your breath hitches with the intensity that met you in her gaze.

“I don’t want you to be scared of me.” She confesses in a whisper.

“I’m not. I’m here.” You assure her without missing a beat. “I’m here.”

You watch her face as the frown on her lips lingers. Slowly you nod and scoot even closer, your arm now pressed against hers, hands still connected. Lottie sighs, and waits a minutes before dropping her head onto your shoulder.

Her hand pulls yours into her lap, interlocking your fingers. She doesn’t say anything but her eyes are locked onto your hands.

“Thanks.” She mumbles.

And you swallow hard, because her touch and closeness is making something expand in your chest. You lay your head onto of hers, and hum softly in response.

How did this girl from French class become so important to you now? And why did you want to protect her and comfort her and care for her so deeply? You didn’t want to think about it so you just held her.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hi Pookie

I wanted to request A Max daughter one like Max and Kelly had the baby and the reader is like 16-17 (she can drive) and she gets into a really really bad car accident (like so bad she was in a coma or something) and the hospital calls both but they don't answer since they're busy with the baby. they have been neglecting her. Until they called another driver and they went to her and like they lecture Max and Kelly.

Unanswered Calls

Part 2: Answered Calls

Yn gripped the steering wheel with shaky hands, her breathing uneven as she blinked back the sting of exhaustion. The streetlights blurred as rain splattered against the windshield, the rhythmic thudding of wipers doing little to clear her vision.

She was used to being on her own.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t asked. Earlier that afternoon, she had stood at the kitchen counter, bag in hand, waiting.

“Mom, Dad, I have ballet at six,” she had said, shifting her weight awkwardly as Kelly rocked the baby in her arms and Max tried to calm Penelope, who was throwing a fit about something.

Neither of them had even turned toward her.

“I can’t right now, sweetie,” Kelly had murmured distractedly, adjusting the baby’s tiny blanket.

“Ask your mom, I—Penelope, please, stop screaming,” Max had muttered, rubbing his temple as he tried to negotiate with his six-year-old daughter.

Yn had nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She didn’t ask again. She was used to this—being the afterthought, the independent one, the one who didn’t need attention because she never demanded it. So she had grabbed her car keys, not trusting herself to be upset.

Now, barely an hour later, everything was going wrong.

Her tires hit a patch of water, hydroplaning before she could react. The world spun. A blaring horn. The sharp, crunching sound of metal on metal. A shock of pain. Then, blackness.

Daniel was halfway through dinner when his phone buzzed. He almost ignored it, expecting it to be some stupid spam call, but something made him glance down.

Unknown Number.

Frowning, he wiped his hands on a napkin before answering. “Hello?”

“Is this Daniel?” A woman's voice, professional but urgent. “Daniel Ric—”

“Yes, yes, who is this?” He sat up straight, suddenly alert.

“This is St. James Hospital. Your goddaughter, Yn Verstappen, was in a severe car accident. You were listed as an emergency contact. We’ve been trying to reach her parents, but—”

Daniel was already on his feet, chair scraping against the floor. “Where is she? What happened?”

“She sustained significant injuries, including lung trauma. We had to place a chest tube to assist her breathing. The doctors have decided to keep her in a medically induced sleep for a few days to help her body recover.”

His stomach twisted. “And Max and Kelly? Her parents?”

“We’ve called multiple times. No answer.”

Daniel clenched his jaw. “I’ll be there in ten.”

The hospital smelled of antiseptic and something too clean to be comforting. Daniel rushed through the corridors, his pulse hammering in his throat as he found Yn’s room.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight.

She lay there, pale against the hospital sheets, her face bruised, her arm wrapped in gauze. Tubes ran from her chest, connected to a machine that beeped steadily.

A nurse—young, with kind eyes—stood by the bedside, adjusting the IV. She looked up as he entered. “Are you Daniel?”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

“I’m Nurse Emily. She’s stable for now.”

He approached the bed slowly, his heart aching. “Jesus, kid…” He ran a shaky hand through his hair before sitting beside her.

For a moment, he just stared at her. Yn, who had always been so full of life, so determined to carve her own space in a world that never seemed to make room for her. Now she lay still, fragile in a way he had never seen before.

He reached out, brushing her hair from her forehead. “I’m here, Yn,” he whispered.

Emily hesitated before speaking. “You’re the first person who answered.”

Daniel frowned. “What do you mean?”

She sighed. “We called her parents over and over. No answer. No call back.”

Daniel’s hands curled into fists. “They didn’t even pick up?”

Emily shook her head. “Not once.”

Daniel let out a slow, furious breath. Then he pulled out his phone and called Max.

Voicemail.

He tried Kelly.

Voicemail.

Grinding his teeth, he left a message. “Max. Kelly. Your daughter is in the hospital. She was in a bad car accident. Call me back. Now.”

An hour passed. Nothing.

Two hours.

Three.

Four.

Yn remained unconscious, her chest rising and falling with the help of the machines. Daniel stayed at her side, his anger growing hotter with every minute.

When Max and Kelly finally walked through the door, he was ready.

Kelly looked tired. Max looked confused.

“Daniel, what’s going on?” Max asked, frowning.

Daniel stood up slowly. “What’s going on?” His voice was too calm. “You tell me, Max. Kelly. Where the hell have you been?”

Kelly blinked. “At home, we—”

“At home?” Daniel let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Your daughter has been lying in this hospital bed for hours, and you were at home?”

Max’s expression darkened. “We didn’t get any calls.”

“Bullshit.” Daniel pulled out his phone and waved it. “I called you. The hospital called you. They tried for hours. But I guess you were too busy to notice your own daughter almost died.”

Kelly paled. “Died?” Her voice wavered as she looked at Yn. “Oh my God.”

Max took a step forward, but Daniel blocked him. “Don’t.” His voice was steel. “You don’t get to come in here now and pretend you care.”

Max’s jaw clenched. “Of course we care.”

Daniel scoffed. “Do you? Because she drove herself to ballet since neither of you could be bothered. She’s seventeen, Max. A kid. But she didn’t even ask twice because she already knew the answer.”

Kelly looked away, shame creeping into her features.

Daniel continued, voice shaking with anger. “She was alone when the accident happened. Alone when they brought her here. And when the doctors needed her parents, where were you?”

Silence.

Daniel exhaled sharply. “She’s used to this, you know?” His voice was quiet now, but no less furious. “She’s used to being second to Penelope, to the baby, to everything else in your lives. She doesn’t complain. She doesn’t make a fuss. She just… deals with it.” He swallowed hard. “But this? This she couldn’t deal with alone.”

Max ran a hand down his face, guilt creeping in. “I—”

“I don’t want excuses,” Daniel snapped. “I want you to do better.”

Kelly’s eyes filled with tears. “Can we see her?”

Daniel stepped aside. “She’s been waiting long enough.”

Max walked to the bed, his hands trembling as he reached for Yn’s fingers. “Oh, sweetheart…” His voice broke.

Kelly sat on the other side, her hand covering her mouth as silent tears slipped down her face.

Daniel crossed his arms, watching.

They could cry all they wanted. But the real question was—would they change?

And for Yn’s sake, they damn well better.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you. No Part 2 requests, please.

-🩷🎀

[pitlanepeach]

The Long Way Home I Chapter Nine

Oscar Piastri x Harper Grace (OFC)

Summary — When Harper, a kind girl with a guarded heart, meets rising karting star Oscar Piastri at their English boarding school, sparks fly.

It only takes one silly moment of teenaged love for their lives to change forever.

Warnings — Teenage love, growing up together, falling in love, teen pregnancy, no explicit scenes when the characters are underaged (obviously??), strong language, manipulative parents, past death of a parent, dyscalculia, hardly any angst, slice-of-life basically!

Notes — Guys…. I was watching young!Oscar edits before writing this chapter and it’s made me so emotional omg.

Wattpad Link | Series Masterlist

It was colder than it looked.

The wind off the track cut straight through Harper's jumper, even with Mark's spare team jacket draped over her shoulders. It smelled faintly like petrol and stale coffee, but it was warm, and she wasn't about to complain.

Oscar was somewhere past the pit lane, already strapped into the car. The livery was nice — mostly black, matte, with just a splash of deep blue on the sides. The team was new, too. Small. Scrappy. Privately funded and all nerves and duct tape. But Oscar looked right in the car.

He looked like he belonged there.

Harper shifted on the folding chair outside the tent, hands tucked under her thighs to keep them warm. Five and a half months pregnant meant back pain and always being hungry — and maternity tights that itched like hell.

A few mechanics from other teams kept sneaking glances her way.

She couldn't hear them whispering, but she could imagine what they were saying.

"That the girlfriend?"

"Yeah. Christ, they're only fifteen."

"Looks like she's gonna pop any minute..."

Mark handed her a paper cup of tea and sat down beside her without a word. He didn't look at the men. Didn't say anything about the whispers either. He just passed her a packet of Jaffa Cakes and kicked his feet up on the crate beside them like they were sitting at a beach instead of a professional racetrack.

"You alright, kid?" He asked eventually, his voice low and gruff in that Aussie way that sounded more like gravel than concern.

She nodded. "Just a bit tired. And uncomfortable."

He let out a soft grunt of sympathy. "Yeah. I bet."

Harper blinked. "You really never wanted kids?"

"Nah. Not yet. Still got time."

Harper sipped her tea. "Is it mad I'm more nervous than Oscar about today?"

Mark shook his head. "Not mad. Just means you give a shit. Which is nice."

From the garage, the radio crackled to life. Oscar's voice, tinny but steady. "Copy. Track feels good. Brake balance is stable."

Harper let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

One of the press photographers drifted too close, camera already raised. Mark turned his head just slightly, and that was enough. A look — one part ex-racer, one part protector — and the guy scuttled off like he'd nearly stepped on a landmine.

"Thanks," Harper murmured.

"You're with me," Mark said simply, like that explained everything. "They don't get to treat you like a bloody spectacle."

Across the paddock, Oscar's car wheeled into view, engine snarling, tyres twitching with that jumpy, pre-race tension. The pit crew moved in a flurry. Helmet on. Visor down. And then he was gone — off into the formation lap with that twitchy, fast grace he always had when he wasn't thinking too hard.

Harper watched the car disappear around the corner. Her hands curled around her bump.

"I hate this part," she whispered.

"The waiting?" Mark asked.

"The knowing he might crash," she admitted.

Mark nodded like he knew that fear well. "He's good," he said. "Bloody talented. But more than that, he's got the head for it. That's rare."

Harper blinked down at her belly. "Yeah," she said. "He'll be a good dad too."

Mark looked at her — not with pity, not with surprise — but with something older. Like respect.

"I think you're braver than he is," he said after a pause.

"Doubt it," she said quickly.

"Don't," he said. "You're a bloody teenager. But you're here. And you're not hiding."

She didn't answer, but she didn't look away either.

Then a shout went up from the track. The lights went out. The race had begun.

Harper's breath caught.

Oscar's car — P6 on the grid — slotted into the pack like it belonged there. And it wasn't even two laps before he was chasing the front runners, tyres biting, throttle feathered like a pro.

Mark leaned back, arms crossed.

"Told you," he said.

And Harper, despite the murmurs, despite the cold, despite the weight of everything pressing down on her chest — smiled.

Because yeah.

Oscar was flying.

—

The paddock was still buzzing — cars being wheeled off, radios crackling, tyres cooling, mechanics shouting over each other with the wild relief of a clean finish. Somewhere in the distance, someone was setting off an airhorn. Mark was yelling into a phone about tyres.

Oscar ducked under the awning, helmet tucked under his arm, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. His race suit was half-unzipped, tied around his waist, black fireproof undershirt soaked through at the collar.

Harper was already there, perched on a crate by the spare front wing. Her hands were clenched in her lap, face flushed. When she saw him, she stood too fast, steadied herself, and exhaled.

"You finished fifth," she said breathlessly. "Fifth, Osc. Your single seater debut and you finished fifth!"

"I know." He was grinning so hard it barely fit on his face. "I overtook on Copse. Did you see it?"

"Did I—" She gave a strangled laugh. "Yes, I saw it! You nearly gave me a fucking aneurysm."

Oscar dropped his helmet and practically launched himself at her. His arms went around her, careful but tight, like he couldn't decide whether to hold her or just collapse.

Harper melted into the hug, cheek pressed to his shoulder.

"You smell awful," she muttered.

"Victory sweat," he said into her hair. "Don't disrespect it."

She made a noise halfway between a snort and a sob. Her hands clung to the back of his fireproofs, fingers knotting the fabric.

"People were staring," she said quietly. "It'll be all over the forums, soon. Twitter. Instagram. The fifteen year old F4 driver with a pregnant girlfriend." 

"I know."

"I don't want us to have a negative impact on your career."

Oscar's face softened. He glanced around — there were still people watching. Journalists, team members, other drivers. Some looking curiously. Some not bothering to hide their judgment.

He ducked his head, touched his forehead gently to hers. "Let them stare," he murmured. "They don't know you. They don't know us. They don't get to decide anything."

She blinked fast. "I cried during the final lap."

"Mark probably cried too. He's emotionally repressed — that man leaks feelings through his jaw tension."

Harper giggled in spite of herself. "I'm really proud of you, Osc."

Oscar smiled — not the flashy, race-day grin, but the soft, private one he only really gave to her. "Thanks for being here," he said.

"Thanks for not crashing." She whispered.

Oscar looked at her belly. Rested a hand there, carefully, then glanced around awkwardly to make sure nobody was around.

"She kicked right after you overtook that kid in the green car," Harper said softly.

His head turned back to her and his eyes widened. "Wait, really?"

"Swear to God. She's already got road rage."

Oscar laughed.

Then Mark shouted across the garage, "Oi, golden boy — debrief in ten, and put on a bloody shirt before someone files a harassment complaint!"

Oscar winced. "Sorry." He muttered.

Harper shook her head. "Go on. Go be told how amazing and fast and talented you are."

"You staying?"

"Obviously." She said. "I'm going to get a 99 from the ice cream van. Then I'll come back here and wait for you."

Oscar kissed her cheek and jogged off, still bouncing on adrenaline, slipping slightly on a rogue bit of tyre rubber.

Harper sat back down on the crate. Someone was still staring. She stared right back.

Because yeah — she was pregnant. And fifteen.

But her boyfriend had just placed fifth in his first-ever F4 race.

And that was worth staring at.

—

The TV was on but muted — something about rugby. Oscar was lying on his stomach on the hotel bed in a pile of pillows, scrolling through his phone. Harper sat against the headboard in one of his hoodies, her knees pulled up to her chest, laptop open, trying not to cry over a piece of geometry homework.

She wasn't looking at her maths anymore.

She was looking at Twitter.

And Twitter was, as always, a shitshow.

Great drive but this kid's clearly distracted. Pregnant girlfriend in the paddock at 15? Insane.

Piastri could be a serious talent. Shame he's going to have a kid to think about soon.

Imagine choosing fatherhood over your chance to get into Formula 1. Bet he'll be gone in two years.

She swallowed. Her stomach felt hollow.

Oscar hadn't noticed yet. He was watching some replay clips. Laughing occasionally.

She didn't want to ruin it. But her hand was gripping her laptop so hard her knuckles had gone white.

"...Harp?"

She didn't answer. Just tilted the screen so he could see.

His expression changed in slow motion. First confused, then wary, then flat.

He sat up. Took the laptop. Scrolled. Frowned. Clicked on a few replies.

"...Wow," he said finally. "Bit harsh."

Harper laughed — but it was brittle, bitter. "They think you've ruined your life."

"They're all middle-ages arseholes."

"They think I've ruined your life." She said again.

Oscar shut the laptop.

"Alright. First of all," he said, voice tight but trying for calm, "no more Twitter for you. Second, you have not, and will not, ruin anything."

As if summoned, Mark knocked on the adjoining door, then walked in without waiting for a response. He had a protein bar in one hand and a face like thunder.

"Piastri," he said, tossing his phone on the bed. "You seen this?"

"Yeah," Oscar said. "We were just looking."

Mark ran a hand through his hair. "Some knobhead ex-club driver started a whole thread about you being 'a warning to others'. Like you're a fucking cautionary tale."

Harper blinked. "Jesus."

"I know," Mark snapped. "I did ten years in F1. You want scandal? That sport invented it. Teen pregnancy is far from the craziest thing this sport has seen."

Oscar shrugged. "They'll forget in a week."

"They won't," Mark said bluntly. "They'll keep watching. Keep waiting for you to mess it up. But you're not going to."

Harper stayed quiet. Her throat felt tight.

Mark glanced at her, then back at Oscar.

"You know what they hate more than a scandal?" he said. "A happy ending."

Oscar looked confused. Harper blinked.

"They want the downfall," Mark said. "They want tears, breakups, chaos. Give them stability? A kid who knows what matters and still wins races?" He smiled grimly. "Boring as hell. That's when they'll move on."

Oscar leaned back against Harper. "Should be easy enough."

"Damn right," Mark muttered. "Now. Shut the laptop. Eat something. And get some sleep. We've got a long drive back to Haileybury in the morning."

Harper smiled weakly. Oscar reached over and twined their fingers together.

—

The media room was too warm. That annoying kind of hotel conference room warmth — recirculated air and instant coffee and the stink of fresh lanyards. Oscar sat in a folding chair between two cheap potted plants, fingers locked under his thigh to stop himself fidgeting.

The interviewer's name was Cal. Maybe Calum. He had a half-rolled sleeve and expensive trainers and a voice that sounded like it practiced banter in a mirror.

Oscar already hated him.

"So!" Cal beamed. "Oscar Piastri. Big weekend. Huge season ahead for you. People are saying you're the next big thing in motorsport."

Oscar blinked. "Okay."

Cal laughed. "Modest, huh? That an Aussie thing? You're a bit of an enigma to people. Quiet on socials. Not much media before now. First proper post-karts season. And now—" He leaned forward. "You've got a baby on the way?"

Oscar's jaw twitched. "Yep."

"That's... big, man. Most lads your age are just getting their first girlfriends, and you're going to be a dad. How does that feel?"

Oscar stared at him for a beat too long.

"I dunno," he said finally. "Feels like what it is. A big deal. Exciting."

"Right. And is that affecting how you train? I mean, balancing a championship with—"

"No."

Cal's eyebrows lifted.

"Right, right," he said. "But I mean — come on, be honest. There's gotta be some pressure. You've got the fans, the sponsors, and now you're about to start your own family. That's not a normal situation for a fifteen-year-old. Does it ever feel like... too much?"

Oscar shrugged. "I don't really think about it like that."

"Do you feel like people judge you for it?"

Oscar gave a small, unpleasant smile. "They judge me for everything. Winning. Not winning. What I wear. How I speak."

There was a brief silence. Cal glanced down at his notes, then back up again, brightening.

"And Harper — your girlfriend — is she here with you today?"

Oscar blinked once. "No. She's got an exam today."

"Ah. Fair enough. Does she follow your racing, though? Come to most of your events?"

"Yeah," Oscar said shortly. "When she can. She enjoys it."

"Was she with you after your debut this weekend?"

Oscar's voice was flat now. "Don't think that's your business, mate."

Cal laughed again — nervous this time. "Fair, fair. Just trying to paint the picture, y'know? Let fans in. They love a story. You two are young, expecting a baby — kind of a motorsport fairytale."

Oscar shifted in his seat. "It's not a fairytale."

"Okay. What is it, then?"

Oscar looked him dead in the eye. "It's just our life," he said.

Cal nodded. "Right. Okay, moving on—"

Mark was waiting outside the interview room with his arms crossed and his jaw clenched.

Oscar walked straight past him. "Didn't say anything stupid," he muttered.

Mark raised a brow. "No, but you scared the life out of that guy. He looked like he was about to piss himself."

Oscar shrugged. "He was trying to get a headline out of me. Didn't want to let that happen."

Mark gave a short, approving nod. "Good lad."

⸻

It went live that night.

Harper sat cross-legged on Jane's bed, flicking through it with a familiar sinking feeling in her chest.

