#he remains unapologetic about doing so | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theonottsbxtch · 3 months ago

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EL COQUETO | FC43

an: welcome back as we write about my n.1 pookie, i've got some more works planned for him BUT i've just gotten to france so imma be very busy rip, based off of this request

summary: when franco catches feelings for a journalist who is persuaded he doesn't really want her.

wc: 7.6k

The paddock was alive with energy, buzzing with the hum of engines and the chatter of the press as they swarmed around the new driver. She watched him move through the crowd with ease, a slight swagger in his step and a dazzling smile that had already made him the focus of every camera. He was the story of the weekend: Franco Colapinto, the unexpected mid-season replacement, here to shake up the grid with his flashy driving style—and, evidently, his unapologetic charm.

He caught sight of her, raised an eyebrow in recognition, and made a beeline toward her with the confidence of someone who knew he’d be welcome, even if he hadn’t been invited.

“Hola,” he greeted, his voice carrying a thick, rolling Spanish accent that seemed to coat every word in warmth. “You must be my next question of the day. They warned me about the best journalist here—of course, I was told to behave.”

She gave him a practised smile, cool but polite. “Franco, welcome to the team. How are you feeling about joining mid-season?”

His eyes sparkled, unfazed by the businesslike tone. “How am I feeling?” He leaned in just slightly, as though sharing a secret. “Well, right now, very lucky. They said I’d get tough questions, but they didn’t say the interviewer would be… distracting.”

She fought the urge to look away, just barely managing to keep her composure. “So you feel ready for the pressure, then?” she asked, refocusing, though the tiniest hint of a blush warmed her cheeks.

“For the track? Yes, I am prepared to race anyone.” He paused, letting his gaze linger on her a beat too long. “For the interviews? That remains to be seen. Perhaps you can teach me how to handle that part, sí?”

She could sense her colleagues nearby, some watching with open amusement as they caught his flirtatious energy. Franco was as smooth as they came, that much was certain. But she wouldn’t be the one to crack first.

“I’m sure you’ll learn quickly,” she said, tilting her head, her voice steady, though her heart raced. “Now, back to the race. What are your goals for this weekend?”

His grin broadened, but he played along. “Goals for the weekend,” he echoed thoughtfully, shifting back into the question. “Win a few hearts, break a few records—no particular order.” He winked, and she felt a laugh bubble up before she stifled it, opting instead for a brisk nod.

“Right. Well, I hope you’re ready for the competition,” she managed.

He shrugged, eyes glinting with mischief. “With you here, qué competencia?”

She gave him a pointed look, resisting the smile tugging at her lips. “You know, charm doesn’t score you points on the track.”

“Ah, no?” He tilted his head, feigning surprise. “Then I suppose I’ll have to win the hard way.”

Just then, a flash of cameras went off around them, the media eating up every angle of Franco’s arrival. He seemed entirely unfazed, even performing slightly for the flashes. The crowd around them surged with questions about his plans, about what his first practice would look like, about his last season in Formula 2. But Franco’s attention was still locked on her, and he hadn’t missed a beat.

“So,” he said, with that soft smile of his, “do you think I’ll be able to charm Formula One, or will they be immune to my Argentian ways?”

She gave him a dry smile. “You might have your work cut out for you. It’s not a stroll through Argentina, after all.”

He laughed at that, clearly enjoying her wit. “You’re tough,” he said, a touch of admiration sneaking into his voice. “I can see why you’re the best.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Flattery won’t distract me from the questions, Franco.”

“No? Not even if I try very, very hard?” he asked, drawing out the words with a grin. It was ridiculous, really—the way he leaned into every word, the way he seemed to shine in the spotlight. But there was something endearing about it too, something that felt… unexpectedly genuine.

“Not even then,” she replied, her tone light but steady. “Let’s talk strategy. What’s your focus for your first race?”

He sighed, shifting slightly but keeping that glint in his eye. “Fine, I’ll behave,” he said with a sigh, straightening up to answer. “My focus is simple: get the car under me, push it to its limits, and aim for a strong finish. Maybe even a few surprise overtakes. I’ve been itching to get back on the track.”

It was the most serious answer he’d given yet, and she noted the shift in his voice—a hint of intensity breaking through the smooth, easy charm.