Prodigy Piastri — How The Karting Star Made It To F4 at Fifteen

He might be young, but he's not here for the headlines. In an exclusive with Race Circuit Magazine, the 15-year-old rising star gave his first ever interview since being promoted — and made it clear that while his driving's for the public, his private life stays off-track.

"It's not a fairytale," Piastri said when asked about his highly publicised relationship with girlfriend Harper Whiatt and their pregnancy. "It's just our life."

Harper exhaled. Somewhere between proud and rattled and hungry (always hungry).

Jane peeked over her shoulder. "He's a bit scary, isn't he? In interviews."

"Yeah," Harper said softly. "He just — he doesn't like the drama of it all. He just wants to drive fast and win races."

Jane snorted. "Well. He's definitely not a media darling."

"No," Harper murmured. "He's not. But he's mine."

—

The email came through just after prep. She hadn't even opened it straight away — just stared at the subject line, stomach knotting.

GCSE Maths Mock Results - Personal Performance Review Requested

She knew.

Didn't need to read the rest.

Now she was sitting at the end of Oscar's bed with her knees pulled up and her hands under her thighs like she was holding herself together. Her phone lay face-down on the blanket beside her. The others were filtering in slowly, already clocking the atmosphere.

"Harper?" Oscar asked, closing the door behind him, gently.

She didn't look up.

"Failed it," she said, voice flat. "The maths mock."

Sam paused halfway through opening a bag of Frazzles. Jane, already cross-legged on the rug, stopped fiddling with her pens. Matt and Alfie came to a sort of unspoken halt in the doorway like they'd stepped into bad weather.

Oscar moved to sit beside her, quiet. "By how much?"

"Twenty-three percent." She gave a hollow laugh. "Didn't even make it past halfway. Even with the extra time."

No one said anything.

She hated the silence. Hated what she imagined they were all thinking — that it had been obvious, that it was coming, that she wasn't cut out for this. For school. For exams. For any of it.

"I'm just —" She rubbed her eyes hard. "I'm trying. I'm really fucking trying."

Oscar didn't say anything. He just leaned in and rested his forehead against her shoulder.

"We know you are," he said quietly.

Jane dragged her bag over and pulled out a Tesco meal deal she'd been saving. Wordlessly handed Harper the chocolate bar.

"I don't want pity snacks," Harper muttered.

"Tough. It's not pity. It's a twirl."

Sam flopped onto his bed with a dramatic groan. "Do you seriously think any of us are going to actually pass that exam? I sat next to a guy who drew a dick on his calculator and still scored higher than me."

Alfie shrugged. "I once wrote the word 'MATHS' in block capitals and then panicked and cried into the desk for fifteen minutes. Still got a D."

Matt snorted. "I actually studied and still failed. So clearly, revision's a scam."

Harper huffed a little through her nose. "You're all idiots."

"Exactly," Jane said. "And we still believe in you more than we believe in ourselves, so."

Oscar nudged her leg. "We'll keep revising. There's still two months until the real thing."

She knew. Couldn't forget it, could she? Not when her due-date was two weeks after the last scheduled exam.

"I know," she said quietly.

For a moment, they just sat like that. Six teenagers in one too-small room, surrounded by piles of clothes and textbooks and that weird leftover smell of the chicken super noodles that Sam had brought back from the common room.

It was stuffy and crowded and stupidly warm from the broken radiator that now refused to ever stop emitting heat, but no one moved.

No one told her it was all going to be okay. No one made big promises. No one tried to fix it.

They just sat with her. Like a net beneath a tightrope.

Harper curled slightly into Oscar's side. Let herself breathe.

"Just a shit day," she murmured.

"Yeah," Sam said, mouth full of Frazzles. "We have those a lot. That's why we have each other."

—

Harper sat on the crinkly white paper lining the little bed, legs swinging nervously. The room was too bright. Oscar sat beside her in one of the plastic chairs, biting at the skin on his thumb.

"You alright?" She asked, glancing at him.

"I'm not the one about to get poked and prodded," he muttered.

She frowned at him. "Osc. You look more nervous than me."

"Not nervous. Just—" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Wish I could do something useful."

She snorted. "You brought me a Lucozade and remembered the stupid NHS letter."

Before he could reply, the door opened and the midwife breezed in — smiling, clipboard in hand, no-nonsense blonde bob.

"Hi, Harper. Hi, Oscar. Lovely to see you both again."

Oscar nodded awkwardly. Harper gave a small smile. "Hi, Rebecca."

"Alright then," Rebecca said, snapping on gloves. "We're just doing a very basic check-up today — nothing too scary. You're about twenty-three weeks, yeah?"

"Twenty-three and a half," Harper said, proud of how quickly it came out. "We had the anomaly scan — everything was good."

"Brilliant." Rebecca beamed. "Are you two finding out the sex, or keeping it a surprise?"

Oscar immediately busied himself with the bottle of hand sanitiser. Harper smirked. "We found out. It's a girl. Oscar told everyone."

Rebecca raised her eyebrows. "Ooh, exciting. Have you picked a name yet?"

"We're in committee with our friends," Harper said dryly. "It's not going well."

Oscar snorted. "Someone suggested 'Peach'."

Harper elbowed him.

"Alright," Rebecca laughed. "Well, let's have a little listen to baby's heartbeat today, yeah? Lie back for me."

Harper lay down carefully, tugging up her top and folding it beneath her chest. Her belly button had started to flatten out, which she hated. Oscar leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes trained on her stomach.

Rebecca warmed the Doppler gel in her hands, then pressed the wand to Harper's skin.

Static. Then a swoosh. Then— there. A rapid, rhythmic gallop.

"I like this part," Oscar said. Quietly. "Hearing her."

Harper smiled without looking at him. "Me too."

Rebecca nodded. "Strong as anything. Around 145 bpm — that's a very happy, very wiggly baby."

Oscar was still smiling. "She's always moving."

"That's a very good sign," Rebecca said, wiping off the gel. "You two are doing just fine."

Harper tugged her shirt back down over the little swell of her belly, the cool jelly from the Doppler still tacky on her skin. She wiped her hand on a tissue and glanced at Oscar, who was perched rigidly on the chair next to the midwife's desk, like he was afraid to breathe wrong in case he broke something.

"She has a personality already," Harper said, half-laughing, half-incredulous.

Rebecca, the midwife, raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh yeah?"

Harper nodded, smoothing her hand down her stomach like she was trying to pat the baby through layers of uniform and nerves. "She's quiet in the mornings. Proper grumpy. But always awake at night. Fidgety. She kicks the second I lie down. And she loves watching Oscar race," Harper added, casting him a look. "Goes absolutely bonkers every time the engines start."

Oscar smiled faintly. "My girl."

"And she was obsessed with blackcurrant squash for two straight weeks," Harper continued. "But now she turns her nose up at it. Hates orange squash. Like... violently. I had some last week and she full-on elbowed my kidney."

Rebecca chuckled, tapping notes into the screen. "Sounds like she's already a bit of a drama queen."

Oscar grinned. "She's also a big fan of chocolate-flavoured anything — mousse, milkshake, pudding — but actual chocolate gives Harper brutal heartburn. So that's fun."

"I had a KitKat and had to lie down for an hour," Harper muttered. "It's really annoying, honestly."

Rebecca smiled warmly, clearly used to this particular kind of hormonal chaos. "She's certainly making herself known."

She clicked through a few tabs on the computer, then stood and crossed to the counter. "Alright, let's do a quick blood draw, Harper. Just to check your vitamin levels and keep an eye on blood pressure and iron. And we'll check your markers for pre-eclampsia."

Oscar immediately went still, eyes flicking up from Harper's belly to Rebecca.

"Wait — what's that?" he asked, voice a little too loud. "That sounds scary."

Harper gave him a look like please chill, but he ignored it, leaning forward in his chair.

Rebecca turned back with a gentle calm only midwives seemed to have. "It's a condition where blood pressure can spike during pregnancy. It can be serious, yes, but that's why we monitor for it so closely. Headaches, blurred vision, swelling — if anything feels off, you just tell us, okay?"

Harper nodded, but Oscar still looked vaguely stricken.

"She's fine," Harper said under her breath, nudging him. "We're just checking. It's just a check-up. That's what they do. Check things."

Oscar cleared his throat and nodded quickly, slumping back into the chair like someone had punched all the air out of his lungs. "Yeah. Right. Sorry."

Rebecca offered a reassuring smile. "You're being a really good, supportive partner, Oscar. It's good that you ask. And it's normal to worry."

That shut him up completely. His ears went red.

Harper tried not to giggle as Rebecca swabbed her arm and slid the needle in. Oscar looked like he wanted to throw himself between her and the needle but was too polite to actually move.

"It's just blood," Harper said.

"It's still your blood," Oscar muttered. "Which is, like... my second-favourite part of you."

She blinked. "What's your first-favourite part of me?"

He hesitated. Then, after a beat, said, "All the parts that grows small humans."

Rebecca laughed.

—

The engines were thunder.

Harper stood just behind the pit wall, oversized headset clamped over her ears, Mark Webber on one side of her and a row of engineers yelling data into radios on the other. The wind off the circuit was brutal — whipping her hair into her eyes, tugging at her coat. But she barely felt it.

Her heart was somewhere in her throat.

It was the final lap. Final corner. And Oscar was in second position.

She could see the shape of him — black-and-white race suit, helmet tucked low, the car twitching under pressure as he took the inside line — sharp, aggressive, clean.

And then he passed him.

"Oh my God," she sucked in a breath, gripping Mark's arm without thinking.

The car in front — the RedSpeed junior — went wide. Oscar ducked under, tyres screeching, engine screaming as he pulled into the lead like it belonged to him.

And then it was the straight.

The chequered flag waved and entire pit lane exploded — Mark swearing gleefully, the engineers howling into radios, one of the mechanics pounding his hands together.

Oscar had won.

He'd actually bloody won.

Harper was grinning like an idiot before she could even process it. Adrenaline and pride and disbelief hit her in a wave so huge she had to step back from the wall, laughing in that dazed, stunned way people only do when something brilliant happens and they have no idea how to react to it.

Mark turned to her, his voice muffled through both their headsets. "He just fucking did that."

"I know!" she shouted back, heart pounding.

"Christ, he's a machine. That move at the hairpin—" He clapped her shoulder like they were both drunk on the win. "Your bloke's got ice in his veins."

The camera crews were already swarming toward the parc fermé, where Oscar was climbing out of the car, helmet off, curls plastered to his forehead, blinking like he'd just woken up from a long nap. He barely cracked a smile — just nodded once to the engineers, quiet, controlled. He always did this. Too stunned to celebrate properly. It was just how he was.

But when he saw her, standing behind the barrier, he smiled.

Not a grin. Not the shy little twitch of his mouth he gave to the cameras.

A real one. Like everything in him relaxed for just a second.

And then Harper did the very uncool thing of waving. Mark snorted beside her.

Oscar didn't wave back — too many people, too many eyes — but he dipped his head a fraction. Just enough.

She understood what it meant.

He'd won. And she'd been there to see it.

Someone near the press pen muttered, loud in ppl enough for her to hear. "Isn't that the girl? The pregnant one?"

Another voice. "Can you believe it? Fifteen."

But then the cameras and the attention turned again, as Oscar climbed up onto the podium, head down, hands behind his back, cheeks flushed with cold and quiet pride.

He didn't look at the cameras. Didn't wave. Didn't even really smile.

But when the national anthem started — just before the champagne — he looked across the track, through the fence, right at her.

And she'd never forget that smile.

NEXT CHAPTER

[ofstarsandvibranium]

I Spy With My Little Eye

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x F!Reader

Summary: Joaquin got you a little present for when he's away on missions for a longer time.

A/N: This is based off a tiktok I saw about a husband bothering his wife with the Ebo Bot while he's deployed

"...Joaquin, what is this exactly?" you look at the device inside the box.

Your boyfriend looks at you excitedly, "It's a little robot that I can use to communicate with you while I'm away on missions."

You pull it out along with instructions, "Honey, this is sweet and all, but our phones work just fine."

"But our phones don't roll around looking all cute like!" You watch as he downloads the required app and sets up the bot. Soon enough, the round, white and black bot is rolling around your living room floor. Joaquin controls it from his phone.

"See!" He then taps his phone again, "And I can talk to you through it like this!"

Honestly, you still didn't see the purpose of the bot, but it made Joaquin happy and it provides another form of communication with him while he's away.

"It does look pretty cute," you say, giving him a soft smile, which makes his own smile grow wider.

__________________

You're in the kitchen cooking dinner for yourself when you hear the rolling of wheels, "What's cookin', good lookin'?"

You chuckle and look down at your feet. The ebo bot is angled up at you as your boyfriend speaks through it, "Making soup?" Joaquin asks as he notes the pot in front of you.

"Close. I'm cooking stew."

"All of that for you?"

You roll your eyes, "No. I'll eat what I can and then I'll freeze the rest to eat for another time. Or if you want to eat it when you come back, all you have to do is heat it back up."

"Oooohh smart."

"Everything going okay?" you ask as you go back to cooking.

"Yup. Probably will be back in a day or two....can you pick me up and put me on the counter?"

You snort, "Really? Why?"

"So I can get a better look at your beautiful face, obviously." You hear the grin in his voice.

You roll your eyes again but you oblige. For the past few missions, Joaquin has used the ebo bot to talk to you, mess around, and be a little nuisance. You could tell he was enjoying it way too much.

"I hope Sam never gives you your own Red Wing. I can't imagine the nonsense you'd pull with something more advance," you smirk at the bot that rolls around the counter beside you.

"I've already asked and he refuses to give me one."

You laugh, "As he should! You're a menace with this little thing," you gesture to the bot with the wooden spoon in your hand.

"I'm just making sure you're not lonely when I'm away!"

"Baby, I love you, but we both know you're the clingier one between us."

You laugh as the bot turns around and rolls towards a corner, appearing as if Joaquin is pouting.

"Take it back."

"No, because it's true! And I didn't say it was a bad thing, Joaco!"

"No, no, no. It's fine. Screw me for being super duper in love with my beautiful and amazing girlfriend." he proceeds to roll towards the edge of the counter and you stop him.

"You're so dramatic," you say with a smirk as you pick up the bot and raise it to eye level.

"But you love me."

"Yes, I do. Very much," you kiss the bot and set it back on the counter, "Were you going to watch me eat dinner?"

"Nah. I'll let you go. I need to work on reports or Sam will get on me again."

You snicker, "Alright," you set the bot onto the floor, "Love you. Bye!"

"Love you! Byyyyyeeeeee!" he elongates the word as rolls all the way back to the dock, causing you to laugh to yourself.

[kxsagi]

Hello! Could I ask something about a foreign reader, maybe European, meeting Michael in Germany, Sae in Madrid and Rin in Japan while on a trip? Speaking in English since they don't know the language and having that immediate connection that neither of them have ever had before. That'd be very cute, and such a dream😫

“𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤”

a/n: love talk by wayv is a FIRE song

made reader both european and american if that’s okay! being american helps explain the english more

translation of each title: “do you speak english?” (german), “more beautiful than the sun” (spanish), “kotoba janakute mo/even without words” (japanese)

ft. kaiser michael, itoshi sae, itoshi rin

kaiser michael – "sprichst du english?" 

berlin's streetlights hum like lullabies, the city bleeding into a haze of jazz from some underground bar. you don’t know where you are. literally. google maps is spinning like a roulette wheel and you're pretty sure the bratwurst vendor gave you a fake street name just to mess with you. 

“you look like a lost little tourist,” a voice purrs, rich with amusement. 

you turn to see a tall, golden-haired man leaning against a lamp post, hands in his coat pockets, smirk curled like a sin. 

“you speak english?” 

his eyes light up. “better than you, probably.” 

he says it like he’s challenging you, like he wants to bicker for the next hour over espresso and late-night currywurst. 

you blink. “oh my gosh, thank goodness. i thought i was gonna get kidnapped.” 

“well,” he chuckles, stepping forward with a lazy saunter, “depends on who finds you first.” 

he offers his hand. “michael. kaiser, actually. but you can call me whatever you want, hübsches mädchen.” 

you laugh, hand in his. “i literally have no idea what you just said.” 

“good. it’s more fun that way.” 

and just like that, he walks with you, not behind or in front, but beside, like he already belongs there. he gets you a kebab, points out ridiculous graffiti, and lets you try to pronounce german street names while biting back laughter. 

you don’t even remember what you were looking for in berlin. now it’s just him. 

itoshi sae – "más guapa que el sol" 

you’re melting. madrid in the summer is no joke. and you, brave but dumb, decided to wear jeans. 

as you take refuge in a quiet little café, fanning yourself with a menu, the chair across from you scrapes against the floor. 

“mind if i sit?” an unfamiliar voice in crisp english asks. 

you look up. red hair. unreadable teal eyes. the aura of someone who absolutely hates small talk but will make an exception for you. 

“… uh, sure?” you blink. “do i know you?” 

he just shrugs and sits down, sipping from his water. “you were staring at the menu like it insulted you. figured i’d save you.” 

you snort. “i can’t read anything. my spanish sucks.” 

he lifts a brow. “american?” 

“and european… you say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

“it is,” he mutters. but the corner of his mouth quirks like he’s fighting a smile. 

he orders for both of you without asking, and you're weirdly okay with it. later, over chilled wine and tortilla, you learn he’s a football player. kind of famous, actually. sae something. 

“so you're like, a celebrity?” 

“only here,” he says, looking out the window. then softer, “not with you though.” 

you don’t know what it means. maybe he doesn’t either. but when he offers to walk you to your hotel, slowly, like he has nowhere else to be, you let him. 

itoshi rin – “言葉じゃなくても” 

you’re crying in the middle of a tokyo train station. not ugly crying, but overwhelmed, jetlagged, google-translate-is-failing-you crying. 

someone taps your shoulder. you spin around, sniffling, trying to look like you didn’t just almost sob into your iced matcha. 

he’s tall. sharp-eyed. slightly terrifying. but his voice is gentle when he asks, “are you okay?” 

“do you… you speak english?” you manage. 

“a little,” he says. “you’re lost?” 

you nod. 

without a word, he gestures for your phone. you hand it over and he starts typing something into your map app. once he finishes, he gives it back and mutters, “i’ll take you.” 

“you don’t have to–” 

“i want to,” he says. blunt. serious. a little red in the ears. 

on the way, you try to make conversation, and he gives these awkward, short replies, like he wants to say more but doesn’t know how. still, he slows his pace to match yours. he buys you a melon soda when he notices you haven’t had water all day. he hovers protectively when the crowd thickens. 

when you reach your destination, you thank him profusely. he just nods, looks like he wants to say something else… and hands you a tiny slip of paper. 

his number. with a scribbled note underneath: “i could work on my english more. can i practice with you?” 

and suddenly, you’re not so lost anymore. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[deunmiu-dessie]

(unedited)¹ retired simon has nowhere to go, so you offer. [ one, two, three]

this was a stupid idea, a dangerous idea; one that could potentially get you hurt— you knew that, but the temperature was below freezing and you couldn't bear the thought of letting him walk to god knows where. you wouldn't allow that, not when you could offer help.

you came to a slow halt beside the man, rolling down the passenger side window and smiling softly, awkwardly. “hi! mind if i ask where you're headed?" he's taller than you assumed, standing at least a foot or two taller than you, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his all-black tee.

the fitted clothing accentuates his large frame, hinting at the strength that lies beneath. a mask covers his face, a skull painted onto the fabric, and a large military duffle bag is slung over his shoulder, weathered and worn.

he stops abruptly and gradually swivels his head to face you. his eyes are a striking shade of brown when they meet your gaze— they look……hollow, devoid of emotion. you smile once more and tilt your head, your palms slick with sweat against the steering wheel. “s’just, the temps gonna drop a bit more later in the night and i thought i’d give you a ride, so you don't freeze to death on your way.”

your attempt at a joke with the man falls short and you clear your throat and drum your thumbs softly, feeling a tad bit embarrassed. you jump when he finally speaks. his voice is like velvet dipped in honey. it's deep, rough, gravelly, and accented. you can't help but be taken aback for a moment, as a delightful warmth spreads through your body at the mere sound of it.