“And your teammate?” she pressed, sensing she’d found the thread to pull him out of his flirtatious veneer. “Are you prepared for the rivalry?”

Franco’s expression turned thoughtful for a moment, a flicker of something sharper in his eyes. “My teammate…” He paused, glancing away briefly before meeting her gaze again. “He’s William’s best. I’ll learn from him, give him the respect he deserves. But I didn’t come here to play second.”

She watched as someone next to her scribbled down his answer, though her mind wandered slightly, wondering at the complexity beneath his charm.

“Good to hear,” she said, offering a small nod. “We’ll all be watching to see if you live up to that confidence.”

“I live up to my promises,” he replied smoothly. Then he leaned in one last time, lowering his voice just for her. “One of them being to get at least one smile from you by the end of the weekend. I’ll start with that goal.”

Before she could reply, he gave a casual wave to the crowd, moving on to the next journalist as though he hadn’t just made her heart skip a beat with his easy, disarming confidence. She watched him go, flustered despite herself.

One thing was certain: Franco Colapinto was going to be a story.

When the time came, the race had barely begun, but her eyes were already glued to the screen, following the sleek white-and-blue car with Franco’s number emblazoned on the front. Despite her best efforts to stay neutral, to approach this like any other weekend, there was something magnetic about watching him. Franco Colapinto, the audacious rookie, who’d barely spent a week with the team and had taken to the grid without a single day of training in an F1 car.

From the start, it was clear he was playing it differently. He didn’t charge forward recklessly like other rookies might have, eager to prove themselves. Instead, Franco took a few cautious laps, feeling out the car, testing its responses. She noticed how his style evolved lap by lap, each one more aggressive, his moves sharper. He was adapting, learning the car right there in the thick of the race.

As the race progressed, he began to gain ground. Corner after corner, he squeezed every ounce of performance from his machine, edging closer to the pack with each lap. By mid-race, he was overtaking the backmarkers, slipping past seasoned drivers who had years on him, and the commentators were buzzing.

She caught herself smiling, feeling a strange, almost foolish pride as she watched. The memory of his easy, arrogant grin flashed in her mind, his voice low and teasing: “Do you think I’ll charm Formula One?” She’d laughed it off, but he had something special, didn’t he? That hunger for the track, the sheer nerve to go head-to-head with anyone in his way.

Then, as if her thoughts had summoned trouble, the camera cut to his car—a close-up on his visor as he fought for P12. Her heart caught as he made a daring move, threading his car through a razor-thin gap into the next turn. It was reckless, and yet somehow—somehow—he made it stick.

“P12!” The radio crackled through his team radio, their voice as surprised as she felt. For a rookie with zero F1 experience, it was practically a victory.

She exhaled, releasing a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. The chequered flag fell, and Franco’s car slowed down, his voice breaking through the team radio with a triumphant laugh, half-sighing, half-cheering in disbelief at his own result.

When she saw him back in the paddock, she managed to slip past the swarm of journalists waiting to pounce, positioning herself where he’d inevitably cross her path. She didn’t want to admit how much she wanted to hear his version of the race firsthand, to see if the adrenaline still sparkled in his eyes the way it had behind the visor.

When he finally caught sight of her, his face lit up. “Ah, my toughest questioner returns,” he said, the grin wide as he raked a hand through his hair, still tousled from the helmet. “So? Impressed?”

She raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her expression composed. “Not bad for a first race,” she said, voice calm but betraying the slightest hint of a smile. “Though I have to say, you took some pretty risky moves out there.”

Franco laughed, that low, familiar chuckle that could disarm anyone. “You sound like my engineer. But I had to make it interesting, didn’t I?” His gaze softened slightly, the playfulness ebbing for a moment. “I did better than you expected, maybe?”

“Maybe,” she admitted, leaning in just a bit. “I wouldn’t let it go to your head, though.”

He feigned a wince. “Ah, so I’ll have to work harder to impress you, then.”

With that, she couldn’t hold back the smile any longer. “Perhaps,” she said, voice softer. “But you’ve made a start.”

She followed the rest of the press corps into the media pen, her notebook in hand, watching as Franco slipped into his role with practised ease. The other drivers, still catching their breath, answered questions in measured tones, clearly exhausted. But Franco was… well, Franco. He leaned back against the barrier, relaxed, a half-smile playing on his lips as he answered questions, some about his lack of training, others about his shockingly high finish.

She hung back at first, observing him as he effortlessly charmed each journalist in turn, flashing that disarming grin and making even the toughest questions seem like casual conversation. But when his eyes caught hers across the small crowd, he subtly waved her forward, his grin widening.

“Ah, finally,” he said, his tone playful as she approached. “I was starting to think you were hiding from me.” The other journalists shot her curious glances, some smirking at Franco’s obvious interest.

She managed to keep her expression neutral, clearing her throat and lifting her voice to a professional tone. “Franco, congratulations on P12. Quite a debut.”

“Gracias, cariño,” he replied, eyes sparkling. “For a moment, I thought you didn’t think I could do it.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly take the most traditional route,” she shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You had us all on the edge of our seats with those overtakes.”

He leaned in a little, lowering his voice to just above a murmur, his gaze fixed on hers. “I thought about what you said. ‘Charm doesn’t score points.’ So I had to give you something else to smile about.”

She could feel her cheeks warm under his steady gaze, and she fought to keep her expression cool. “Don’t flatter yourself, Franco. I’m just here to report the facts.”

“Hmm,” he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, though a playful smirk tugged at his lips. “Well, the fact is, I went from P20 to P12 on my first day. But somehow, I think I still haven’t impressed the person who matters most.”

“The person who—?” She trailed off, exasperated. “Franco, you were the story today.”

“Was I?” he asked, the innocent tone entirely ruined by the mischief in his eyes. “Because if I’m the story, you’re the reason it’s a good one.”

Before she could protest, he glanced over her shoulder at the next journalist, nodding politely. Then, in a flash, he was back to her, clearly undeterred. “When can we continue our interview?”

She forced herself to keep her composure. “I think you’ve given me more than enough material for one day.”

“A pity.” He shook his head, though his grin was unmistakable. “Then maybe next time, you’ll be a little more impressed.”

She watched him walk away, shoulders loose and steps casual as he moved from one group of reporters to the next, answering their questions with the same easy confidence he’d shown with her. She could still feel the heat of his gaze, the lingering effect of his words making her pulse quicken.

“Wow.” The journalist next to her, a seasoned reporter with a wry smile, gave her a knowing look. “You okay there? He has that effect, doesn’t he?”

She blinked, quickly snapping out of her daze, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. “I—yeah, I don’t know what’s going on,” she muttered, shaking her head, trying to compose herself. But she could still hear his words ringing in her ears, his playful teasing, the warmth in his gaze. “The person who matters most.”

“Oh, I think I do.” The other journalist smirked, nodding in Franco’s direction as he laughed and clapped a fellow driver on the shoulder. “It seems Franco over here has a slight crush.”

She scoffed, though it came out more flustered than she’d intended. “Franco has a crush on every woman he talks to. It’s his… thing since he got here.”

The journalist raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Maybe so, but I’ve watched him all day and that was different.”

Her colleague’s words only made her cheeks grow warmer. Was it that obvious? She was used to managing tough interviews, unflappable under pressure, and here she was, thrown off by a driver who hadn’t even been in Formula 1 for a full week. But somehow, Franco’s charm wasn’t just some casual game to him; it felt more… intense. And he’d directed every bit of that intensity straight at her.

The journalist chuckled. “Don’t overthink it. Enjoy the attention—it’s not every day a rookie looks at you like you’re the finish line.”

She glanced away, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. She didn’t want to admit it, not to her colleague, and definitely not to herself, but there was something in the way he’d looked at her, like she was more than just another journalist, more than just one of the many people crowding his spotlight.

“Well, let’s hope he stays focused on the real finish line,” she replied, aiming for a casual tone that didn’t quite land. But she couldn’t deny it—Franco Colapinto was becoming more than just the story of the weekend. He was starting to feel like her story, too.

Later that evening, she sat in her hotel room, trying to unwind from the chaos of race day. The lights of the city glimmered outside her window, but her mind was still caught on Franco—his effortless charm, that maddening smirk, the way he’d singled her out, even with half the media pen watching. It was absurd, really. She’d covered far bigger stories, spoken with veteran champions, and yet one rookie had managed to leave her feeling more flustered than she’d care to admit.