“y’r parents ever taugh’ you not ta talk t’strangers?”

you purse your lips and cluck your teeth, trailing behind him as he resumes his stride. sure, you should have driven off, gone back to your cozy apartment to indulge in a couple of movies, and drink yourself into a stupor but, you simply couldn't bring yourself to do so.

“my name’s _____, what’s yours?” he stops briefly and cranes his neck to the sky for a moment with a hint of irritation, before breathing out a heavy sigh; he seems hesitant, confused— and doubtful. then he turns to face you and your small fiat. “simon," he says softly. smiling you pull to a stop, “well, we’re not strangers anymore, simon.”

simon scoffs in slight amusement but slowly makes his way to you, when he reaches the passenger side window, you can clearly see a hint of distrust lingering in his eyes. it’s clear that he’s not accustomed to kindness from strangers. but you remain undeterred, your grin unwavering, as you lean over to open the door for him.

with a stiff nod of appreciation, he settles into the passenger seat, his worn-out bag settling between his thighs as he sinks into the comfort of the cushioned upholstery.

as you pull away from the curb, the man's eyes wander out the window, lost in thought. "so, where are you headed?" you ask gently, voice laced with genuine curiosity as you try to break the tension, your voice trembling slightly.

however, his response is nothing more than a cold, detached stare out the window. it’s as if he's not really there, as if his mind is lost in some distant place, far away from the reality of this moment. and yet, there's something captivating about his emptiness, something that draws you in despite the warning signs flashing in your mind.

“could be a killer.” simon voices, head slanting towards you; he looks comically large for your small fiat car and you can't help but smile. “are you?” he grunts but doesn't respond. the car speeds through the night, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the rhythmic thumping of your heart. he's like a puzzle waiting to be solved, a mystery begging to be unraveled; and you were curious.

“the nearest shelter,” he finally utters. “thats where i’m headed.” you hum softly and swallow thickly; this was a stupid idea, a dangerous idea; one that could potentially get you hurt, you knew that, but—

“stay with me tonight.”

[skipper1331]

We listen and we don’t judge // Alexia Putellas

a/n: short one

It was all over your foryou page - the 'we listen and we don’t judge' trend. So obviously you had to do it with your girlfriend.

After you had explained the rules to the Barcelona captain, you sat down next to each other at the dining table, your phone recording.

"Hello guys!" you greeted, Alexia greeting in her mother tongue, "today we‘re doing the we listen and don’t judge trend" you explained once again how it works for those who didn‘t know, "and I’m very excited how this turns out" you laughed, grinning at Alexia who held your hand underneath the table.

"Do you want to start, amor?" she asked.

"Yes okay." you thought about it for a moment before you came up with one, "we listen and we don‘t judge"

"Sometimes when you leave the house for training i eat the chocolate bars you get from the physio and when you ask where they are i tell you that you probably ate them already"

Ale chuckled before she answered, "amor, i buy them in the store. I know you like them. Since I’m injury free the physio doesn’t buy them anymore. It was a treat for every step of recovery"

"What? You didn‘t tell me that" you huffed, playfully.

"Yes because you always look so cute with the guilty mischief glint in your eyes when you tell me I ate them"

"Hey!-"

"We listen-" she cut you off, encouraging you to join the end of her sentence "and we don‘t judge" you said in unison.

"Sí, um, sometimes when I look through the newest football footage and you‘re nearby I make sure that you only see the best of me and my skills, so you’re impressed by me." she admitted with a shy smile, tracing patterns of the back of your hand.

leaning over to whisper in her ear, "I’m always impressed by you, don’t worry" before you said, "we listen and we don‘t judge"

"When we‘re going out and I ask if I should drive, I always hope that you say no because I don’t want to drive, I’d rather be the passenger princess with the privileges than the driver."

Alexia looked at you - indeed you often asked if she was sure that she wanted drive and that it wouldn’t be a problem if you sat behind the steering wheel but Alexia always had a feeling. Besides she loved driving you around.

"We listen and we don’t judge"

"When I’m in the supermarket and you ask me to buy something for you and it isn’t on the paper list, I forget about it most of the time. And when you ask where it is and i suddenly remember it, i tell you that the store didn‘t have it" she innocently smiled at you, the judgmental expression on your face obvious.

"Te amo, eh?"

"We listen and we don't judge" you replied.

"When we watch a movie I pretend to fall asleep, so you would carry me to bed"

"You cheeky girl" the midfielder kissed your cheek before her arm went around your shoulder, pulling you a bit closer.

"We listen and we don‘t judge"

"If you try to cook my mother's food, I tell you every time that it tastes delicious, even if sometimes it doesn't taste that good" she said, quickly adding, "because I really appreciate the effort" smiling.

"Yeah, that‘s fair. Your mum is an amazing cook"

With that being said, you continued little game for a bit before you said your good byes to the camera.

"I thought you‘d admit worse things" you said, smiling at the catalan, happy that her statements were harmless. You had seen many horrific statements on the internet which left you shocked and wondering how these people stay in their relationship.

"Why would I, amor? I like being with you and I wouldn’t ever judge you" she said with heart eyes. The girl so in love with you.

And truth to her words, there‘s never been any occasion where she had judged you. She trusted you in everything and besides, mistakes happen too, so why would she judge that? Nobody was perfect, she wasn’t perfect, neither were you. Even though she truly believed that you were the closest thing to perfection.

"Te amo mucho"

[not-neverland06]

𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝙳𝚘𝚐

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: Hosea's meddling has you and Arthur heading into the local town of Valentine. You're on a mission to get some clothes of your own. And Arthur's looking to help some woman named Mary. You don't know who she is, but she must be important for him to leave you all on your own in a strange town for the whole day. One thing is certain, you're not forgiving Mr. Morgan for this anytime soon.

You feel Arthur’s worried stare boring into the side of your head and let out a heavy sigh. “I am perfectly capable of driving a wagon, Mr. Morgan.” You turn towards him with a frown and his face falls flat. Like he hasn’t just been drilling holes into you for the past five minutes. 

“I know, I know.” His brows furrow and he shoots you a worried look. “Still, you don’t have much experience.”

“Oh,” you huff and glare at him, tugging the reins a little to the right on accident. “Would you calm down?”

“Tree,” he says, eyes darting forward. You shake your head and he rips the reins out of your hand, “Tree, woman!” He doesn’t exactly shout at you, but you still feel like you’re being yelled at. Finally turning forward you see what he was saying. 

“Oops,” you whisper, watching him direct the horses back onto the trail and away from the trees. “Well, it’s not my fault these ridiculous things don’t know not to walk into trees,” you argue, motioning at the horses. 

“Hey,” he chuckles, “don’t blame the horses.” 

You see Hosea lean forward from the back of the wagon. He peers between you both with a smile. “Having fun up here?” He asks you, nodding towards an overbearing Arthur. 

You roll your eyes with a faux pout, “Not really. Arthur here can’t seem to wedge that stick out of his ass.” Arthur turns to glare at you and you nudge his calf with your foot playfully, giving him a sly grin. He fights it, but you see the way the corners of his lips twitch up. 

Hosea glances between you both, something mischievous playing on his face. “What’re you up to?” You ask, suspicion brewing as you practically see a plan forming in his head. 

Hosea sends you a smile that does nothing to assuage your reservations. “Nothing, nothing. Arthur,” he chides, turning towards the man, “let her try for a while.”

Arthur sighs through his nose, you see him glance out the side of his eye at you with a perturbed expression. You don’t know why he’s so adamant about not letting you drive. You only crashed the wagon once and that wasn’t your fault. The horses got spooked by a cougar as you were going down the mountain. Still, he hasn’t let go of it. 

You know he’s not used to denying Hosea, but he takes too long to relent. Just as he’s starting to hand the reins over, the wagon bumps into something. The left side of it flies up, sending you sliding down the bench towards Arthur. His hand shoots out, bracing you so you don’t tip out of the wagon. You can’t help but flush at the feeling of his arm around you, caught off guard by the reaction. 

You push that down, deciding to address it later. The left side dips down now and the horses come to a bumpy stop. You let out a rough sigh, turning around and glancing behind the wagon. Arthur drove you all into a large rock, knocking the wheel off the wagon. 

You can’t help but bark a laugh at his expense. “Well, Mr. Morgan, looks like I’m not the only one in need of some driving lessons.”

He takes his hat off, running his hands through his hair and glaring at you. “Enough,” he grouses. He jumps down from the bench, walking off to fetch the wheel. Hosea climbs to the front of the wagon, taking a seat beside you. 

“I suppose once he gets that fixed, I should take over.”

You laugh, grinning at Arthur as he props the wagon up. “I think that would be best.”

His head snaps up and he glares at you both, “Shut up, both of ya.” You can’t help but laugh a little harder at his grumpy tone. 

Mary-Beth helps you set up your few belongings beside the tent alongside the other women’s trunks. You glance over your shoulder, watching Arthur pitch his tent and rifle through his satchel. A part of you is going to miss the solace of having Arthur beside you at night. 

It was comforting, having such a strong man to watch over you while you slept. Especially while you healed. You supposed you were healed now, though, and you didn’t have much more of an excuse to be near him. Not like you did before. 

A part of you is surprised by this sudden attachment to him. You should have seen it coming, though, this sudden onslaught of feelings. It has been so long since you’ve been around any truly decent man. 

Your husband had been good to you at first, but they always are, aren’t they? You hadn’t had some great love story. But you’d been lucky for two people of high status to get along as well as you had. You suppose that success changes every man. For some, they turn into a miser. They want to keep their money as close to their chest as they can. 

Your husband had been the opposite. He’d flaunted his wealth in every way he could. Placed larger bets than was smart. Let people borrow from him and never collected. And then he got into it with some bad men who set him down the wrong path. They made it so he was their cash cow, milking him for what he was worth and turning him against you all the same. They couldn’t risk any words of wisdom getting him to think about what he was doing. 

There was no sharp pain in your chest when you thought about your husband lying dead in the snow somewhere. You didn’t want to lay down and weep. You didn’t even miss the ring on your finger. The one that those O’Driscoll bastards had stolen. If you didn’t remember every bad night with him then you could almost pretend that you’d never been married at all. 

Since he had turned down that path, you hadn’t met a man you thought was worth knowing. Until Arthur. He could say what he wanted about himself, but you’d never had a man treat you as gently as he has. Maybe it’s creating some warped sense of admiration. It could explain the coying urge to want to repay him and be near him at every chance. 

You almost wished you weren’t healed. If only so you could make up an excuse to see him. Now, you’re not sure what you’re going to do. You think he might have only spoken with you because he felt a sense of responsibility towards you. Alive and well, he’s got nothing to say to you. 

“My, I think I see hearts in your eyes.”

Your head snaps up and Mary-Beth grins at you. “Oh,” you catch the teasing glint in her eye and frown. “Hush, you. You’re reading too many of those damn books.”

You help her haul a crate up, pretending to look busy as Miss Grimshaw passes by. “Uh uh,” she argues. “I might fill my head with too many love stories, but I’m no fool. You’ve got it bad.”

Before you can object Tilly walks up. “You talkin’ ‘bout Arthur?”

You frown, brows furrowed as you drop the act of unpacking anything. “How’d you know?”

Mary-Beth and Tilly share a knowing look, both of them giggling slightly. You can’t help but feel like it’s at your expense. “I’ve just never seen a lady so attached to him. Hard to stomach the smell sometimes,” Tilly teases. 

“Hey, he doesn’t smell that bad,” it’s a weak argument and an even worse deflection but it makes them laugh harder. You can’t help but laugh along, cheeks aching with a smile. You’re not too much older than them, having been married to your husband at a young age. You find yourself enjoying the company of women your own age more than you thought you would. 

Someone clears their throat behind you all and you turn around to find a very upset-looking Miss Grimshaw. The three of you straighten up, scrambling for something to fix. It’s not until she shakes her head and walks away that you start cracking up again. Tilly shoots you a look, turning up her nose and mocking the woman. 

You smile, throwing your shoulders back and trying to adopt her haughty walk. It makes Mary-Beth snort so loud that Arthur turns towards you all. He sends you a questioning look and you can’t help but flush, turning around and busying yourself with anything other than him. 

“Knew it,” Mary-Beth whispers behind you as she walks away. You roll your eyes and sigh but you know she’s right. Clearly, you’re feeling something for him. But it feels wrong too. Too fast and too soon for you to be feeling anything but lucky to be alive. 

A few days later, once you’re all settled and Miss Grimshaw is finally satisfied with the camp’s state, you all gather around the fire. You’re late to join the others, having to change your dress after Uncle spilled whiskey all over the other one. 

You walk towards the glowing firelight and the sounds of Javier strumming lightly on his guitar. He’s not singing yet but you’re sure a few more drinks for everyone and the whole county will hear your hollering. 

You try to find an opening among everyone but most of the seats have already been taken. Just as you go to sit beside Charles, Tilly throws herself down on the log. She doesn’t look at you, just fiddles with the hem of her dress and slurps loudly on her drink. Your eyes narrow suspiciously but you don’t call her out.

Instead, you roam the faces of those around you, seeing a spot beside Sadie. She nods her head at you but before you can go claim it, Hosea grabs her attention. He sits beside her, asking her about some nonsense you can’t hear from where you stand. And just like that, it seems everywhere you look any open spot was gone. Someone either slid over or stole it. It left you with just one place left. 

Arthur looks up from his cup as you approach. “You mind?” You ask, lingering by the log, unsure of whether or not he wants your company. 

He slides over easily, “‘Course not.” You let out a small breath of relief and sit beside him. You don’t know if it’s divine interference or a few nosy campmates, but it feels too coincidental that the only open spot is beside him. 

There are a few moments of stilted silence between you. It might all be in your head. You’ve messed yourself up, putting too much thought into how you feel about him. Now, you don’t even know how to talk to him. You just stare into the fire, and watch the shadows play across the other's faces. 

Arthur’s voice breaks you out of your concentration. “You been feelin’ okay?” 

You’re surprised by the genuine concern in his voice. He really cares and it’s such a strange idea to you- meeting a man so attentive. “I’ve been a little sore from the ride, but nothing too bad.” When you turn towards him you’re surprised to find him already looking at you. 

It’s easy, to just stare into his eyes and pretend it’s just the two of you by the fire. It casts a comforting glow across the both of you, makes the dark night look a little warmer. Eases the chill of the night and lulls you into a place where you finally let the anxiousness that plagues you melt away. 

“How ‘bout you, Arthur, you okay?”

He chuckles quietly, nodding his head and glancing down at his lap. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

The soft way he speaks to you lures you into a false sense of security. You wonder if it would really be so bad to say what you’re thinking. He’s so kind to you, you’re sure even if he doesn’t feel the same he wouldn’t be cruel. 

“Would it be odd if I said I miss bunking with you?” You laugh a little at yourself, trying to downplay just how much you truly mean that.

You seemed to have made a horrible mistake though. Being around the woman of the camp has allowed you the comfort of a loose tongue. Judging by the way his whole body stills and he won’t meet your eyes, you think you might need to tighten it once more. “Oh,” you sigh, rubbing an embarrassed hand down your face. “I’m sorry, forget I said anything.”

“No, no,” Arthur’s quick to stop you. He glances around, making sure no one else is listening. “Nothing wrong with that. I just think,” he pauses and lets out a huff. Your face pinches and you bite your tongue, trying to stop yourself from shouting at him to just spit it out. He sucks in a deep breath and turns to you with a pained look. “There are better men than me out there, Mrs. Rowe. I think you’d be better off goin’ after them.”

“What-” He gets to his feet before you can object. You’d like to tell him what a fool he is. How he’s a perfectly fine man and you can choose well enough for yourself. 

“Good night,” he tilts his hat down, ambling off towards his tent and leaving the warmth of the fire behind. 

You look down at your lap with a frown. “Oh,” you whisper, “You’re such a fool, Arthur Morgan.” You watch him slip into his tent and feel like a stone has replaced your heart. You feel heavy now, wanting nothing more than to sleep the sting of rejection off. You quietly slip away from the fire and head towards the women’s tent. 

You ease onto the rocky ground and pull a blanket over your shoulders. You’d never thought you’d long for the rotted floorboards of that shed in the mountains but you crave that comfort more than ever. 

Arthur adjusts his hat and steps out of his tent. He adjusts to the bright morning light and finds his gaze drifting toward the tent the other women are sleeping in. You’re not there, your bed roll fussed up like you’d just gotten up. There’s a split second where he worries you might have changed your mind about the outlaw life and left. 

He’s not happy with the stomach-dropping feeling that leaves him with. He shouldn’t care whether or not you stay. Still, he isn’t satisfied until he looks around and sees you sharing some coffee with Hosea. 

He debates walking over to you both when Pearson ambles towards him. “Arthur,” he barks out. He holds a white slip of paper in his hands and you turn away from Hosea to glance back at him. “A woman brought this by for you.”

He tries to wave at you but you whip around when you hear Pearson speak, avoiding meeting his eye. Hosea leans in and whispers something to you, but you just shake your head. His eyes narrow at the two of you, wondering when you got so cozy. 

“Who was it?” Arthur asks. 

“I don’t know,” Pearson grouses, walking off with a shrug. Arthur flips the paper over and sighs. He didn’t even need to ask. He knows this handwriting about as well as he knows his own. Mary. 

He’s not sure he even wants to read this. There’s the chance that he’ll either have to deal with her father again or he’ll just feel the guilt of what she thinks could have been. Sighing, he turns away from you and Hosea. He flips the letter open, skimming it. He’s not ready to dive so deep into the past this morning but it could be urgent. 

Most of it is pretty vague. Brief mentions of her father devolving past the fool he already was and something about her brother needing help. She asks him to meet her in Valentine and he tucks the letter in his satchel. He doubts anything good would come of going to see her. 

Half the time they just have these quiet sort of non-arguments about how he can’t change and how she never gave him the chance to. They keep going back to each other and keep pretending they're different people than they actually are. She has it in her head that he would never abandon this outlaw life for her. And he thinks that she would never be able to truly accept him as he is. 

They go round and around each other endlessly. Never quite meeting in the middle. These occasional meet-ups have just started to feel like a punishment for himself. But there’s a part of him that always feels the need to hear her out, to see her one last time. He hates that part of himself sometimes. 

He turns to head towards the horses when an eager voice stops him. “Oh, Mr. Morgan!” Strauss stands up from his stool, walking over to Arthur with a large black book in his hand. “Just the man I was looking for.” There’s something in his tone that makes Arthur bristle. He has a feeling whatever he’s about to ask for is going to be something he doesn’t like. 

“What?” Arthur’s short with him, never having been a huge fan of the man. He hates that he’s the one Strauss comes to for collections. He understands the necessity of the money for camp. But half the time the people are just desperate families trying to keep a roof over their heads. If Strauss targeted the rich, maybe he wouldn’t mind roughing the debtors up so much. 

“I just need a favor from you. I’ve got some collections that need to be taken. A few reminders to be sent,” he laughs a little. The noise is empty and grates on Arthur’s already frayed nerves. 

“We’ve barely been here a week. You’re tellin’ me you’ve already got lives to ruin?”

Strauss's eyes narrow into slits before he forces on another thin smile. “Mr. Morgan, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the loss our camp funds suffered in Blackwater. We need everything we can get. Surely you understand this is for the good of the camp, yes?”

Arthur lets out a rough sigh. He looks down at the list of people in Strauss’s hand. He knows that he’s always going to choose the gang over anyone else. But it doesn’t make this feel any better. “Fine,” he snaps, snatching the paper from him. 

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan.” Arthur shakes his head, ignoring the smug lilt of Strauss’s accent. He shakes his head and turns away, walking towards the horses.

“-well, Uncle ruined my only other good dress. I’ll need to buy some new ones,” Arthur looks over as you speak to Hosea. You motion sadly to a large brown stain on the front of your dress and he rolls his eyes, thinking of Unlcle spilling something on you. Maybe he could pick something up for you while he’s in town. You’ve got hardly anything to your name, you could at least use a new pair of boots. 

He’s nearly to his horse when Hosea calls him over. Is he going to get anything done today, or does everyone need something for him?

He lets out an irritated sigh and walks back over. You don’t look up at him and that only further sours his mood. “What are you doing?” Hosea asks, the suspicious expression on his face only makes Arthur’s hackles raise further.

“Was gonna head to Valentine but Strauss has got me doin’ collections.” Your eyes lift at the mention of collections and he doesn’t miss the slight grimace that passes across your face before you’re looking away again. 

Something hot boils in the pit of his stomach but he shoves it down, trying to ignore it. Hosea shakes his head, waving him off. “No, I need you to escort Mrs. Rowe to Valentine. Micah will handle the collections,” he tells him firmly, not leaving much room for argument. 

“But-” 

Hosea cuts him off with a frown, “No ‘buts,’ the lady needs some new clothes, Arthur. You can’t let her go into town without a proper escort. Imagine what could happen.”

Your face drops at that. You roll your eyes with a scoff, “I most certainly do not need-”

You trail off, sentence falling short as Hosea shoots you a sharp look. You throw the rest of your coffee into the fire and get to your feet. “Right, well I clearly don’t get much of a say in this.”

“Neither of you do,” Hosea responds. He’s got a look that means he’s far too pleased with himself. Arthur glances over at you, feeling a little guilty at the perturbed expression you wear. He doesn’t blame you for not wanting to spend time with him. He knows he could have been kinder to you last night, but all he’d been thinking about was stopping another situation like Mary from happening. 

“Come on Mr. Morgan,” you call out, walking past him and heading towards the horses. 

Arthur lingers behind for a moment, shooting Hosea a glare. “I’m gettin’ tired of your games, old man,” Arthur grouses before reluctantly following after you. Hosea just laughs, taking a long, pleased, sip of his coffee. 

Arthur turns around and heads towards the hitching posts. You’re already waiting there for him, arms crossed while you examine the horse. “Somethin’ wrong?” You jump slightly, turning around to face Arthur as he walks up. 

Your lips purse and he can tell you’re debating whether or not you want to speak with him. Arthur stops walking, standing just a little ways back and giving you no other choice but to talk. Rolling your eyes, you force the words out. “Your horse is too damn tall.”

Arthur glances between you and the shire, laughing a little under his breath. “Alright, come on.” He comes up in front of you, hovering his hands over your waist until you give him a reluctant little nod. He takes you by the waist and lifts you onto the back of the horse. His hands drift down to your knees, squeezing once before he forces himself to back off. “Comfortable?”

You glare down at him, but he can see a little bit of sheepishness in the look you give him. “Fine as I’ll ever be, sitting like this.”

He swings up on the saddle and glances back at you. “We’ll see if we can’t get you a horse while we’re in town.” Your face lights up at that and it unravels a bit of the knot in his chest. 

“I think I’d like that,” you tell him, turning slightly to wrap your arms around his waist. He does his best to ignore the warmth you provide. But all he can focus on is how soft you feel against him compared to the harshness he deals with every day. He doesn’t say anything else, leading his horse out of camp and heading to town. He doesn’t know what he’s more stressed about, seeing Mary or having you see her. 

He lets out a rough sigh and shakes his head. Women, they’re not worth the damn trouble. 

The ride into Valentine isn’t too slow, but you know Arthur isn’t going as fast as he wants so that you feel more comfortable on the back of the horse. You’re still getting used to the finicky beasts, not quite having bonded with them like the others in camp. Still, you’d rather swallow your pride and get one of your own than have to keep riding side-saddle like this. 

Sitting on the back of the horse is damn near impossible to get comfortable on. And you know the animals don’t like it any more than you do. You think it’s only making them dislike you more. You adjust yourself again and hear Arthur sigh in front of you. His chest heaves under your grip and you realize just how tight you’ve been squeezing him this whole time. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, undoing your arms and stretching them out. You’re surprised the poor man can still breathe. 

“It’s fine,” he responds, but you can hear the strain in his voice as he finally sucks in a full breath. You grimace, wondering how you’re gonna handle your own horse if you can barely deal with this one. Arthur’s is the least temperamental of the bunch at camp and you still can’t bring yourself to trust it. 

Arthur passes by the train station and you straighten up, a little bit of relief forming when you realize how close you are to finally being able to walk around on your own two feet. Arthur brings the horse to a slower pace, pulling on the reins as townspeople begin to walk by more frequently. 

You’re not sure what you were expecting of the town. It’s certainly not glamorous. But it’s not as backwoods as you had been expecting. The people seem friendly enough, at least to you. They’ll nod their heads with a polite, “Ma’am,” but they don’t seem very warmed to Arthur. 

“You already been through here?” You ask, a little bit of a tease lingering on the edge of your words. 

Arthur stiffens under your grip, tilting his head back towards you before looking forward. “Whaddya mean?”

“I don’t know,” you hum, “these people seem a little wary of you, that’s all.”

Arthur lets out a heavy sigh, “Not my fault,” he mutters, his voice barely audible. “He called me a pretty boy, what was I supposed to do?” You barely catch the words before he brings the horse to a stop and gets down. 

“Pretty boy?” You question, a grin curling at the edge of your lips. His eyes narrow and he shakes his head. 

“Forget it,” he demands. He holds his hand out towards you and you hesitate. You could just jump down, you'll probably roll your ankle, but you could do it. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like how wholly Arthur’s hand envelops yours, even if he’s made it clear he doesn’t think he’s good enough for you. 

You slide your hand into his and he brings his other one up to your waist. He eases you down onto the ground but your boot slips into a bit of mud. You tilt forward, off-kilter, and catch yourself against his chest. 

Your eyes widen when you feel the bulk lurking underneath his tattered shirt. You clear your throat, backing up quickly and straightening out your skirt. Even after a few weeks, you’re still not used to touching another man who’s not your husband. Especially not so brazenly. 

Arthur laughs at your behavior but you see the nervous way he rubs the back of his neck. He ducks his head down, hat blocking his pretty eyes. You know that you have an effect on him. In the same way, a simple touch from him sends heat racing through you, you can see it happen to him. 

You’re not some lovesick fool who’s blinded by your desire. You may be naive when it comes to relationships, but you know want in a man’s eyes when you see it. If only he weren’t so damn stubborn. 

“I’ve got some business to deal with in town,” your face falls as he speaks. You’d almost forgotten about the letter Pearson had brought to him. The one that a woman had dropped off. You hope it’s his aunt or some withered old lady who just needs an outlaw’s help. As unlikely as that is, you still pray for it. 

He reaches into his saddle bag and your eyes double in size as he holds out a holstered revolver. You stare at it, eyes darting between him and the gun. “You know how to shoot don’t ya?”

You scoff in indignation. “I’ve spent my entire adult life in the mountains. Of course, I know how to shoot. But why would I need to?”

He looks amused by your attitude and it only makes you narrow your eyes at him in irritation. “Just take it, would you? You’re traveling with a gang of outlaws, it’s not smart to go around without anythin’ to protect yourself with.” He nudges the gun towards you once more and you snatch it from him. 

You bring it to your side, attaching it to your belt as you chew on his words. You hadn’t thought of that before, mainly because you haven’t left the camp since you made it out of the mountains. But you’re so used to being seen as a lady that you forget you’re now just as much of a criminal as the rest of them. If only by association. 

“Fine,” you relent. 

“Here,” he reaches into his satchel and tugs out a few bills. “Take this, for the dresses or whatever it was ya needed.”

You stare down at the money and shake your head, “Oh, no, Arthur, I couldn't.” He’s already done so much for you and the camp. You don’t feel comfortable taking from him further. But he won’t let it go, he takes your wrist and forces your palm open, placing the money in your hand. 

“You’re not gonna steal the clothes are ya?”

“No, but-”

“‘Nough fussin’, just take it would ya, woman?” You tuck the money in your waistband and glare at him. He’s being awful pushy this morning. 

He grabs the horn of the saddle, pulling himself back up and glancing down at you. “How long am I gonna be expected to look after myself?” 

“Only about an hour, I’ll be back soon enough.”

“You better,” you chide. He only chuckles, tilting his hat towards you before riding off past the shops and towards the houses behind the town. You let out a heavy sigh, fiddling with the money and looking around town. You don’t imagine you’ll find much here, but you figure the general store is probably a good place to start. 

It isn’t until you’ve bought yourself a few new outfits that you realize just how much money Arthur has given you. You could probably buy two horses with all this. You’re sure Dutch would be irate if he learned Arthur funded your shopping trip and not the camp lockbox. 

You walk out of the general store with your box of goodies tucked under your arm. You hide the rest of your money away in the top of your corset like you’ve seen Karen do before. You look around the shops, trying to spot Arthur’s giant shire hitched somewhere. When you don’t see the horse you frown, deciding to do a quick lap around to see if he’s somewhere else. 

It turns out to be fruitless, despite promising to be back within an hour, you can’t find him anywhere. You figure that his “business” just ran on longer than he thought it would and try and think of a way to pass the time. You debate going to the stables and getting your own horse but it seems rude to just spend his money so cavalierly. 

Besides, you figure you should get his opinion before you commit to one of the erratic creatures. He seems to speak their language. You figure he could help you find one that won’t send you flying if it gets spooked. 

With no other way to pass the time, you take a seat on the bench outside the general store. You pick up a discarded newspaper and figure you’ll just wait for him here. Of course, you only make it about three sentences into a report on a train robbery before you toss the paper to the side. 

You’ve never been very good at waiting. Living the life of a proper lady has left you spoiled and you’re starting to get antsy. Jumping up from the bench you walk around the back of the shop towards the houses Arthur had ridden towards. 

There’s a brief moment of intelligence where you think about the consequences of bugging him. He is an outlaw and for all the manners and grace he’s shown you, you’ve seen the bounty. You know he’s a known criminal and a murderer. Who's to say he won’t get upset at you for interrupting and just shoot you?

Still, the thought of him getting so mad he starts firing off rounds makes you laugh more than it makes you scared. You just can’t picture Arthur in that way. 

It isn’t hard to figure out which house he went to. All you have to look for is the giant black horse grazing in the grass outside. You pick up your pace when you see Diablo roaming in front of a particularly nice house. It’s probably the biggest one around and the most well-kept. You wonder who he could be meeting out here, in Valentine being “rich” doesn’t mean much. 

You notice the front door of the home opening, but you know they can’t see you past the large tree in front of you. You see Arthur first, the brim of his hat, and then his boot as he walks out the door. He turns around, talking to whoever’s inside and shaking his head vehemently. 

You take another step towards them but your foot hovers in the air as the person he’s talking to follows after him. So much for a withered old lady. You feel your stomach drop as the beautiful woman he’s talking to reaches forward and takes his hands in hers. You can’t hear them speaking, but you can see the familiarity in the way they dance around each other. 

She’s got a pleading look on her face and he’s got the expression of a man about to give into whatever she asks of him. You turn around as quick as you can, marching yourself right back to town. You never should have even gone looking for him. One hour or two, you should have just kept your happy ass where it was. At least then you wouldn’t be dealing with the racing thoughts going through your head. 

You had a suspicion that there was once a woman in his life. In fact, it would be odd for there not to be. He’s traveled for so long and he’s so different than other men you met that it wouldn’t make sense for him to have not caught the eye of a pretty woman. But you hadn’t expected her. She seemed so much like…

You. 

She reminded you of yourself before your husband had abandoned you and you started traveling with the gang. Hair done up prim and proper, clothes tailored perfectly to her body. Even the way she carried herself was straight out of the proper lady training book. She most certainly came from money. 

You just didn’t know how Arthur knew her. Or what their relationship was. It certainly wasn’t familial. You knew that much from the longing in her eyes. Oh, this was just awful. Arthur didn’t reject you because he thought he wasn’t good enough for you. He just didn’t want you. He had a woman of his own, of course he did. You feel like such a fool, getting your hopes up over something that could never happen. 

You trudge back into town, heading straight for the saloon. You’ve never had the stomach for alcohol, but you’re sure you can make an exception tonight. Just to ease the blade of hurt wedging itself in your chest. 

You toss your box of clothes on the counter of the bar and the barkeep gives you a startled look. His eyes narrow before he slides a glass over to you. “Looks like you need a whiskey.”

“Make it a double,” you slip him a few more bills than necessary and he whistles. Instead of pouring he just places the bottle in front of you. He leaves you on your lonely end of the counter and scrubs up a drunken spill. 

You use a heavy hand to pour and bring the glass to your lips, ticking your head back and downing as much as you can. The acrid, bog-like taste doesn’t comfort you. But it does make your tongue feel fuzzy and begin to soften the harsh edges of your mind. About a bottle later, you can barely remember Arthur’s name, much less why you’re drinking. 

You’re debating entering a very risky poker game when you see it. Just out of the corner of your eye, a man goes stumbling up the stairs with a whore. It’s not out of the usual, it’s been happening the whole time you’ve been here. But there’s something familiar to you about the back of his head. 

Stumbling to your feet, you rub at your eyes and blink a few times. You squint, trying to make out how you know this man when he finally turns slightly. Like a bucket of cold water being tossed over you, the whiskey seems to leave you for a moment. 

Your husband’s glazed eyes pass over you and he laughs at a drunk man falling face-first to the floor. Your heart pounds so harshly against the cage of your chest you can hear nothing else but your blood rushing. He stumbles the rest of the way up the stairs and you stand there, completely dumbfounded and confused. 

Your husband isn’t just alive. He’s here and he’s about to go fuck a whore like he didn’t leave you for dead.

Next Part

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[coolemmasulivan2]

You're the Worst (But Come Get Me)

Pairing: Ferran Torres x Reader

Summary: Ferran teases you during your "me time" and you give him the silent treatment. But when your car breaks down the next morning, he's still the first person you call.

Word count: 1226

Author's note: First time writing for Ferran. Let me know how I did!

Que tu cuerpo e' mi lugar favorito Y tu boca, mi comida favorita Porque tú ere' lo que yo necesito Porque yo soy lo que tú necesitas

It had all started over something stupid, the night before.

He knew it was stupid, he was aware, in the way only someone who had spent the last few years dating a woman with the patience of a saint and the zero-tolerance policy of a nurse working back-to-back shifts could be.

The night before, you'd come home tired, already peeling off your shoes before the door shut. He had just come back from training, full of energy from practice and zero awareness of volume.

You made tea, grabbed your blanket, and turned on your favorite show, the one you'd been looking forward to all day. It was your "do not disturb" time.

But of course, he'd disturbed.

Approaching you from behind the sofa, he cupped your jaw making you look up at him and kissed you passionately. His lips always took your breath away, but this was not his time.

You pushed him away, breaking the kiss. "Guapo, stop it." You said, looking back at the TV. (Handsome)

He flopped down beside you on the sofa, his hair still damp from the shower and a protein bar in his hand.

"¿Qué es este?" He asked, eyes on the screen and an arm over the back of the grey sofa. "Wait, is this the one where the twin brother ends up being the killer?" (What's this one?)

She stared at him, mouth opened in disbelief. "Ferran!!!"

He laughed at her reaction. "Lo siento, no sabía que no lo habías visto todavía." (I'm sorry, I didn't know that you hadn't watched it yet.)

"Today is the first time I sat on this sofa this week, when could I have watched it?"

"Well, I just summarised it to you. Now you know who's the killer and you don't need to waste your time watching it." He smirked and played with the hem of your t-shirt. "Maybe... deberíamos desperdiciar nuestro tiempo en actividades más productivas." (We should waste our time doing more productive activities.)

You stared at gin and without a word, stood up, took your tea, and walked away.

"Wait, babe, I'm sorry! You're not really mad, are you?" He waited for a response, but nothing, just the sound of the bedroom door closing. "Okay, you're doing the silence thing again. Shit!" He said to himself.

You woke up with his arm slung over your waist, his face buried in your hair.

The room was quiet, only the sound of the rain tapping against the window.

He was warm against you.Normally, your loved mornings like this. You would've rolled over, tucked yourself closer into his chest, and let yourself have just ten more minutes.

But not today.

You shifted slowly, pulling yourself out of his arm and slipping from the bed.

He stirred a little but didn't wake up, instead he let out a soft sigh and rolled toward the warmth you left behind.

You got dressed quietly and tiptoed downstairs into the kitchen. Your shift didn't start for over an hour, but you’d planned to stop by the grocery store first and then straight to the clinic. Easy!

The rain was heavier, by the time you finished shopping. You loaded the bags into the back seat and climbed into the car. But as you pressed the start button... Nothing.

"Are you serious right now?" You muttered.

You tried again. Still nothing. Just that sickly clicking noise and a dashboard that refused to light up.

You groaned and sat there in the quiet for a long moment, forehead against the wheel, before sighing and pulling out your phone.

The phone rang three times, before he picked it up.

"…Hello?" His voice was thick with sleep. Low, scratchy, confused. You were still annoyed with him, but the fact that you had woken him up, broke your heart.

"My car won't start!" You said flatly.

"You've broken your vow of silence." He said smugly. "¡Gané!". Silence. Then a slight shift in his tone. "You want me to come get you?" (I win!)

"No." You said sarcastically. "I just called to hear your sleepy nonsense."

He chuckled, voice gravelly but warming. "Love when you're sassy! Where are you?" You told him where you were. "I'll be there in ten." You thanked him and hung up before he could say anything else.

He pulled into the parking lot in nine minutes flat and parked next to you.

You grabbed the shopping bags from the back seat, placing them in Ferran's car.

You got into the car and rolled your eyes, seeing the smug smile on his face. In back joggers and a hoodie, he looked like he'd rolled out of bed and driven still half asleep.

Without saying anything, he handed you a steaming to-go cup of coffee.

"I added extra sugar." He said. "Figured that was appropriate."

She took a sip. "It's awful."

"But you're drinking it." He glanced sideways, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "You still mad about last night?"

"Yes!"

"Pero igual me llamaste." (But you still called me.)

"You were convenient."

"Ouch." He clutched his chest. "You wound me."

They drove in silence for a while, the rain drumming steadily on the windshield.

He kept glancing sideways at you, waiting for a smile, a glare, something. But you kept sipping your too-sweet coffee, looking out the window.

Trying his luck, he placed his hand over yours.

You looked down, before giving him a look. "Take your hand off, Torres!"

He only squeezed your hand, bringing it to him and kissing it. "Eres tan mala, hermosa. Ya te dije que lo siento." You only rolled your eyes. (You're so mean, beautiful. I said I was sorry.)

When you pulled into the clinic parking lot, he didn't let go of your hand.

"Ferran, I have to go."

He tilted his head slightly, lips twitching. “Can I kiss you or are you still pretending you don't miss me?"

"When you get home, don't forget to take the bags out of the car." You said, ignoring his question and reaching for the door.

"Wait." He said. You looked at him. "¡Por favor, solo un beso!" His voice lower now, softer. (Please, just a kiss!)

You didn't say anything. But didn't move away either. He tilted his head, lips just barely a breath from yous.

And then, at the last second, you turned your head, letting his kiss land on your cheek.

He pulled back slowly. "Oh no. You're not doing that."

His hand slid behind your neck, warm, his fingers brushing the edge of your hair. He pulled you toward him and kissed you passionately.

And even though you were still annoyed, you kissed him back right away.

Because you always did.

His mouth on yours felt like home. Like something you didn't want to admit you needed every damn day.

When you broke apart, your foreheads rested together. Your hand curled in his hoodie, anchoring him to you without a word.

He grinned, smug again. "See? You like me better when I shut you up."

"Te odio!" You muttered. (I hate you!)

"También te quiero." (I love you too.")

You groaned and opened the door. "Drive safe, idiot."

He reached across, tugged your wrist and stole one more kiss before you could climb out.

"Have a nice day, love."

You walked off shaking your head, but you couldn't hide the smile.

[changetyre]

My weakness II Mafia!Lando Norris x Reader Ⓢ

SUMMARY: Lando is a man known to be cold, unfeeling, overflowing in strength and composure...except when it comes to you.

WARNINGS: Assault, Blood, inaccurate medical terms, not proofread.