With a sigh, she scrolled through her phone, halfheartedly catching up on messages, until a notification popped up that made her heart skip.

Francolpainto has sent you a message.

She hesitated, a mix of curiosity and nerves swirling in her stomach as she opened it. The message was simple, casual—like he hadn’t already spent the whole day keeping her off balance.

Franco: Hola! Are you at the hotel?

Before she could talk herself out of it, she typed a quick reply.

Her: Yes, I am.

The response came almost immediately.

Franco: Perfect! I’m downstairs in the lounge. Come have dinner with me?

She stared at the screen, her mind racing. It was tempting—she’d be lying to herself if she said it wasn’t. But she knew his type all too well, didn’t she? The charming new driver who flirted with every journalist, every fan, anyone who would listen. She could already imagine him saying the exact same things to another reporter tomorrow.

No, she couldn’t let herself get pulled in. Not by someone who was probably just looking for a bit of attention.

Her: Thanks, but I think I’ll pass. Long day.

She set the phone down, hoping that would be the end of it, but a new message came through almost instantly.

Franco: Too bad. I was hoping I’d finally get a smile out of you without a hundred cameras around.

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t deny the small flutter his words sent through her. He was persistent, that was for sure.

Her: You’re very determined, Franco. But I have to ask—do you make this invitation to all the journalists?

A pause, just a few seconds longer than his usual quick responses. Then, his reply appeared, simple and direct.

Franco: No, just the one who keeps me on my toes.

Her: Pity, this one isn’t intrested.

She set her phone down after typing that, ignoring the little thrill that shot through her when he messaged her again almost immediately. Franco’s charm was undeniably effective, but she wasn’t about to let herself become just another name on his roster of admirers. He’d have to do a lot more than offer a casual dinner invite if he wanted her attention.

Franco: Really? You’re going to turn me down just like that?

She smirked at the screen. Of course he wasn’t used to hearing “no.”

Her: Really. I’ve seen you in action today, Franco. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to keep you company.

A longer pause this time, as if her words had taken him off-guard. When he replied, his tone was more thoughtful.

Franco: That’s not what I meant. Today was… different. I don’t want to go to dinner with just anyone. I want to go with you.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she forced herself to stay firm. She typed a quick reply, keeping it casual.

Her: Nice try. But I’ve seen the way you charm everyone you talk to. You’re going to have to try a lot harder if you want me to believe that.

A few minutes passed, and she wondered if maybe he’d let it go. But just as she was about to put her phone down, another message appeared.

Franco: Okay. Fair enough. How about this: tomorrow, after practice, let me show you what a real date looks like. No crowds, no cameras. Just you and me.

She hesitated, feeling the pull of curiosity mingled with doubt. She knew he could be as persistent as he was charming, and there was something intriguing about his willingness to push past her refusal.

Her: Why should I believe this isn’t just a game to you?

His response came quickly this time, almost earnest.

Franco: Because no one else makes me want to try this hard. I’m not playing around here, cariño. Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it.

She smiled, a little thrill rushing through her. For the first time, he seemed genuinely off-balance, unsure, and she couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Her: We’ll see if you mean that. Good luck tomorrow, Franco.

Franco: Gracias. And just so you know… I’m not giving up that easily.

The following week, she found herself in the bustling paddock of the Baku, her eyes catching sight of Franco’s car parked in the paddock. She had to admit, he’d stayed true to his word since their last exchange, staying out of her messages—though his lingering glances and smiles across the paddock hadn’t exactly disappeared. If anything, he seemed more determined, more focused. It was all part of his act, she reminded herself. And yet, there was something undeniably thrilling about it.

She was busy gathering notes when she felt a familiar presence beside her. Franco had sidled up, hands tucked into the pockets of his team jacket, his easygoing grin making her pulse quicken in spite of herself.

“Back to cheer me on, sí?” he asked, eyes bright with that familiar mischief.

She held back a smile, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “I’m here to cover the race, Franco. Your cheering section is back there.” She nodded to the growing crowd of fans waving his name on signs with Argentinan flags just a few metres away.