A/N: This is something I posted over on Wattpad a few days ago, thought you guys might want to start seeing some for fluff rather than pure smut ;)

It was a miracle you were walking down the streets on your own right now...well partially. Lando had been obliged to fly over to territory 55 after a business deal had gone wrong with his partner who urgently needed his assistance. 

Lando hated leaving you alone even if it was for short periods of time just hating the feeling of not being able to protect you himself. Nevertheless, he reluctantly had to sometimes and he wasn't one to force you to go with him everywhere especially if he knew he would be putting you in more danger around him. 

For this specific instance, he had needed to fly for a few days and it had taken a whole lot of begging over the phone for him to let you leave the house to go shopping, a treat for yourself (and a little for him). He only agreed because he had your location on your phone but also as long as you agreed that his best man Max Fewtrell would accompany you. 

The day had been wonderful for you, Max wasn't sure how much longer he could stand at another store watching you try on what felt like hundreds of pieces of clothing only for you to walk out with just 1 piece or none at all.

His feet were aching more than they would when he went on a mission and he was about ready to force you back home if it weren't for the stores closing that forced you to finally call it a day. 

You were walking to the car, Max a few steps ahead of you as he worked to get all the multiple shopping bags and boxes into the car. His struggle to do so distracted him enough not to notice the other eyes in the empty parking lot. 

Max heard you scream but by the time he turned around and drew his gun you were already down on the ground badly beaten, Max could only watch as the men delivered their last few kicks and punches before they scrambled disappearing in the night. 

Max attempted taking shots but they were futile as they ran in multiple directions and instead he focused on you instead of running after whoever they were. He saw a note left beside your beaten body.  

Max picked you up getting you in the car to quickly drive you to the hospital as you groaned in pain trying to make sense of what had just happened. 

"Max don't tell-" You struggled to breathe properly. 

"Shh don't hurt yourself." Max was stern, he knew what you were going to say and he also knew he wasn't going to listen.

"Don't tell Lando." You finished feeling as though this wasn't bad enough to have him fly back and panic over you. 

Max sees as you're wheeled in, panic filling his face at the amount of blood he can see down your face and body. At the hospital, apart from a few cuts and bruises to the rest of your body it's determined you have a mild fracture to your skull and you required a few stitches to a medium-sized gash to your head, explaining the large amounts of blood.

You fail to recall at what point you'd lost consciousness or been put to sleep as you woke up to see Max on the couch next to you, his leg jittering nervously, his phone in one hand and his head in the other hand.

"Max, are you okay?" You ask him, his head popping up and his eyes meeting yours, a wave of relief flooding them.

"NURSE!" Max screams out.

"Ouch." You grab your head as Max's loudness makes your head pound.

"Sorry." He gritted his teeth guiltily. "You get attacked and you ask me if I'm okay?" Max stifles a laugh.

You shrug. "Are you?" You ask again. 

"I'm fine...lucky for me he's decided to take his anger out on the poor nurses and doctors." He shakes his head.

"He? Max I-" A nurse comes in interrupting you, she explains everything to you, and checks your vitals before finally walking outside.

You're about to engage in conversation with Max again when Lando runs into the room.

"Y/n?!" He calls out, desperation and panic audible in his voice.

"You called him?! I told you not to." You turned to Max.

"He'd kill me if I hadn't." He argued back.

"He's right...if he wasn't like family he'd be dead already." Lando replied so nonchalantly it made a shiver run through your body. Lando walked towards you, a frown on his face as he looked at the bandage around your head. 

"Baby it wasn't his-" you were gonna speak.

"Who did this?" He looked at Max, you could see the ridiculous amount of anger in his eyes, his lips in a slight pout as he tried to keep it together and his breath incredibly heavy as if he'd just ran a marathon.

"Lan-" you tried calling him again.

"WHO?!!" He repeated himself to Max.

"They left this." Max handed him the note that was left beside you.

You saw Lando's eyes darken as he read the words. "Gather the men. Call 3, 16, 33, and 81. I want them dead." He instructed Max.

"Yes." Max didn't argue as he left the room, his phone already dialing.

"Lando-" another failed attempt.

"Did you see their faces?" He turned back to you.

"LANDO!" You raised your voice finally getting him to stop.

You grabbed your head, the volume and sudden jerk of your neck making it soar.

"Darling" Lando panicked when he saw your grabbing your head. "I'll call the nurse-"

You cupped his cheek before he could turn back around. You made him look at you. "Baby I'm okay." You spoke softly.

Lando let out a shaky breath he didn't realize he was holding, his shoulders visibly relaxing. It appeared that his efforts to keep it together were expiring.

His breathing started becoming irregular as he tried his best not to break down in front of you. He tried to quietly grasp for air that he didn't seem to be able to find.

"Lando take a deep breath." Your hands moved to his once you realized he was shaking, you gave them a tight squeeze.

"I can't..." he tried to suck in air. "I can't breathe" you could see him starting to panic.

"Lando breathe with me, baby." I grabbed one of his hands placing it on my chest, my hand tightly over his as I placed the other on his own chest. "Breath in."

He did as I told him.

"Breathe out." His breaths began matching mine.

We repeated this a few times.

"You're okay baby...I'm okay." Once I saw him calm enough I pulled his face closer to mine leaning his forehead against mine. "I'm okay."

He closed the space kissing you softly. 

"This is my worst nightmare-" a few tears escaped his eyes.

"I know baby...I know..." I pulled him into a much-needed hug from both of us. His embrace was tight against me but still not as tight as it normally would be, like he was afraid to break me.

"I can't..." his voice broke. "I can't lose you." He whispered to you.

This time you placed a kiss on his lips. "You're not going to. I'm okay I promise." 

"I won't let them touch you ever again," Lando promised as he rubbed your cheek with his thumb lovingly. 

"I know." You didn't doubt him one bit. 

[daydreamgoddess14]

Backseat Driver pt. 2

Summary: Bucky Barnes is reluctantly running for Congress with the financial and political backing of Pepper Potts. Everything is under control until she assigns him a driver. A very chatty, overly enthusiastic, playlist-addicted driver who seems determined to worm her way past his hundred-yard emotional perimeter. He hates the arrangement. Until he really doesn’t.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Part 1 here

Word Count: Here's the remaining 11k I wasn't allowed to put into yesterday's post 🤭 I thought I'd split it pretty equally... turns out I did not. I was very stressed.

Warnings/Tags/Info: No use of y/n, l/n, reader is described as female. I have literally no idea whatsoever the process involved in running for Congress or being a Congressperson. Expect grumpy!Bucky, sunshine!Reader, fluff, Sam being the most glorious human ever, Pepper Potts continuing to be a badass.... And in this chapter, you can also expect smut, car sex, unprotected p-in-v, oral (f receiving), some angsty emotions, Enjoy! 🩷

Main Masterlist

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

She drove more slowly than usual. 

The rain had set in, drumming lightly on the windshield. The music was low, something softer than usual. The display tells him it's Taylor Swift. She was, as usual, singing along, but this time the melancholy, low tones suited her far better.

He’d surprised her when he slid in beside her in the front. 

“Change of scenery?” she teased, trying to keep it light.

He glanced over at her. She seemed more relaxed than she had a few hours previously. 

“It’s quieter up here.”

She knew that wasn’t true. 

“Where'd you go? Home?” He asked. 

“Gym, swim, sauna, food.”

“Sounds good.”

“It was.”

They sat quietly for a while. He broke the silence first.

“Do you ever get tired of being so loud?”

She laughed, caught off guard. “Wow. Rude.”

“Just a question.”

“Maybe I like being loud. Maybe it stops people from looking too closely.”

That surprised him. His eyes cut to hers, studying her face in the dim glow of the dash lights.

“And do you ever get tired of being so... guarded?”

He didn’t answer. Not right away. 

“...All the time.”

“You’re not what I expected.”

“Neither are you.”

They stopped at a red light, the Range Rover humming softly beneath them. She looked over, sensing him watching her. He turned to look at the road ahead. 

A thoughtful silence stretched again as they drove. “Can I ask you something?”

He didn’t look at her, but she felt his attention tuning to her completely.

“Sure.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

She glanced over. “The Congress thing. Doesn’t exactly scream Bucky Barnes.”

He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “You think I’m not cut out for politics?”

She arched a brow. “I think you look like you’d rather punch a senator than have lunch with one.”

He rolled his jaw, eyes drifting out the window. 

He could still see Pepper’s face that day, unreadable. Her voice was calm and persuasive.  

“You want to fix things? Use the system. Rewrite the rules. Make it harder for people like you to be made in the first place.”

He hadn’t wanted to. But Pepper had always had a way of making refusal sound like cowardice.

He remembered folding his arms and saying, I’m not a politician.

And she’d smiled. Exactly. That’s why you’ll win.

I don't think Tony would like this. He'd tried to tell her. 

Bullshit. She told him. 

Sam had laughed. And then very quickly taken Pepper’s side. 

Now here he was, sitting in a $250,000 SUV with a girl who sang off-key and drove like she was dodging sniper fire… and for some reason, he wasn’t running.

“I'm trying to fix things,” he told her simply. 

She pulled up to his house and he reached for the door handle but didn’t open it right away. She was still watching the road ahead, one hand on the wheel, fingers drumming lightly.

“Hey,” he said.

She turned her head toward him, brows raised.

“Thanks,” he added. “For… tonight. The ride. The tie. Everything.”

She smiled softly. “Anytime.”

He stepped out into the teeming rain, well aware of the effect it would be having on the designer suit. 

“Hey, Bucky?”

“Yeah?” He ducked his head to look through the open door. 

Her voice dropped just a bit. “You should know… when you’re all dressed up like that?”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“You’re impossible not to look at.”

He froze, the rain dripping into his collar and down his neck.

She didn’t wait for a response. Just shifted the car into gear and gave him a quick, shy smile.

“Sleep well, Congressman.”

And then she was gone, he just about had time to shut the door. Her tail lights glowed red as she disappeared down the street. He stood on the sidewalk for a full minute before he even remembered to breathe.

And when he finally made it inside, jacket flung over the back of a chair to dry out, tie still crooked, he didn’t move for a while.

Just sat there.

Thinking about her hands on his collar. Her voice in his ear. And the way her eyes had lingered just a second too long.

Damn Pepper Potts-Stark.

The apartment was too quiet. He’d showered and tried to unwind, but nothing worked. The water hadn't helped. The scotch hadn’t helped. He was still wired.

Her voice played on a loop in his head.

You’re impossible not to look at.

It wasn’t just the words. It was the way she said them. Like she hadn’t meant to, like it slipped out before she could catch it. Like it surprised her too.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. This was bad. This was really fucking bad. Because it wasn’t just tonight. It hadn’t been just one moment, or one look. It had been building. Quietly, steadily sneaking up on him. 

Every damn morning she greeted him with a too-bright smile. Every time she reached over to adjust the stereo. Every time her laugh echoed through the car and set something deep inside him shaking.

And tonight, when her hands had touched his throat, he hadn’t flinched. He’d wanted it.

Worse than that, he still wanted it. Wanted her.

Her mouth. Her fingers. Her laugh. 

The crease between her brows when she was annoyed at him. The way she twisted her rings when she was nervous.

His head tipped back against the cushions. Eyes closed. His hand drifted lower before he even made the decision. There was no decision, really, just a need he couldn’t ignore. A tension in his bones that had nowhere else to go. His mind spun with images he’d barely let himself imagine before now. 

Her, pressed close, straddling him - in the car of all places. Lips parted, breath catching, sighing his name as he filled her up. 

And here, in his home, crossing the room with a smile and asking need a hand, Congressman? 

Wrapping her pretty mouth around his pulsing cock. 

His hips jerked up to meet his hand with no finesse or control. Pure desperation. He let himself fall apart quietly. Thoughtlessly. As if he could exorcise her from his system.

He couldn’t.

When it was over, he sat in the dark, his chest still rising and falling too fast. Shame prickled hot under his skin, rising behind his ears like a flush he couldn’t cool. What the hell was he doing?

She was young. Vibrant. Light-years out of his reach.

And he was… this. A broken man playing politics, jerking off to the thought of the only person who treated him like he wasn’t one.

The guilt came fast. He didn’t deserve her kindness. Didn’t deserve the way she smiled at him. Didn’t deserve a damn thing about her.

~~~~

The next morning, he was a different person.

The second he saw her standing by the car, his shame from the previous night came flooding back. She was sipping from a takeaway cup, squinting up at the sky. 

Wind tugged at the hem of her coat, hair pulled back loosely, a few strands caught in her lip balm. Just looking at her made something clench in his chest. She smiled when she saw him. Not overly warm. Just normal. Like nothing had changed.

He hated it.

“Morning,” she said, holding the door open for him.

He muttered something back, he wasn’t even sure what exactly. He didn’t meet her eye. Just slid into the back seat like usual.

She glanced at him in the rearview mirror once as she pulled into traffic, then again when he didn’t offer anything else. Her fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel. She didn’t press, but he could feel how aware she was of whatever this was. 

He’d built the wall the second he woke up. Because last night had been a mistake. 

All of it. The closeness, the look in her eyes. 

The fact that he’d gone inside and couldn’t stop thinking about her. He’d thought about it too long. Let it spiral. And now he was punishing himself for it the only way he knew how.

Silence. Coldness. Distance.

She didn’t deserve it. But he didn’t trust himself to speak.

“What’s on today?” she asked eventually, voice light, breezy.

He shrugged. “Nothing interesting.”

He was meeting Sam. 

“Oh. Ok.” She tapped along to the beat of the music. “Want coffee?”

“Already had one.” Lie. He hadn’t.

Another pause. He could feel the tension stretching, tightening, her posture shifting subtly in her seat.

“I, uh… saw the pictures from last night,” she offered, trying again. “Suit looked good. Great bow tie”

He didn’t answer. Just stared out the window.

“Ok. Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. You know that scowl is deeply presidential,” she sniggered. 

Nothing. 

The silence returned, he could feel the disappointment rolling off her. That little fold between her brows had crept in. He could see her trying to work out if she’d done something wrong, and he couldn’t seem to tell her she hadn’t.

She pursed her lips and sighed. Then she reached for the volume dial and built her own wall. 

She was listening to his playlist. She skipped through a few of his chosen tracks and settled on one of her own favourites. 

“When I hold you baby,” she sang loudly, fiercely. 

“Feel your heartbeat close to me

Wanna stay in your arms forever

Only love can set you free…”

She had to be joking. He wanted to say something. That it wasn’t her. That it was him, drowning in everything he didn’t know how to feel. But the words locked up in his throat.

“When we touch each other

In a state of ecstasy

Want this night to last forever

Only love can set you free

Set you free

Set you free”

She sang without inhibition - poorly - but he could see the tension leaving her shoulders the more the tempo increased.

He sat silent and miserable, watching the city blur past the glass, wishing he didn’t want her, and hating himself for not being able to stop.

She turned the volume down, marginally, as they pulled up, the engine softening into idle. She didn’t speak right away, and he didn’t offer anything either.

“Alright,” she said finally, still slightly breathless. “I think this is you.”

He nodded once, already reaching for the handle.

“This one due to go on all day? Finish at six?”

“Yeah,” he said shortly.

“Right.” She didn’t say anything else. No teasing, no warmth. Just quiet acceptance.

He hated it.

He stepped out, not looking back, and nearly walked straight into Sam.

“Oh hey, man!” Sam grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “You look like shit. Everything ok?” He trailed off, glancing over Bucky’s shoulder to the driver’s seat. “Is that her?”

“Didn't think you'd be here yet,” he grimaced. He didn't acknowledge Sam's questions. 

Sam stepped around Bucky entirely and leaned toward the window, tapping it once with a smile.

She rolled it down.

“Hi,” Sam said, extending a hand. “Sam Wilson. Good to meet you at last. I've heard a lot about you.”

Her brow lifted, but she smiled as she shook his hand. “That surprises me. I think he likes to forget I exist unless he's forced into this car. I've heard a lot about you, too.”

“All lies,” Sam said. “Well. Most of them.”

She laughed softly, and Bucky hated how much lighter her voice sounded with him.

“I should get going,” she said, pulling her hand back. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

“You too. Thanks for keeping him in one piece.”

She gave Bucky a quick disappointed glance and rolled the window back up. The Rover pulled away a second later, merging into traffic with practiced ease.

Sam waited until she was gone. Then turned back, arms crossed.

“You’re an asshole,” he said cheerfully.

“Don’t.”

“You didn’t even introduce her?”

Bucky started walking. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Too late. We’re already doing it. That girl looked like she’d just been drop-kicked in the ribs. What'd you do to her?”

Bucky didn’t answer.

Sam followed close behind, not relenting. “You like her.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Liar.”

Bucky stopped just short of the lobby doors, jaw tight. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do, actually. You forget, we're friends now. You like her, you want her, and now you’re being cold because you think pushing her away will fix it.”

He didn’t respond.

“This is exactly why you need to accept that I'm here for you,” Sam leaned in again, voice lower. “Don’t wait until it’s too late to walk it back, man.”

Then he stepped inside, leaving Bucky standing there.

He didn’t follow right away. Because maybe Sam was right. And that scared the hell out of him.

~~~~

She was quiet for the first few blocks, eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel.

Bucky stared out the window, jaw tight. He hadn’t said a word since he slid into the backseat. Again. Walls back up.

“You’ve been weird all week,” she said finally, voice flat.

He didn’t respond.

“Seriously, what’s your deal? One minute you’re making playlists, the next you’re acting like I don’t exist.”

He exhaled hard through his nose. “Drop it.”

“No.”

That surprised him. He leaned forward slightly. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t get to go all silent treatment for a whole week just because you’re in a mood,” she snapped, not looking at him. “If you’re mad at me, fine, say it. But don’t make me guess.”

He shifted, annoyed now. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Then what?”

He hesitated too long.

“That’s what I thought,” she muttered.

“You ever think maybe it’s not about you?” He said, his voice sharper than he meant. “Maybe I’ve got other things going on.”

She scoffed, glancing at him in the rearview. 

“Fine,” she said, turning onto the final street. “You want space? You got it.”