He laughed, the sound warm and rich. “They’re great, sure, but I was looking for one particular fan. The one who told me I’d have to work harder if I wanted to impress her.”

She raised an eyebrow, stepping out of earshot of the nearest camera. “Oh, you remember that, do you?”

“Every word,” he said, his gaze steady. “I thought about it all week.”

A small thrill ran through her, though she kept her voice steady and her tone cool. “Well, if you’re serious, you’ll have to do better than last week’s P12. Otherwise, it just looks like more talk.”

His expression shifted, his easy grin giving way to a flash of determination. “If it’s a higher position you want,” he said, leaning in just slightly, “then I’ll get it. Just keep watching.”

She crossed her arms, fighting the smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll be watching, Colapinto. Don’t disappoint me.”

He held her gaze for a moment, his eyes flickering with something that felt genuine, earnest. “I don’t plan to,” he murmured, stepping back with a wink before heading toward his car.

As he disappeared into the garage, her heart raced. Franco Colapinto, the rookie charmer, was setting out to prove himself to her. And, as much as she hated to admit it, she was looking forward to seeing if he could keep his promise.

She sat in the media centre, eyes locked on the screen as the race unfolded. Franco’s car was easy to spot, weaving its way through the pack with a precision she hadn’t expected. He was starting further up this time, P18, but it was still a long shot to even think he’d break into the top ten. Yet as the laps ticked by, he held his ground, pushing, clawing his way forward with a tenacity that had everyone watching in awe.

“Impressive for a rookie,” she overheard another journalist mutter, and she felt a strange pang of pride.

Halfway through the race, Franco made a daring overtake, squeezing past two midfield drivers into P10. She sat forward, barely breathing. He wasn’t just hanging on—he was gaining, going after every single opportunity on the track with a fierceness she hadn’t seen before.

He’d promised her he’d finish higher than last week, and she’d thought it was just talk, maybe a little playful charm. But here he was, proving her wrong lap by lap.

By the time he made it to P9, she was leaning forward in her seat, clutching her notebook tightly. And then, with a bold move on the final few laps, he passed another driver, slipping into P8. Her heart raced as she watched him hold his ground, fending off the competition, determined to keep the position he’d fought so hard for. The chequered flag dropped, and Franco crossed the line in P8.

She exhaled, a rush of surprise and admiration flooding through her. She’d known he was talented, of course—he wouldn’t have made it this far otherwise. But this? Climbing ten positions in a single race, all for a chance to prove himself to her? It was more than she’d expected.

As the race ended, she moved through the paddock, her mind whirling. Franco Colapinto, the charming rookie who flirted with everyone, had just delivered one of the most impressive drives of the day. For her. And she wasn’t sure if she was more impressed with his skill or his determination to keep his word.

She barely had a chance to catch her breath before she was back in the paddock, microphone in hand, ready to take on the post-race interviews. As she waited for Franco, she replayed his climb through the ranks in her mind—his nerve, his timing, the way he’d handled himself on the track. It wasn’t just impressive; it was astonishing. And as much as she tried to shake it off, she couldn’t ignore the small thrill that ran through her at the thought that he’d done it, in part, for her.

Finally, Franco appeared, still in his race suit his face glistening with the sheen of hard work. There was a slight glimmer of triumph in his eyes as he spotted her, a grin spreading across his face. He walked over, ignoring the other cameras and reporters, his gaze focused squarely on her.

She raised her microphone, keeping her expression as neutral as she could. “Franco Colapinto, P8—your second race in Formula 1, and already a massive improvement from last week. Can you walk us through it?”

He took a quick breath, then leaned in, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Well, you know, someone told me I had to get higher than P12 if I wanted to impress them,” he said, his tone light but his gaze steady on hers. “So I did it for them. Great motivation.”

Heat crept up her neck, and she forced herself to stay focused. She could feel the eyes of the other journalists and team members on them, her colleagues probably smirking at his obvious attempt to fluster her, but she managed to hold her ground.

“Impressive,” she said, keeping her voice level. “And this ‘motivation’—I assume it’s the same one who’s kept you on your toes all week?”

Franco’s grin grew wider, unabashed. “Absolutely. Turns out, when someone challenges me, I take it seriously.” He shifted his stance, his gaze softening just a fraction. “And if they ask, I’ll do it again.”