Neither of them spoke again before they arrived.

~~~~

The low murmur of conversation was starting to fray his nerves. Too many smiles. Too much wine. Too much her.

It wasn’t a formal event, just a small thing mainly made up of staffers, friends, campaign types, but still, everyone was dressed to impress. And she was there as a guest as well as his driver. Part of the dream team about to secure his victory. 

She looked good. Too good. 

It was the first time he'd seen her in a dress and it caught the light and her curves in a way that made his hands curl into fists in his pockets. 

She wasn’t avoiding him exactly, but she wasn’t looking at him either. And it made him feel like shit.

He didn’t say goodbye to anyone. Just slipped out the side exit with a muttered excuse to the nearest staffer, and made his way to the car. 

The streetlights buzzed gently overhead, casting a dull glow across the SUV. He slid into the backseat, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared straight ahead.

Five minutes passed.

Ten.

Then the driver’s door opened, and he didn’t have to look up to know it was her.

“Hey,” she said softly, as the door shut behind her. “You just... left.”

“I’m here,” he muttered. 

“I noticed.”

Then she sighed. “This is stupid.”

She twisted in her seat and kicked off her heels, dropping them onto the passenger seat next to her bag with a quiet thud. 

Her next move was clumsy as she clambered between the seats into the back. The hem of her dress caught briefly, and as she bent forward, he caught the slope of her breasts, the curve of soft skin as it was claimed by the neckline of her dress. No bra.

He looked away fast.

She huffed as she landed beside him, tugging her dress down and brushing her hair from her face. “Can I sit?”

“You’re already here.”

She sighed again, a little annoyed. “Don’t be an asshole.”

That finally pulled his eyes to hers.

She was close.

Close enough that he could smell her perfume, something different for the evening than she usually wore, but still familiar. 

Close enough to see the faint smudge of eyeliner under her lashes. She didn’t look like his driver right now. She didn’t look like anything safe.

He swallowed hard. “You look -”

“What happened?” she interrupted, her voice more vulnerable than he expected. “We were... ok. I thought. You were tolerating me.”

He shook his head slowly, jaw working. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He said, finally. 

“Then why are you being like this?”

Because I can't stop thinking about kissing you. Because I touched myself thinking about you and woke up wanting to do it again. And have wanted it ever since. Because you’re too close and I’m fucking terrified.

He didn’t say any of that. “I don’t know.”

She looked at him for a long time. “That’s not good enough.”

“I know.”

Another silence. Then she reached for the door.

But before she could open it, he caught her wrist gently. Not hard. Just enough to make her pause.

“Don’t go,” he said, his voice low.

Her hand stilled on the door handle, but she didn't look back. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I don’t either,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. For the last few days. For pulling away. For making you feel like you were… like you’re not important.”

She turned warily.

“I didn’t mean to shut you out,” he said. “I panicked. I’m not sure I'll ever be used to people giving a shit about me. Or finding people I actually give a shit about. ”

Her breath caught, just barely but he noticed. Of course he did.

“I keep thinking about you. About the way you look at me like I'm allowed to be myself.” He hesitated. “And when I’m not with you, I miss you. And when I am, I can’t think straight.”

She blinked, and he could see the pulse in her throat jump.

“I'm not exactly sure what I’m trying to say, I’m -” 

But she was already moving.

She surged forward, caught his face in her hands, and kissed him. No hesitation, no warning, just fire and hunger and weeks of unspoken longing poured into one desperate kiss.

He groaned against her mouth, hands gripping her waist. She climbed into his lap without thinking, knees bracketing his thighs, and threaded her fingers through his hair. 

He pulled her in tighter, his vibranium arm wrapping firmly around her waist, the other sliding up her bare thigh, pushing the fabric out of the way, needing to feel her skin under his palm.

“Tell me to stop,” he said roughly, mouth brushing the corner of hers. “If you don’t want this -”

“I do,” she whispered. “I really do.”

That was all he needed. His mouth was on her throat, kissing a trail down to her collarbone while she rolled her hips down to meet his. 

“God,” he breathed. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not tonight,” she whispered, kissing the corner of his jaw, his neck, the scar that peeked from under his shirt.

He dragged her deeper into his lap, his hands moving to open the deep V neckline wider, stretching it down her arms and exposing more of her soft skin to him. 

She arched her back, offering herself up to him and he took it. Cupping the swell of her breast in one hand, his thumb brushed over the tight peak until she shivered against him.

His mouth followed, dragging slow, open kisses down the column of her throat until she rocked against him. 

He could feel the heat of her core, could feel himself hard against her. She shifted against him in search of friction and he hissed through his teeth.

He sank his teeth into the underside of her breast, making her whine and press her knees deeper into the seat behind him. 

“God, Bucky,” she shuddered. 

He groaned at the sound of his name on her lips, rough and reverent. His hands slid down to her hips, guiding her over the hard length of him again, slow and deliberate.

“You feel that?” he rasped, his voice low against her skin. “That’s what you do to me.”

He didn't wait for a response, she gasped when his tongue circled her pebbled nipple.

“Please, please -” she murmured.

He slid his hand between them to push the thin lace of her underwear aside. She moaned as his fingers found her, already soaked, already ready.

“You were gonna walk away,” he said, low and rough, mouth brushing her ear. “You were gonna leave me in this car thinking about this all night.”

She tugged his hair and moved back just slightly. 

“C'mon, you had no idea I've been this wet for you every day since we met,” she teased. 

His eyes darkened at her words, jaw tightening as he dragged two fingers slowly through her slick heat. “Jesus,” he breathed.

She grinned smugly until he slid a finger inside, slow but deliberate, making her stutter on a breath and grip his shoulder tighter.

“Not so chatty now, huh?” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then lower.

He added another finger, curling just right, and her head dropped to his shoulder with a strangled whimper. The sound went straight through him.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he said, voice thick, “every night. Every time you smiled at me. Every time you drove away.”

She reached between them, unfastening his belt with deft fingers. The sound of the buckle, the zip, he thought he might lose his mind before she even touched him. She grazed her thumb over the tip of him, his fingers inside her stuttering momentarily. 

“What if someone comes past?” He breathed against her collarbone. 

“Oh, now you're scared of that?” She laughed quietly, her hand encircling him and pumping slowly. 

“Yeah, well,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as her hand worked him, deliberately slowly. “Feels different now that your hand’s on me.”

She bit her lip, breath catching as his fingers resumed their rhythm. Her hips moved with him, chasing every stroke. 

“You started this,” she whispered, her voice thick as he hit just the right spot. “The other week with that stupid bow tie. Making me a fucking playlist.”

His laugh was broken, shaky. 

“You climbed in my lap, sweetheart.”

“You let me.”

His mouth found hers again, messy and desperate. When he broke the kiss, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I need to be inside you.”

She nodded and in the dim light, he could see a flash of nerves in her eye. She exhaled shakily as he withdrew his hand and moved it to her hip. 

Without taking her hand from him, she rose up onto her knees and guided him into place. 

She sank onto him slowly.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “You feel incredible.”

He watched her hold her breath as she sank down, her body stretching to accommodate him. 

She bit her lip, trying to keep herself steady as he filled her. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her as she moved, inch by inch, until she was fully seated on him.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growled, his voice rough as he tried to hold back, every instinct screaming for movement. 

Her head tipped back slightly, the pleasure clear on her face, and the sight of it nearly drove him insane. She moved, slowly at first, the friction sending a shiver through both of them.

“Bucky,” she moaned. 

“God, you’re perfect,” he rasped. His hand slid up her back, fingers digging into her skin as her pace increased, rising and falling on him over and over. 

He met her thrusts, pushing up to meet her, every drag of her body against his, every breath, every whisper of his name made him feel like he was losing control.

His hands slid to her ass, pulling her down harder against him, meeting her every movement with his own.

The heat between them was unbearable, Bucky could feel it building, the pressure in his chest, his pulse racing as she clenched around him, and he knew she was close. Her name fell from his lips in a broken breath, again and again, like a prayer. 

She kissed his throat, his mouth, his cheekbone. He could feel her shaking around him, her breath stuttering.

“Look at me,” he said. “C’mon, sweetheart, I wanna see you come for me,” he demanded, his voice hoarse, barely controlled as he watched her struggle to hold on.

She cried out, her body tightening as she finally unraveled around him, her movements jerky and frantic as she came, her head falling against his shoulder. 

Bucky’s grip tightened on her, pulling her flush against him as he followed, every muscle in his body tightening as he reached his own release.

They stayed like that for a moment, both of them breathless, lost in the aftermath of what had just happened. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, still reeling from how quickly their situation had escalated. 

“Shit,” he heard her whisper. She pulled away from him, her eyes wide and panicked. 

“What’s wrong?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. His voice was rough, unsure. She wouldn’t even look at him, and it was killing him.

“I -” She cut herself off, her voice small. “I can’t do this.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she was already shaking her head, moving further away from him, almost like she was trying to distance herself from everything that had just happened between them.

She slipped off his lap, trying to straighten the skirt of her dress and pull the neckline back into place. 

“I didn’t think it’d go this far,” she muttered, her voice cracking slightly. 

He could barely hear her over the rush of blood in his ears. He wanted to reach out, to pull her back into his arms, but he stayed frozen in place. 

“We -” She swallowed, her breath shaking. “We can’t. Not like this. You’re... you're running for office, Bucky. This is... this is a mess.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His pulse raced, but now it wasn’t from the rush of adrenaline and desire. Now, it was the cold, tight knot of panic curling in his stomach. He zipped his pants and tried to regain his dignity. 

“I … I’ve just ruined it,” she went on, voice barely above a whisper. “We could’ve been caught, and I… God, this could be... this could ruin your career.”

She turned away from him, reaching between the seats to retrieve her shoes and her bag. 

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was still trying to process her words when she looked at him, eyes wide and glassy, as if she might cry any second. She looked so vulnerable, so out of control, and he wasn’t sure what to do with that.

He reached for her, his hand extending instinctively, but she slid along the seat, closer to the door, her breath trembling.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words so quiet, so filled with regret that they felt like a physical blow. “I didn’t think. I just… I couldn’t... I couldn’t stop. I’ve ruined everything for you. I should have just... stayed away.”

The guilt in her voice made something inside him tighten painfully. 

“Don’t,” he managed to say at last, his throat dry. But she was already moving away from him, already pulling herself together. 

She opened the door, and just before she stepped out of the car, she glanced back at him, but it wasn’t the look he expected. There was no longing, no regret, just... distance.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again. And then, before he could even process it, she was gone. 

She walked away from him, her heels clicking against the pavement as he sat there, frozen, alone in the dim light of the car. His hand hung in the air where she had been moments ago. He sat in the car, staring at the empty space between them. His chest felt hollow. 

She hadn’t just left, she had run from him. 

~~~~

He'd driven himself home, his own playlist still plugged into the dash. Everything in the driver’s seat reminded him of her. Her lip balm in the centre console, a hair claw clip attached to one of the air vents but clinging on for dear life. 

The scent of sex and her perfume filled the car.

At home, he stood in the middle of his kitchen, the silence of the place suffocating him. His hands were still shaking, he hadn’t noticed, but now they hung uselessly by his sides, feeling heavy, like they didn’t belong to him anymore. He couldn’t stop replaying it in his head. 

He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts of her, but it was impossible.

The way her body had reacted to him, the warmth of her skin, the softness of her breath against his ear. 

The way her head had tipped back, the pleasure that had crossed her face as she tightened around his cock. The sweet, desperate sounds she made as he fucked her.

It all consumed him. 

And then, just as quickly as it had all begun, she was pulling away from him, pushing him away, leaving him in that car like he was nothing more than a mistake she wanted to forget. He paced through the kitchen, his thoughts spiraling out of control. 

Why did he always do this? Why did he always fuck things up? 

The guilt hit him like a ton of bricks. He could still feel the heat of her body against his, the way she had looked at him before she walked away. She'd blamed herself, but he should have stopped it. But he hadn’t. He’d let it happen. He should have never let it get this far.

And now, all he could think about was how he’d ruined everything. Again. He hated himself for it. Hated himself for putting her in a position where she felt like she had to leave.

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck as he stood there, unable to move, unable to do anything except drown in his own regret. He hadn’t been that close to a woman in… Christ… Since before Hydra. Since the war. Since before everything about him had been rewritten.

Even now, all these years later, with Shuri’s tech in his veins and Wakandan peace etched into his bones, there was a part of him that whispered:

What if it’s not gone?

What if it’s just sleeping?

He hadn’t trusted himself. Not with something fragile. His career was a minefield, and she hadn’t signed up for this mess. She was supposed to be a colleague. She deserved better than someone who could fuck it all up without even thinking. But the longer he stood there, the more he realised something else. Despite his guilt, he could only think of one thing. 

She should be there.

All he wanted right now was for her to be in his bed. 

He wanted more than some quick and dirty fumble on the backseat of the car. He wanted to hold her, to feel her skin against his. He wanted to taste her, he wanted to see every tremble and shiver. 

He wanted to take her apart again and again.

But the second that want rose up in him, his own mind turned on him. 

You don’t get this.

You don’t get to have this.

Ever the self-saboteur.

He knew he should probably call Sam. Sam would listen. Probably say something reasonable and kind but also just harsh enough to snap him out of being his own worst enemy. He ran a hand through his hair and stared at his reflection in the window. The city lights outlined his silhouette. 

Familiar. Dangerous.

No wonder she bailed. He couldn’t blame her.

~~~~

He hadn’t slept. Not really.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. He could still feel her pressed against him, warm and trembling, still smell her perfume clinging to his skin. Under the water in the shower, he'd found faint traces of her lipstick on his neck. She’d walked away with his cum on her thighs, and all he could think about was how much more of her he wanted.

He hadn’t even finished his coffee when there was a knock at the front door. He opened it to find a guy standing on the steps, holding a clipboard.

“Mr. Barnes? I’ve been reassigned to your transportation detail. Do you happen to have the keys to the Range Rover?”

Bucky blinked at him. The words barely registered. She’d bailed. He nodded stiffly and turned back into the house to grab the keys, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

The drive was far quieter than he’d become used to. There was no music, no humming, no early-morning opinions about pastry options or off-key singing to Chappell Roan. Just the hum of the engine and the occasional comment from the new guy.

Bucky didn’t bother speaking to him. The guy didn’t take the hint. 

“I’ve read your schedule for the day. We’ve got a tight window before the community board meeting -”

“I know what’s on my calendar,” Bucky snapped.

Silence followed. Blessed, suffocating silence.

He stared out the window, jaw clenched, fingers twitching against his thigh. Coward, he thought. She’d just… bailed. After everything that had happened, she couldn’t even face him the next morning. 

And maybe, yeah, maybe he deserved that.

But she could’ve at least had the guts to say it to his face. He pulled a file from his bag and opened it, finding a post-it stuck to the inner cover.

I can’t say this to your face… please don’t wear that ugly green tie ever again.

He huffed a short laugh and peeled the note off the page, holding it delicately between his vibranium fingers. Then he pushed it deep into his pocket. By the time they hit the fifth red light in a row, he was ready to throw the new driver out of the car and take the wheel himself.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it, it buzzed again. He sighed and yanked it out.

Sam.

“This better be good,” he muttered into the handset.

“Nice to hear your sunny voice first thing,” Sam said dryly. “So. You fired her or she quit?”

Bucky’s grip tightened on the phone. “Don’t start.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam relented. “You gonna tell me or do I have to guess?”

“I didn’t fire her,” Bucky said. “She left.”

Sam paused. “Shit. You okay?”

Bucky didn’t answer. Just stared out at the grey city morning, the scent of her still lingering in the Rover’s air vents and in the leather seats.

“Did you… do something?”

“I let something happen,” he swallowed. 

“Well. That’s progress. You used to let nothing happen.” Sam sighed. 

Bucky stayed quiet, jaw clenched as the car rolled to a stop again. The new driver muttered something about roadworks up ahead. Bucky barely heard him.

“You still there?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Bucky muttered.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Sure about that?” 

“She left, man. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“I want you to admit to yourself that you like her.”

“I -” Bucky cut himself off. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I wasn’t supposed to.”

“Oh, well, shit. If you weren’t supposed to, then by all means, ignore your feelings, bottle that shit right up and carry on like you always have….”

“You’re an asshole, Wilson.”

“Maybe she’s scared.”

“Of me?”

“No. Of wanting something she thinks she can’t have. Y’know, I think this is progress,” Sam said simply.

“Progress?”

“You used to shut down over less. This is you feeling something. Big difference.”

“Doesn’t mean I know what the hell to do with it.”

“Maybe figure that out before you waste it.”

“I’ve got a meeting.”

“Well,” Sam sighed, “try not to kill anyone, yeah?”

Bucky hung up and let the phone drop to the seat next to him.

Meeting rolled into meeting rolled into glad-handing and drinks rolled into more meetings. He didn't dare ask the new guy whether he was a permanent fixture, but after a week he didn’t need to. Bucky could still hear the echo of her laugh from a week ago. He gritted his teeth.

She’d run.

He knew fear when he saw it. Hell, he’d lived inside it long enough to recognise the shape of it behind someone’s eyes. But it still burned that she hadn’t even tried to talk to him. She just slipped away. Left him sitting in that car, half-wrecked, still tasting her on his lips.

Now he was stuck with a driver who just followed the GPS like a good little drone. No chaos. No conversation. No challenge. He almost missed the way she argued with him over the best shortcut to… anywhere. Almost.

He shifted in his seat, jaw tight. He was beginning to think Sam was right. He was a mess. But he couldn’t tell if he was more furious with her… or with himself.

He reached into the centre console for her lip balm, intending to hang onto it should she return, but it was gone. 

“There was some stuff in here?” He asked the driver.

“Yeah, I had a clear out. Car was full of crap.”

He managed to stamp down the urge to tell the driver that he was full of crap.

The press pool was already waiting by the steps of the courthouse. Cameras, microphones, all of it too close, too loud, too much.

Bucky adjusted his suit jacket, the collar suddenly stiff around his neck. He caught sight of himself in a car window as he passed. He looked tired and drawn.

Pepper was beside him, heels clicking confidently on the pavement, tablet in hand. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Are you ready?”

He nodded. 

“Yeah? It’s getting a little close for you to change your mind on me?”

The crowd surged as they stepped up to the podium. Questions flying. Cameras flashing. Someone shouted a question he only half heard.

He opened his mouth, but the words caught. His tongue felt thick. Pepper stepped in smoothly, answering for him. “The candidate is eager for the campaigning to be over and is ready to commit to bringing change to this office.”

He blinked, forcing himself to nod in agreement. The crowd moved on, more noise, more questions, but he wasn’t really hearing any of it.

They slipped into the back hallway once the press had been corralled and the cameras stopped flashing. Pepper held the door for him, always two steps ahead. Always in control.

“You’re off,” she said plainly, not bothering to dress it up.

“Didn’t sleep.” Bucky ran a hand over his jaw. 

She tilted her head, unconvinced.

“You’ve got a good thing going,” she added after a beat, voice softening. “Don’t let your pride make you ruin it.”

“You talking about my campaign or something else?” He frowned. “Why aren’t you doing this, Pepper? You’re brilliant, you don’t need me.”

Pepper just gave him one of her knowing looks. The kind that said she could run this country in her sleep.

“He forgave you, you know. He may not have had a chance to say it with… everything that happened. But he did. And I know Tony would want it to be you.” She covered his hand with her own, the paths of gold in his arm illuminated by the sun streaming through the high windows and catching on the wedding ring she still wore. “Let yourself have this, James. For once.” She squeezed lightly and left him in the hallway.

He stood for a moment, a memory hit him without warning. Just the two of them stuck in traffic on the expressway, his jacket abandoned in the back seat, the sun baking the interior of the car.

He remembered the music first, loud, unapologetic. Beyoncé into Aretha into Gaga. She’d called it her ‘power woman playlist’ and refused to turn it down.

“You’re playing Run the World while we’re sandwiched between a garbage truck and a school bus,” he’d muttered, shooting her a look.

“And?” She’d been reclined slightly, foot on the dash like she owned the vehicle, sunglasses perched on her nose as she scrolled through her phone. “This tailback goes on for miles. We’re fucked.”

“Call Pepper and let her know?”

“You call Pepper! I’m not your secretary,” she’d muttered.

“She’ll kill me.” He whined.

“Great, then maybe I’ll finally be free of being stuck in traffic with you.”

He pulled a face, she stuck her tongue out. Neither of them prepared to incur the wrath of Pepper Potts. 

And now, here he was.

Back in motion. Moving forward. Making headlines.

And all he wanted was to be stuck in traffic with her again.

He just about fell into the car by the end of the day, he almost didn’t see it.

The sun caught the glint of it just right as he ducked into the Rover after another long day of pretending to be fine. Pepper had left him with a look that said You’re doing the work but you’re not here.

And now, in the dim light of the car’s interior, there it was. A slim chain, half-coiled and glittering under the drivers seat. Not flashy. Just a delicate gold bracelet with a tiny star charm, bent slightly out of shape. His breath caught in his throat.

He reached for it slowly, as though it might vanish. The clasp was broken, he remembered it now, so clearly, the way he’d gripped her wrist as her hand fisted in his shirt. How he’d heard something hit the floor and neither of them had cared.

It was such a small thing. Stupid, really. But as he turned it over in his fingers, the pressure that had been simmering under his skin since she walked away finally cracked.

He’d been punishing himself for the wrong thing. He wasn’t guilty for what they’d done, not really. He was guilty for what he hadn’t done. For letting her walk away thinking she was a mistake. He’d let her go, like he always did. 

He let people walk away from him because he thought that’s what they were supposed to do.

He looked down at the bracelet again, turned it over in his palm, then he closed his fingers around it.

Enough wallowing.

He didn’t know what he was going to say to her, not yet. But he’d find the words. He’d find her. Because whatever this was, mess or miracle, it wasn’t finished.

~~~~

Pepper was already in the car when he slipped into the backseat the following morning, still rolling the bracelet between his fingers in his pocket like it might start whispering directions.

She didn’t look at him right away, just scrolled something on her tablet, then spoke in that too-calm tone that meant she knew exactly what he was about to ask.