A few people around them chuckled, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. This wasn’t the usual post-race banter, and he didn’t seem interested in giving anyone the typical driver answers. He was speaking to her as if they were alone, and for a brief moment, she almost forgot the cameras.

“Well, whatever you’re doing,” she replied, finally letting a small smile slip, “it seems to be working. P8 is no small feat.”

He tilted his head, as if studying her. “Then maybe next week, you’ll set the bar even higher for me?” His voice was low, just enough for her to hear.

She felt her resolve waver slightly, but managed to maintain her professionalism. “We’ll see, Colapinto. For now, let’s just focus on how you plan to keep this up.”

He chuckled, shifting his grip on his helmet. “Oh, I think I have all the motivation I need right here.” With one last grin and a wink, he turned to greet the other journalists, leaving her to process what was easily the most disarming post-race interview she’d ever conducted.

Later that night, she was back in her hotel room, unwinding with a cup of tea, trying to shake off the lingering thrill of Franco’s performance—and his audacity in the post-race interview. She still couldn’t believe how he’d shamelessly directed half of his answers at her, leaving her just as off-balance as he had on the track. But as much as she tried to dismiss it, her thoughts kept circling back to his determination, his promise that he’d push harder just because she’d challenged him.

Her phone buzzed with a message, and she glanced down to see it was from the William’s Instagram Account.

Team Rep: Hey, what’s your room number?

She frowned for a moment, surprised by the casualness of the message. But teams occasionally followed up with journalists for clarifications or comments, especially after high-profile performances like Franco’s. Assuming they needed to drop off some post-race press notes or team statements, she quickly typed back her room number.

Her: Room 914.

Team Rep: Perfect. Thanks.

Not even a minute later, she heard a quiet knock on her door. She glanced at the time, wondering if the team rep had come by himself. But when she opened the door, the hallway was empty. Instead, resting on the floor in front of her was a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers—vibrant, unruly, and charmingly imperfect, wrapped with a small card slipped between the stems.

Her pulse quickened. She didn’t have to check the note to know exactly who had left them.

Still, curiosity got the best of her, and she crouched down, carefully lifting the bouquet to pull the card free.

“To my motivation: thank you for the push. Let’s raise the stakes again soon. — F.

A soft, reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She felt the warmth creeping up her cheeks, aware that Franco Colapinto had managed to surprise her again. It was a move so bold, so unexpected—and, somehow, more genuine than any casual dinner invitation could have been.

She sighed, shaking her head but unable to fight the smile any longer. As she placed the flowers on the table, their vibrant petals catching the soft light, she couldn’t help but wonder what Franco would pull next to prove himself. Because one thing was certain: he wasn’t giving up. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want him to.

She couldn’t resist. Picking up her phone, she sent a quick message, keeping it light, casual.

Her: Cute.

It didn’t take long for his response to pop up.

Franco: Oh? You find me cute?

She rolled her eyes, though her heart skipped a beat as she typed back.

Her: No, the flowers were a cute move.

A beat passed, and then came his reply, playful but edged with a hint of something more.

Franco: Well, then… would you let the guy behind the cute move take you out for dinner?

She hesitated, fingers hovering over her phone. She knew what this looked like—a line blurred between work and something personal, maybe too personal. And for him, a rookie who’d just broken into the sport, one misstep could easily become a distraction he couldn’t afford. It wasn’t just her reputation, but his too, and the stakes felt higher than either of them probably realised.

Her: I don’t know, Franco. There’s too much on the line.

A pause, longer than his usual quick responses, and for a moment she thought maybe he’d let it go. Then his reply came through, brief and simple.

Franco: Okay.

She stared at the word, an unexpected pang of disappointment catching her off guard. Franco, usually so persistent, so bold, had accepted her hesitation without a fight. But as much as she wanted to push away her own reservations, she knew she was right. Still, the thought of him backing off now left her feeling… unbalanced.

Setting the phone down, she let out a sigh, glancing over at the flowers resting on her table. A small part of her wondered if maybe, just maybe, she’d made the wrong choice.

Four weeks later, they were back at the track, Austin, the usual energy humming through the paddock as teams and drivers prepared for the weekend ahead. She found herself scanning the garages, a little spark of nerves in her chest that had nothing to do with work. Franco had kept his distance over the past few weeks—well, as much distance as someone like him could manage. He was still his playful, charismatic self with the press, charming everyone in sight, but there was something different. He hadn’t followed up on his dinner invitation, hadn’t tried to push beyond her boundaries. She told herself it was for the best. Still, a small part of her couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been too cautious.

Just then, she spotted him near the team’s garage, leaning against the wall in his race suit around his hips, deep in conversation with one of his engineers. When he looked up and saw her, his face lit up, a grin breaking across his face as if no time had passed. She felt a little of that old thrill in her chest as he walked over.

“Hola, stranger,” he greeted, hands tucked into his pockets of his team jacket, his voice as warm and casual as ever. “Miss me?”

She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “You were just here four weeks ago, Colapinto. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckled, giving her that familiar, playful look. “Four weeks is a long time, don’t you think?”

She shook her head, feeling a bit of the tension from the past month melt away. Whatever her own doubts, Franco hadn’t let her brush-off change him—he was still here, as charming and persistent as ever. And somehow, that lifted a weight off her shoulders.

“Have you been behaving?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “Or should I be prepared for more unexpected flower deliveries?”

Franco’s grin grew wider, his eyes flashing with that spark she was growing dangerously used to. “Depends. You miss them?”

She laughed softly, looking down to avoid letting him see her smile. “I’d hardly admit that if I did.”

He leaned in just slightly, his voice lowering. “Good thing I’m a patient man, then. Because I’m not done yet.” There was a softness to his tone, a hint of something genuine beneath his usual confidence, and it made her heart skip a beat.

Despite herself, she found comfort in his persistence, in his way of toeing the line between serious and playful without putting any pressure on her. For all his charm, he hadn’t crossed any lines. He was waiting, leaving the door open if she ever wanted to step through.

As he turned to head back toward his car, he glanced over his shoulder, giving her a wink. “You know where to find me if you change your mind, cariño. I’ll be around.”

And with that, he disappeared into the garage, leaving her standing there with a soft smile, feeling just a little lighter, a little braver.

She found herself glued to the screen as the race unfolded, Franco’s car darting through the pack with all the finesse and raw determination she’d come to recognise in him. Starting from P17, he had a long climb ahead of him, and as the laps ticked down, he kept gaining ground, his timing sharp, his decisions bold. He was relentless, working his way through the grid with an intensity that kept her at the edge of her seat.

By the halfway mark, he was already up to P12, and she could feel the anticipation building among the journalists and crew around her. Franco wasn’t just driving; he was fighting for every single position, taking advantage of each moment with an almost calculated risk. And he was doing it with the confidence that had both frustrated and charmed her from the start.

Then, in the final laps, with a daring overtake on the inside line, he claimed P10. A top ten finish. It was almost too perfect—his words from the last race echoing in her mind as he crossed the line: “If they ask, I’ll do it again.”

The paddock was buzzing with excitement as she made her way toward the media pen, preparing herself for the post-race interview. She tried to tamp down the flutter of nerves, reminding herself that he’d been charming his way through interviews with her for weeks now. But there was something different this time, a spark of pride mingled with her excitement, and she couldn’t wait to see him walk in.

When he finally appeared, the smile on his face was brighter than she’d ever seen. Still in his race suit, a towel on his head, he strode over to her with that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. She raised her microphone, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“Franco Colapinto,” she began, her own smile betraying just a hint of the thrill she felt. “P10 from P17—congratulations. Tell us, how did you manage such an impressive climb?”

He grinned, leaning casually into the microphone. “Well, you know me. I like a good challenge,” he said, his gaze holding hers for a second longer than necessary. “And I couldn’t let down the one person who told me I had to keep improving.”

The implication wasn’t lost on anyone listening, and she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She rolled her eyes slightly, playing it off as best she could. “Seems like you’re making a habit of climbing positions to impress,” she replied, keeping her tone light.

Franco’s smile softened, turning almost genuine. “For some things,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear, “it’s worth the effort.”

She swallowed, momentarily at a loss for words, but managed to pull herself together, keeping the interview rolling. “Well, you’ve certainly earned that P10. What’s the plan for next time? Any more surprise performances in store?”