“I heard you tore apart your office looking for a driver’s file.” She sighed and finally looked up. “Bucky, I know you think this thing with her is some kind of disaster, but I’ve seen you during actual disasters. This isn’t one.”

“What if she doesn’t want me to find her?”

Pepper gave him the look, the one that could cow Tony on his worst days. “You would’ve done the same thing five years ago. Hell, two, even.”

“I don’t even know where she is.” He looked down at the bracelet in his palm. 

Pepper paused. Then, with a subtle movement, she slid a folded piece of paper from her planner and placed it on the seat between them. “She started working at a community kitchen on the east side. Wednesdays and Fridays.”

He stared at the paper.

“She didn’t give a forwarding address,” Pepper said lightly, “but I figured you’d get there eventually. You usually do.”

He picked up the paper without looking at her. Tucked the bracelet into his pocket.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Don’t thank me,” she said, going back to her tablet. “Just try not to screw it up twice.”

He didn’t intend to. He pulled up across the street from the community kitchen and just... sat there. Elbows on the wheel. Staring.

His phone buzzed in the cupholder and then half a second later came through the car speakers.

“You there yet?” Sam asked eagerly.

“I’m outside.”

“Then get out of the damn car.”

“I’m waiting for the right moment.”

“It’s not a hostage negotiation, man. It’s a community kitchen. You’re not even armed.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Alright, ok, fine. You want a play-by-play? Here it is. You go in. You apologise like a grown-ass adult. You tell her she means something to you. Boom. Done.”

Bucky put the car into gear and pulled away from the sidewalk.

“Jesus, are you circling the block again?”

“I’m scouting,” Bucky muttered.

“You’re stalling,” Sam snapped. “She’s not a bomb, Buck.”

“She could be,” Bucky grumbled. “Emotionally.”

There was a pause. Then Sam’s voice got soft, not mocking anymore. “You care about her. That’s scary. I get it. But you’ve already done the hard part. You let someone in. Now you just have to show up.”

Bucky pulled into a space a few meters further down the road. He exhaled slowly. His hand hovered over the door handle.

“…Go,” Sam said. “Go now.”

“I am,” Bucky said.

“You’re talking, not walking.”

“I am walking, shut up.”

“C’mon old man. Get your head in the game.”

Bucky laughed in spite of himself, then hung up. And finally, finally, he got out of the car.

The place smelled like spices and steam and something sweet baking. It was busy, loud with clattering trays and chatter, and she was behind the counter in a borrowed apron, laughing at something one of the other volunteers said. She froze. Just for a second. Then came around the counter, wiping her hands on a towel.

“If you’re here to yell -”  

“I’m not.”  

That gave her pause. “I thought you’d be furious.”  

“I was,” he admitted. “At myself.”  

She blinked. That clearly wasn’t the answer she expected.  

“So what are you doing here?” she asked, cautiously.

“I came to talk,” he says simply.

“You could’ve texted.”

“You wouldn’t have answered.”

She looked away, a flash of guilt in her eye.

“I didn’t come here to fight. I just… I needed to see you. I needed to tell you I’m sorry I let you walk away thinking you’d done something wrong.” He said quietly.

“Bucky…” she said softly. He drew in a shaking breath. “This isn’t the place.”

“I know. But I didn’t know if I’d get another chance.” 

Someone called her name. She glanced back toward the counter, then looked at him again.

“I have to finish my shift.”

“I’ll wait.”

“You don’t have to -”

“Yeah,” he tells her, “I do. I want to.”

She hesitated and then begrudgingly nodded. Then she turned back to the kitchen and got back to work. He watched her at first, laughing with her colleagues while she cooked. They had a rhythm, a cadence. She automatically, without fuss, stepped next to an older lady and lifted a large pan from the stovetop. She took the physical work away from the elderly volunteers in such a way that they didn’t notice.

While he waited, a delivery van pulled up and began unloading crates of soda, leaving them stacked just inside the door. He picked up the first couple of crates and one of the other volunteers beamed at him.

“Young man, that is so kind of you. Out the back please, there’s a shelf in the pantry.”

The driver arched an eyebrow as he brushed past her to the pantry. Then he made a second trip, and a third. Then he took over peeling potatoes from a man who needed to collect his kids from school.

At some point, someone took pity on his suit and threw an old apron over his head. By late afternoon, someone had posted a picture on Twitter and he could feel his phone blowing up in his pocket.

And when her shift ended, they walked out together.

“Can I walk with you?” He asked.

“You’re gonna leave the car there? Might not be there when you get back,” she sniggered.

“It’ll be fine.”

“There’s been pictures of you all over Twitter this afternoon.”

“I might have missed a few calls about that.”

“Can’t do your reputation any harm,” she shrugged.

“How’ve you been?” He asked.

“I’m… fine.”

“You ran -”

“Hardly, not in those heels.”

He didn’t laugh.

“I risked us getting caught. Your career would have been over. How’s the new guy?”

“Got the personality of a traffic cone.”

“Ouch, that’s cold,” she smiled faintly. “This is me.”

She nodded at the brown bricked building, clearly expecting him to say goodbye.

“Can I… Can I come up?” He asked.

She hesitated, unsure of what to say.

“Just to talk,” he assured her.

She turned and pushed the door open. She didn’t explicitly invite him in, but she left the door open behind her. He followed. Her apartment was small, lived-in, and warm. He’d barely stepped inside before she moved past him, tossing her keys into a bowl on the side and kicking off her shoes like she needed the extra second to collect herself.

“You want coffee or something?” she asked, already halfway to the kitchen.

“No,” he said softly. “I just wanted to talk some more.”

“Look, you’re the golden boy right now, Bucky. And I’m... I don’t want to be the girl who tripped you up.”  

“You’re not.” He crossed the space between them slowly, deliberately. “You didn’t ruin anything. You made me feel like… like I could actually make it through this.”

Their eyes locked, the silence thick enough to touch.

“I shouldn’t let you come up,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said.

Her fingers unclenched first, then her arms loosened. And still, neither of them moved.

Bucky stood there, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, yet still far enough that she had the space she needed. He watched her for a moment, searching her eyes like he was trying to figure out if this was the moment he’d fuck everything up again.

“You really think you ruined it?” His voice was quieter now, softer, like he wasn’t just asking, but letting her know how much he wanted her to say no.

She swallowed, lips pressing tight together, shaking her head. “I don’t know. I… I thought I had to leave before you saw it was all just... a mess. Before you realised you’d made the biggest mistake of your life”

“Have you not read my Wikipedia page?” He deadpanned. “No,” he continued, low and deliberate. “You weren’t the mess.”

She didn’t answer at first, her gaze flicking to his lips, then back up to his eyes. And then, as if the decision to cross that line was finally made for both of them, he reached for her.

The first touch was tentative, the barest brush of his fingers along her cheek, as if he was testing the waters. But when she didn’t pull away, he slid his hand to the back of her neck, pulling her in slowly, giving her the choice to stop him if she wanted to.

She didn’t. Instead, she met him halfway, pressing her lips to his, soft at first, but it didn’t stay soft for long. Her hands found his chest and twisted into his shirt, and he groaned, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until they both forgot where they were, what they were supposed to be doing, what they were supposed to be avoiding.

It was messy. It was desperate. But it was everything. 

He broke the kiss first, forehead resting against hers as they both tried to catch their breath. His fingers shook as he touched her face, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip as though he was trying to memorise the feel of her, as though she might vanish the second he let go. She met his gaze, breath shallow.

“You’re sure?” He murmured.

Her hands slid under his shirt, warm against his skin. He wanted to say something, to tell her how much he’d wanted this, how much he needed her, but he couldn’t find the words. 

She was already pulling him toward the bedroom, her lips trailing fire down his neck as her hands worked at his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders.

He followed her lead, his lips finding hers again, more urgently now, more desperate. He lifted her effortlessly, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him down the hallway. 

He pushed her back onto the bed and for a moment, everything was still. He hovered over her, he wanted to take his time, wanted to touch and taste every inch of her. 

She sat up, reaching for him and kissed him again, harder, deeper, and that was all he needed.

He tugged the hem of her t-shirt, lifting it over her head and throwing it somewhere into the corner.

She gasped when he kissed down her neck, his hands trailing along her body, memorising every inch of her skin. He needed to be gentle and savor this moment with her, but everything inside him screamed for more. 

And when she pulled him down, urging him closer, he couldn’t deny it anymore. She reached for the button on her own jeans, but he batted her hand away.

“Nope, stay still,” he urged, dragging them down her hips. Everything he hadn’t seen in the darkness of the cramped backseat of the Rover was unravelling before him. The curve of her hips, the birthmark on her thigh. Everything about her was intoxicating. He reached behind to unhook her bra, pulling the straps down her arms.

“Bucky, please,” she sighed. He shook his head.

“Didn’t get to see you last time, sweetheart.”

He kissed a hot path down her body, and hooked his index fingers in the waistband of her underwear, waiting for her to lift up so he could pull them down.

“Keep your hands to yourself, doll." He smirked as she leaned back on her elbows, propped up so she could see him. 

He placed her legs over his shoulders and littered kisses from her knees up her thighs, settling at her center. 

With a final glance up at her, he traced his tongue through her folds before teasing her clit. A flurry of expletives and moans tumbled from her, she lay back again, unable to support herself on shaking arms. Instinctively, she reached down to run her hands through his hair again, he grabbed her hips and pulled her firmly against his mouth. 

"God, Bucky!" Her breath caught in a gasp. He kissed and licked random paths across her sensitive core before slipping two fingers inside her. 

He moaned, pressing his lips against her clit, her hips arched up towards him, a desperate attempt to find more contact. He caught the movement, his hands tightening around her hips as he held her steady.

"Patience, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice low and filled with need. "I want to take my time.”

"Please, Buck -" she whispered hoarsely, her voice desperate and pleading. 

He moved his hands to spread her thighs further open, his touch both gentle and firm. His lips brushed against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, leaving a trail of hot kisses as he moved closer again to her core. 

"Yessss," she sighed, her voice a desperate plea. "Please, there… please," she begged, her body arching towards his mouth.

He laughed softly at her lack of composure, enjoying the way she came undone under his touch. "That's what I like to hear," he growled, his breath hot against your skin. "Want you to beg for me.”

Her voice cracked on crying out his name once again and  he gave in. Buried his mouth between her thighs, slow at first, just enough pressure to make her hips lift again, greedy for more.  

And God, the sounds she made… they rewired something in him. His hands gripped her hips like he was anchoring himself.  

“Jesus,” he muttered against her skin, “you’re gonna ruin me.” But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. And when her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just so, he moaned against her, like it was his name on her lips that made the world spin.

Her thighs trembled around his head, the taste of her flooded his tongue. He didn’t rush, he didn’t let her slip away from the edge. He held her there, one arm wrapped under her hip, the other hand spread low over her stomach, holding her still while he worked her apart.

The first time, she came fast, too fast, hips bucking, breath catching, his name barely audible through the groan she bit down.

He didn’t stop.

“Bucky -” she gasped, fingers clenching in his hair.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

He slid two fingers into her, curling just right, his mouth still soft and relentless. When she came again, it was with a choked cry, one hand fisting the sheets, the other clinging to his metal wrist.

And still, he didn’t let go.

When he finally rose over her, his mouth slick, his eyes darker than she’d ever seen, she reached up and traced where flesh met metal at his shoulder. He stilled under her touch. Watched her.

“You always this gentle with weapons?” he asked, trying for cocky, but it came out too soft.

She smiled, thumb brushing along the seam. “Only the dangerous ones.”

She was still breathing hard when he kissed her again, slow and deep, like he wanted to memorise her from the inside out. Her thighs were slick against his hips now.

“Bucky, please,” she whispered, and he felt it everywhere.

He lined himself up with a hand around himself, the other gripping her thigh. He paused, just long enough to look at her.

He pushed into her slowly, all the air leaving his lungs in one ragged breath. She was warm and tight around him, her body drawing him in inch by inch until he bottomed out with a low groan. Her nails dug into his back, her head thrown back against the pillow, pure heat and trust beneath him.

“Jesus,” he breathed, forehead dropping to hers. “You feel like…”

He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and rolled her hips, grinding against him, and all he could do was move with her, slow, deep, unhurried. He wasn’t trying to chase the end. It was everything he thought he couldn’t have, he wanted to savour every second. Every time she moaned his name, he felt something inside him unravel, and when her hand slid down to the metal of his arm, gripping tight, he nearly came from that alone.

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered against her skin, lips brushing her cheek, her jaw, her mouth again. “I’m not gonna last.”

He drove into her again, this time harder, the rhythm losing its softness but not the meaning. She clenched around him, a sharp gasp escaping her as her climax surged through her again, this time with him inside her, gripping him, holding him there.

“Fuck -” he choked, the feeling of her coming undone around him undoing everything in him.

His control snapped.

One, two more thrusts and he was gone, spilling into her with a groan. He pressed his forehead to hers, trembling. 

They stayed like that, bodies tangled and damp, hearts hammering in sync, her fingers still gently threading into the short hair at the nape of his neck.

Still in her.

He didn’t pull away. Her legs were still wrapped tight around his waist, heels hooked just above the curve of his ass. 

She shifted slightly beneath him, and it made them both gasp, too much and not enough, all at once.

“Jesus,” he whispered, voice wrecked, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You feel… fuck, you feel like everything.”

One of her hands slid up his spine, nails grazing lightly, gently. The other curled at the back of his neck, holding him there like she didn’t want to let go. 

She was still breathing hard when he tucked her into his side, arm curled around her waist, nose pressed to her temple like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Just the soft sound of their breath, the slow return to normal. Then she shifted, just enough to hook her leg over his hip. His hand moved instinctively to her thigh, thumb brushing the crease where her leg met her hip. 

“You’re not done, are you?” she murmured, teasing, her voice rough and warm.

He huffed a laugh, low in his chest. “Not even close.”

She turned her head to look at him, eyes soft and a little smug. “Super soldier stamina?”

He met her gaze, that crooked smile playing at his lips again. “One of the perks,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

Her fingers traced lazy circles over the metal plates of his arm where it rested on her belly, curious and gentle. “Do you… feel it? When I touch this?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice quiet now. “Not like flesh. But I feel you.”

Her touch slowed, thoughtful. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered following the paths of Wakandan gold with her fingertips. The plates and panels seemed to shiver under her touch. He traced the same pattern on her thigh. 

“I don’t know where this is going,” she said softly, “but… I want to find out.”

His hand curled around to grip her ass and pulled her closer. “We will… but first…” 

~~~~

Bucky was up before her. Still in bed, propped on one elbow as he watched her with a lazy, satisfied look that made her bury her face in the pillow to hide her smile.

“You’re staring,” she mumbled.

“You talk in your sleep,” he replied, completely deadpan.

She reached back to swat at him, but he caught her wrist easily, grinning as he kissed the inside of it. “Don’t worry. Still cute.”

She rolled over and narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re cocky in the mornings.”

“Mm,” he hummed, nuzzling her neck, “wonder why.”

She shivered and pushed at his shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”

“Probably,” he said, clearly unbothered. “Want coffee or something else first?”

“First time in my life I'm not gonna say coffee,” she smiled.

“I wouldn't worry about that, I thought up a house rule while you were sleeping.”

“It's my house?”

“You'll like it,” he told her as she rolled them both over to straddle his hips. “It's simple. Every time we enter a new room, I get to fuck you in it.”

She threw her head back with a laugh, “Yes, I am definitely into that rule.”

He sat up without warning, making her squeak in surprise, and stood with her in his arms. 

“So, coffee?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing. “I don't have many rooms.”

He grinned against her shoulder. “There's my place too, and we’ve only tried the backseat of the car... Better pace yourself.”

Later they curled up on her couch, mugs of coffee in hand, the remains of a shared croissant on the table between them. Her legs were tucked under his, and he hadn’t stopped touching her. A thumb brushing her ankle, his knuckles grazing her knee.

“So,” she said, watching him over the rim of her mug, “what happens now?”

Bucky glanced at her, “well… I’ve got an event tonight, five more campaign stops next week, a town hall on Thursday, and a guy who can’t drive, doesn’t bring snacks and listens to talk radio.”

She snorted. “Tragic.”

He nodded solemnly. “Yeah, it's not great… I want you back,” he said. “Not just in the driver’s seat. I mean, unless you want to. You were pretty great at it. But I want… this. You.”

She bit her bottom lip, hiding the smile he already saw anyway. “Even if I challenge you on literally everything?”

“Especially that.” He reached for her hand. 

“Alright then. But driver's radio privileges are back in force.” She warned lightly. 

He groaned. “Even the boy bands playlist?”

“Of course the boy bands playlist! And you’re telling Pepper.”

He leaned over to kiss her, and this time it was slow and certain. No more running, no more second-guessing. Just him and her and a quiet beginning to something that felt a lot like normality. 

FIN

[scoopsahoy]

ok I've seen arguably too many "Steve takes your virginity" fics but not enough "you take Steve's virginity". maybe you could do it where the reader has seen him and a girl go into a bedroom at parties and stuff but he reveals that they don't do anything besides make out and/or talk because he didn't feel truly connected to anyone, but he does with the reader, and you're his first. doesn't have to be exactly that but I'd love to see something like this

ぺ  word count ⋰ 1.5k

✰  tw ⋰ none :)

❍  cw ⋰ swearing, sex, hints of oral

✐  masterlist

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

Getting asked out by Steve Harrington wasn't something you'd have ever anticipated happening, much less sitting in his passenger seat looking at the stars. But, much to your surprise, he was excellent company.

He made you laugh harder than you'd laughed in a long time, sometimes not even meaning to.

But after a brief moment of comfortable silence, you decided to change the subject.

"So... Betty Thompson, huh?"

"What about her?"

"What do you mean 'what about her'? I saw you guys the other night at Jackson's party."

"What did you see, exactly?"

"I saw her pull you into one of the bedrooms and shut the door."

"Oh, yeah."

"She's really nice."

"Yeah. We didn't... do anything, though."

Your brows dipped in confusion. "What? Nothing?"

"No."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "I wasn't really feeling it. She's sweet and everything. We just didn't... click. Sexually. Plus she was drunk and... you know, I didn't want to take advantage of that."

"Mm. So what girls have you clicked with? Sexually." You threw in that last part sarcastically.

He shook his head. "None of 'em."

At this point you felt like he was messing with you.

"Not a single one?"

"Nope. I mean, we've gotten along in every other way. Just not that way."

"So... are you-"

"A virgin?" You nodded. "Yeah." You could tell he was hesitating. His whole brand was being a lady's man, able to charm any girl in Hawkins. So admitting this clearly made him uncomfortable.

"You've never done anything?"

"I didn't say that," he joked. "I've just never gone all the way."

"So... oral is where you've stopped."

"Yeah. It's kind of embarrassing," he chuckled.

"No, not at all," you reassured. "It's actually kind of sweet."

"Sweet?"

"Mhm. I mean, come on. You're kind of known for being a bit of a womanizer. It's nice knowing you're not taking advantage of us."

"I guess so."

"Do you want to lose it? Your virginity, I mean."

He shrugged. "At some point, yeah, obviously. But I don't want it to be a fling. I want it to mean something."

"Yeah." There were a few seconds of silence. "If you had to pick who you lost it to... Who'd you choose?"

He looked down at his lap and that's when you noticed he'd been fidgeting with his fingers. You could see the wheels turning in his head. He let out a small chuckle.

"I... don't want to answer that."

"Oh, come on. I'm not gonna judge."

"I know, I know."

"So who?" You sounded a bit more excited than you were. He looked at you. "Who?"

"You," he choked out. This caught you off guard and when he sensed that, he cleared his throat.

"What, seriously? Me?" He nodded. "Why?"

"I've had a crush on you for a while. As dumb as it sounds I always... pictured my first time being with you."

You took in his words and processed what he was saying. Steve Harrington - The Steve Harrington - had pictured losing his virginity to you. And thinking about it, you wouldn't mind.

"Well... maybe... we could make your fantasy come true."

"I mean, I don't really know if I'd call it a fant-"

You leaned over and kissed him, admittedly harder than you'd meant to. His hand instantly shot up to your cheek and kept you in place. You kissed for a moment before you pulled yourself over to his side, straddling his lap.

His hands rested on your thighs, almost nervous to put them anywhere else. But before you knew it, they were sliding up your back, his fingers finding their way beneath your shirt.

When you leaned back a bit you accidentally honked the car's horn and both of you jumped, giggling when you broke apart.

"Maybe we should move this to the back of the car?" you whispered.

You both looked back at the rear part of the car, seeing clutter and a full trunk.

"My parents aren't home if you're comfortable coming to my house. Sorry, there's not much room back there."

You grinned. "Perfect."

The second you were in his room, you were on your back in his bed with his lips latched onto your neck.

"Steve," you whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Go slow. It's your first time, no need to rush." You could tell he was excited, his hands trembling slightly. You reached down and pulled your shirt over your head, struggling a bit where you were laying down.

You also sat up slightly to unhook your bra while he unbuttoned your jeans and wiggled them down your legs. Once they were off, you grabbed him by his shoulders and rolled him onto his back, your legs straddling his hips.

"You don't have to-"

"Shush," you interrupted. "It's your first time. Let me take the reigns."

He nodded, his cheeks pinkening a bit. You scooted down a bit, undoing his pants and pulling them down a bit, enough for all of him to spring out.

He closed his eyes tight and threw his head back a bit, and you could tell he was nervous. To make him more comfortable, you pulled his jeans down his legs and eventually threw them on the floor on top of yours.

His entire body was tense, like he was unable to relax. You picked up on this immediately and leaned down to put your faces closer together.

"Steve?"

"Mhm?"

"Open your eyes, look at me." He complied, his pupils massive. "Do you want to stop?"

"What?"

"You seem really nervous. Do you want to stop?"

"No. I want to do this."

You'd never seen him like this. You didn't even know he could be like this. All of his confidence had melted away seemingly instantly after you got on top of him.

You ran your fingers through his hair, pushing it off his forehead.

"If you do, say something."

"Trust me, I don't."

You leaned back and wrapped your hands around him, feeling his body soften and relax.

"That okay?"

"Oh, yeah. That's good."

"Good."

He reached over and opened his nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom.

"You're prepared," you joked, taking it out of his hands. He didn't respond, instead scanning your body with his eyes. Seeing you on top of him, so naked and vulnerable made butterflies stir in his stomach. Suddenly, he was worried he wouldn't be able to please you. But he knew you wouldn't judge him. It was his first time, after all.

The feeling of you sliding a condom onto him made a soft moan tumble from his lips, and you couldn't hold back the smirk that formed on your face.

"Are you ready?" you asked softly.

"Absolutely."

Slowly, you sunk down onto him and couldn't resist the moan that escaped you. His fingers pressed into your thighs, swearing he could bust right then and there.

"Shit," you whispered, your hands on his belly. "You feel really good."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Good."

"Do I feel okay?"

"Are you serious?" he chuckled.

With that, you lifted yourself before lowering down, only causing his fingers to grip you tighter. He moved his hands a moment later to your hips, almost guiding you along. Your movements were bounces mixed with grinds, something that was a bit difficult but felt amazing. For both of you.

It didn't take long before he sat up, pulling your lips to his with one hand, the other wrapping around your back and holding your body against his.

"I'm not gonna last much longer," he whimpered into your mouth.

"It's okay. Cum whenever you need to."

His mouth latched onto your neck and chest, and by how rough his kisses were getting, you could tell he was getting close fast.

"Fuck, Y/N." Him moaning your name was - as you were finding out - a huge turn on for you. That desperate tone of voice he had, it could've made you soaking wet on its own. You'd never heard him talk like that and it was hot. So fucking hot.

You reached down and began rubbing your clit, making your hips buck a bit. Your head was thrown back slightly as you bounced, giving him ample opportunity to pepper your skin with hickeys.

But the only thing he could do was rest his forehead against your chest, his eyes screwed shut tightly and his mouth agape.

He wanted to last longer so badly, but holding back was not an easy task. He was beginning to sweat and his moans were becoming more guttural, his fingertips sure to leave marks on your skin.

"Steve, I think I'm gonna cum."

"Me too," he strained.

He held you tightly as he exploded into the condom and your movements become sloppy, both of you moaning way louder than you intended to.

Once you stopped and you were both reeling from your orgasms, he rested his cheek against your chest. You breathed in tandem, trying to catch your breath.

"Shit," you whispered. You pulled his face off of you and leaned your head down to kiss him. His hands settled on your hips and you noticed he was trembling. When he opened his eyes, you could see how watery they were. "Are you okay?"

"I don't think I've ever been better," he grinned.

"You sure? You're shaking."

He shook his head. "I'm great." A cheesy grin spread across his face and you felt reassured.

[woncon]

Hey Woncon, hope you are doing well, can i ask Streetracer! poly! Mingi and San x gn reader estabilished relationship please

Hi, dear! I'm doing great <3 I hope you too.

Also, here is your request. It's finally done. I hope, you'll like it. 🥰

➳ sticky

➶ poly!sangi x gn!reader ｡˚ °

-ˏ` ✎﹏ How can you cheer Mingi up before a race? Easy: hugs and coffee. But if it doesn't work? Something sticky.

➴ genre: fluff, streetracer!au (with no actual streetracing, i'm sorryyy), estabilished relationship, polyamory, non-idol!au

: ̗̀➛ warnings: mingi is insecure, beside that this is pure fluff

⌨ :: 1.5K words ♡ ︵ . .

⁀➷ million hugs for @wonsheep for betaing!! ❤️

➳ mlist

“Three espressos, please,” you say, flashing a kind smile at the café server.

Bags sit under his eyes, and you know you're no better off. Unlike him, your features are sleepless not because of a nightmare shift, but as an aftermath of two guys who happen to have their car races organized at crazy times.

The server nods, fiddles with his machine, then retreats to the back where the real work is done. The coffee machine whirrs and the whole space smells of delicious, concentrated ground coffee beans. The smell alone is invigorating, enough to make you stop leaning your head on the counter and dozing off, instead looking out the window at the pristine surroundings watched over by the dim lights of the street.

It's two in the morning. The streets are deserted because everyone is still asleep, tossing and turning under blankets, dreaming all sorts of dreams. Even the sun is still snoring away in its own universal bed. But a few adrenaline junkies are on their feet - at least behind the wheel - to compete. Unnecessarily, you think. It's guaranteed that Mingi will win. And you're sure of that because San's not going. If they both get on the grid, it's never clear which one will finish first.

When the coffees are ready, you pay and hold the carton holder with both hands, pushing the door open with your shoulder. The parking lot is cool, much cooler than what would be pleasant after the warmth inside. You longingly recall the seat heater in Mingi's sports car, but for now you'll have to settle for coffee. You won't forgive yourself if you spill it on the seat - even if Mingi would forgive you immediately. Instead, you risk an external, yet easier to wash surface by placing the coffee holder on the hood.

“I've got it, it's warm,” you report, and then you glance curiously towards the back of the car. “What are you doing there?”

You round the side of the vehicle and are surprised to find that the situation is worse than before. Mingi has sunk deeper into ‘driver slump’, as Yunho calls it. His head is resting on San's shoulder, who is stroking his back.

“It won't work,” Mingi mutters.

“Come on. You'll be the best," San says in a soft whisper. His voice could melt car tyres.

Your eyes meet, making you involuntarily pat the pocket of your cardigan to see if you still have the secret ingredients you've been saving to cheer Mingi up. San doesn't have to say anything, because you reflexively step towards them to contribute your own two arms to Mingi's embrace. You've never seen him lose, and every race makes so much adrenaline course through his veins that he flashes reckless turns and grins. But he needs hugs and encouragement before that.

You stroke his waist and tilt your head against his shoulder blade.

“We both know you're going to be fantastic.”

You stand a little like this in the stillness of the morning. Then you pull away first, realizing that if you spend a few more minutes leaning against Mingi's back, you'll fall asleep.

“Come on.”

You finish your drinks in silence, leaning against the vehicle. Mingi is truly invigorated by the caffeine, the gleam returns to his eyes, and when you've watched long enough, he steps up to kiss you on the nose.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he says with a smile. “And for being here.”

Maybe you don't need to use the secret weapon.

“Are you ready then?” San asks. He pats Mingi's waist encouragingly, looks lovingly at him, and then at you.

Although coffee has positive effects, it doesn't solve everything. This is clear when the tall man's smile gives way to an uncertain expression.

“Uhm, can we just go home?” suggests Mingi. “It's still early, and there'll be Cypher, and…” he scratches the back of his head and really gets into making excuses. “...this race isn't that important.”

“You've been preparing for this for months,” you frown.

“You even wrote it in Yunho's work calendar,” San nods.

“Nothing to be afraid of, baby. Really. Cypher's notorious, but you can beat him just as easily as you beat that guy. What was his name?”

“Parker,” San helps you out.

You snap your fingers. “Ah, yeah! See? I forgot him already.”

Mingi sighs deeply. “I'll take out the trash.”

While he approaches the dumpster, you and San get in. You both climb into the back seat. With your butt barely touching the soft seat, and the car's rich Mingi-smell barely reaching your lungs, San leans towards you.

“Now?”

So, San thinks the method is definitely necessary.

You shake your head. “We don't have enough time now. When we fill the tank, then.”

While you're waiting in the queue at the petrol station, bird shit plops onto the windscreen. San hisses as if the bird had touched his body with its droppings. Once again, you're thankful you're not in San's car, who is much more fastidious about it than Mingi. Nevertheless, San is already reaching for the handle to get a windshield wiper.

“Leave it,” Mingi immediately talks him out of this plan.

“What?”

“It brings good luck,” the other explains, brightening up.

“According to whom?”

“Yunho.”

Yunho is many things: a former high school classmate of San's, a former neighbour, Mingi's best friend and his car mechanic. And your trio's matchmaker, who has ambitions like being the best man at your wedding. Someday.

San almost opens his mouth, but finally hums and sits back down. You don't have to read minds to know what he was trying to say. We know something else that brings good luck. You start talking about everyday, non-race specific topics. But by the time it's your turn and Mingi gets out to refuel, you and San are on the watch. You free the packet from your pocket and enclose it in your hand. Soon, Mingi gets back in and steers the car into the parking lot, then walks into the station’s shop to pay.

The action starts.

You both hop in the front seats. You tear open the cheap plastic protector with your teeth, and all the stickers of the package fall on your thighs. Colourful car stickers, a few motivational inscriptions: the perfect decor for Mingi to focus on your words of encouragement, to remember his successes when you can’t directly be with him. You could stick the first one on the dashboard, since you don't have much time, but San stops you by putting his palm on your knee.

“Are you sure?”

Of course he's unsure. Choi San, who keeps his car in a puritanical, clean manner, cleans it after every race, dusts it weekly, et cetera. You have to remind him that this is Mingi's car, Mingi's sake.

“Absolutely. It’ll be nice.” You hold his hand.

So you start taping. You're quick and consistent, running out of stickers quickly. You stick the last one above the steering wheel, a FIX ON sign burning in red flames, and then you pop out to sit back in the back as if nothing had happened.

“Huh,” sighs San, as you get back in time. He ruffles his hair and leans back, but his muscles are still tense and probably will remain so until he sees Mingi's positive reaction. Regardless, you smile at him and he smiles back.

How could this be done faster?

That's the way the two guys see life: a race against time.

Yet, the beauty of it is that when it comes to you, they slow down. Then there's no start line, no race, no trophy, just the three of you in a soothing, sprawling infinity. This was your fortune this time, as Mingi was looking around the shop comfortably and the queue was long, giving you time to get ready.

Mingi walks past the car. He gets in, throws his credit card reflexively on the passenger seat, and only at the end of the automatic movement, when he's about to turn the key, does he notice the stickers. He freezes, blinks, then turns around in disbelief.

“You two…”

“For luck,” you say. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” replies Mingi, a grateful smile spreading across his face. He strokes all the surfaces, studies them carefully, and then leans back between the front seats to give you a hug. “Thank you.”

“So you're off?” you whisper into his neck.

“With all this luck in your pocket, it would be a shame to miss it,” San murmurs.

Mingi hums. “Only if you come with me for a test drive first.”

“We wouldn't miss it,” San nods.

So, a test drive: an unbelievably fast drive without competitors.

The first thing you do is strap in. Of course, the car won't ignite at 200 km per hour directly here, you'll have to get to a more peaceful part of town first, but until then you have to prepare.

Although when they're with you they slow down, there are times when you’re the one speeding up for them. You know how good they are at driving, and how they make their cars dictate a tempo as fast as the one your heart beats to. You can't help but enjoy the rush, the new dimension that their feet on the pedal, hands gripping the steering wheel and speed open up in the early hours.

your likes, reblogs and comments are warmly welcomed! 💓thank you for being here!

[beelmons]

...uh oh. i may need to politely request this fic:

https://www.tumblr.com/beelmons/727110653210394624/i-feel-this-i-feel-like-spencer-would-only-use

spencer always calls reid by her name and reader is worried that means he doesnt like her as much as she likes him. and poor spencer is just oblivious as to was this matters 😭

It's fine, it's fine.

That's what you kept telling yourself. It's fine that Hotch calls his wife "honey". It's fine that Jennifer gets to be "sweetheart". It's fine that Penelope becomes "baby girl" despite not having any sort of relationship to Morgan whatsoever.

You don't need a pet name from your boyfriend, of course not. No "baby", that's weird, or "angel", that's cringe.

As you were sitting on the couch, sulking about the fact that it clearly annoyed you that Spencer would call you by your name instead of a cutesy petname made up by the two of you, you heard him call from the kitchen.

Once more, using your goddamn name.

"Okay, enough!" you finally blurted out, much to his utter surprise.

"Wha-" he tried to question in an attempt to get to the bottom of your sudden outburst.

"Don't call me by my name anymore, Spencer!" as you were yelling, you had to stand up and walk to the kitchen, where the poor man was holding a milk carton and looking astounded.

It had been a rather domestic day. Cleaning in your underwear, chilling by the couch. He had gotten up from your spot to grab some milk and cookies as an afternoon snack, and had called up on you when he couldn't find said cookies.

Now he was standing in the middle of his kitchen area, trousers and simple startrek t-shirt on, milk in hand, and a yelling girlfriend on his face.

"What's wrong with your name?" he asked with genuine curiosity

"Nothing is wrong with it, but that's not something to call your girlfriend of two years!" you yelled, your tone clearly getting higher.

"Is it not?" he asked once more. Despite his obliviousness seeming feigned to you, it was real to his core.

"I- You're-" you tried to fight back the need to strangle him, figure of speech, of course. Instead, you grunted and pushed on your temples.

However dreamy and kind, your boyfriend was, nonetheless, a man.

Exhasperation took over you over the lack of understanding on the severity of the situation and you knew better than to let yourself talk to him in that state. A resumé of fights and disputes being created by that same reason throughout the time you'd been together. You stomped your way back to the couch, where you simply decided to sit angrily with your arms over your chest.

The silence dragged out for quite a bit while the wheels in his head turned for a way out of this situation. Man, catching a killer was easier than walking through the eggshells you sometimes put out.

"Cinnamon." he simply said. You didn't answer, thinking that he was reciting to himself what he needed now. "That's what your name tastes like on my tongue." he added.

Finally, he earned a look back from you.

Spencer opened the fridge and put back the milk, an object that had lost several degrees of importance in the past few minutes, and walked over to you, taking a seat beside you on the couch and holding one of your hands into his. His touch was gentle, featherlight and quite fearful.

"I think it's due to the fact that I was tasting Penelope's coffee order when you were introduced to me." he continued "I'm sorry if I've come off as insensitive for not calling you a pet name but I had never felt the need for it. I love your name, I think it's a wonderful sound to emit."

It was now time for dialogue, no matter how uncomfortable it made you.

"Well, to me, it feels like you're calling out a friend. Someone who isn't special or remarkable in your life." you explained, your initial defense lowered, thus permiting you to express your insecurities fully.

You saw him make that stupid, adorable confusion face that he usually made. When he was trying hard to find the words to express a feeling he had never experienced before.

"I'm sorry." he simply put out for a second, hence igniting back a bit of your anger "But you see, it's not only the way it feels on my tongue. My heart, it races to levels I don't think are healthy whenever I hear it. My skin, it crawls with anticipation when it appears on my phone screen." he added "Your name is unique no matter how many people on this earth share it with you, and I could probably tell you how many exactly are there but I doubt you want to hear it right now." he had to clear his throat for a second "To me your name holds no other meaning but the one of pure love and happiness, so, to you it might appear I'm calling on to someone random but to me..." Spencer had to pause to put his head in order "...feels like I'm calling home."

You didn't realize your grip had tightened on his hand. Your eyes locked as he spoke had grown a couple of tears along the way. You were pulled, tentatively, into your boyfriend's arms, and there you remained for more minutes than you could have counted.

It's fine. Just your name is fine, as long as it's from his lips.

[storieswithvenus]

Anna - Aaron Hotchner x Pregnant! Fem Reader

“I am not naming my daughter Samantha, Aaron,” you say as you are folding up a load of washing you had thrown on your shared bed, Aaron sits on the armchair which was located in the corner of the bedroom, a pair of glasses laid on his face as he flicked through a book of baby names.

Licking his index finger and flicking to the next page, he started listing multiple girl names; Olivia, Rachel, Emma, Heather, Sarah, and Lisa. None of the names stuck out to you, at one point you groaned at one of the names.

"I told you I wanted to name her Astoria," you frown and look over at him, " I don't understand why you don't want to pick that name, it's adorable." Aaron sighs and puts the book down onto his lap, taking off the pair of glasses and placing them on the smaller table beside him as he runs his fingers through his hair, combing it out.

"I didn't expect it to be this difficult when it came to naming girls if I'm being honest, but you and I aren't getting anywhere with this and by the time the baby arrives we will still be arguing about her name." his voice was soft but slightly stern, you both knew the baby girl would be here any day, so why count you settle on one perfect name?

Your pregnancy had been amazing so far, you were always being taken care of by Aaron and your beautiful step-son Jack. Anything you needed they came immediately to you and got it for you. Jack had even suggested a few names himself, however, they were only names of girls in TV shows he watched.

Getting up out of his chair, Aaron walked over to you and pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping themselves around your waist and his head pressed into the crease of your shoulder and neck. "I think it's time we let go and let Jack pick the name," he begins as you feel him leave butterfly kisses on your shoulder, "it'll make him feel part of the family if we let him get the final pick."

You knew he was right in what he was saying. Jack had been a rock in this world for the both of you, he always went out of his way to make sure you knew he loved you, even if you weren't his biological mother. Jack went from being a shy boy who couldn't even look at you the first time you met him to now, this confident and goofy little boy who went and bragged about his mum and dad's career, that they "fought bad people and kept the world safe".

Aaron lifts his head to look down at you, both of you silently agreeing to each other that now is the time you should ask Jack to pick the name. Aaron grabbed your hand and led you outside of your bedroom and down the stairs, your eyes eventually settling on Jack who was playing with his toy cars on the carpet in the living room.

"hey little man, we have something we need you to do okay?" you sit down beside him on the carpet as you pick up one of his toys to play with, running the wheels over the carpet. Jack looks at you then at Aaron, "Am I in trouble?" his soft and quiet voice makes it hard to hear what he said. "No no of course not bub, me and Daddy just need you to help us with something to do with your baby sister okay?" holding onto his hand as you watched his eyes glass up with tears.

Aaron sits down on the other side of him, "We want you to pick baby sister's name jack, will you do that for us?" his eyes light up and his head turns to Aaron before looking back at you to make sure you two were asking him to name his little sister. Aarons's smile covers his face, and joy fills his eyes as he watches his son get up and start dancing around the living room and squealing at the fact he gets to pick the name.

"Really Daddy? You want me to pick baby sister's name?" Jack asks his father as he stops dancing for a moment. "We want you to be a part of this decision buddy, we want you to name her, anything you want. You tell him as he turns to look at you.

"Anna, I want her to be called Anna like in Frozen."