“Oh, definitely,” he replied, flashing her a grin. “But let’s say I’ll aim higher than P10 next time. If someone out there is willing to set a new challenge for me, I’ll be ready.” His words hung in the air, a subtle invitation that made her heart skip a beat.

She couldn’t hold back her smile as she wrapped up the interview, his gaze lingering on her with that same unspoken promise. And as she watched him walk away, her heart raced with the thrill of what might come next, realising that maybe—just maybe—she was ready to see where this challenge would lead.

As Franco walked away, she felt the lingering warmth of his gaze, that same thrill coursing through her that she’d tried so hard to brush off. But now, it seemed, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to. The interview had felt like more than just a casual exchange; his words, his look—there was something real beneath the flirtation, something she found herself wanting to chase.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of post-race coverage and media duties, but her thoughts kept drifting back to him, to the way his eyes had held hers, steady and genuine, as he’d promised to aim even higher. It was only when she caught herself looking around the paddock, almost instinctively, that she realised she was seeking him out. By then, her professional caution had faded, replaced by something far less reasonable but far more enticing.

She knew she was violating so many unspoken rules as she made her way around the paddock, ducking out of the more crowded paths and slipping past the occasional lingering crew member. A pang of guilt buzzed at the back of her mind, but it was no match for the magnetic pull drawing her toward his driver’s room.

She stopped outside the door, exhaling a shaky breath as her pulse raced with a mix of nerves and anticipation. The hallway was quiet, the sounds of the bustling paddock fading away. Before she could second-guess herself, she raised her hand and knocked softly.

The door opened, and there he was, in a grey tracksuit and plain black top, his expression shifting from surprise to that warm, familiar smile that had always managed to disarm her.

“Well,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “I didn’t expect my motivation to show up in person.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding her smile. “I figured I’d come to make sure you’re planning to keep your word. That climb to P10 wasn’t exactly a small feat.”

His smile softened, and he stepped aside, wordlessly inviting her in. As the door clicked shut behind them, the noise and pressures of the paddock slipped away, leaving just the two of them. The look he gave her—warm, unguarded, and almost vulnerable—made her heart skip a beat.

She’d broken so many of her own rules just to get here, but in this moment, she couldn’t bring herself to regret a single one.

Taking a moment to look around, she noticed his bags were packed and ready for the triple header and that there was nowhere to sit.

She sat on the edge of his bed, trying to look at ease despite the heat rising in her cheeks. Franco stood in front of her, close enough that her knees brushed his legs. The room felt charged with his presence, the quiet intensity in his gaze making it impossible to look away.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he murmured, leaning down a bit. The way his dark eyes lingered on her, sweeping over her face and holding her gaze, sent a rush of warmth through her.

She felt a smile tugging at her lips, trying to keep her voice steady. “Figured I’d make sure you’re holding up after all that hard work.”

He chuckled, his voice low, with just a hint of playfulness. “Oh, I’m holding up just fine.” He reached out, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek, letting his thumb linger just a moment too long against her skin. “In fact, I think I’m doing better than fine.”

Her cheeks flushed even deeper, but she held his gaze, determined not to let him throw her off-balance—at least not completely. “You know,” she said, trying to match his tone, “you don’t have to turn everything into a line, Colapinto.”

Franco tilted his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Only with you, cariño.”

She let out a soft laugh, her heartbeat picking up as he moved closer, until he was standing right between her legs. She felt his fingers trace gently along her jawline, his thumb tilting her chin up so she was looking directly into his eyes.

“Not used to being flirted with, cariño?” he asked softly, his voice smooth and teasing.

She swallowed, feeling her blush deepen as her usual composure slipped. “No… not like this.”

“Shame,” he murmured, his thumb grazing her cheek as his eyes searched hers, warm and intent. His voice softened, and the playfulness gave way to something more genuine. “Because I’m just getting started.”

She felt her breath hitch, her pulse racing as his words sank in, leaving her both disarmed and impossibly drawn in. And in that moment, she realised that every wall she’d put up around him was slipping away, piece by piece.

For a moment, she couldn’t take her eyes off him, the air between them thick with anticipation. Then, she noticed the small silver chain dangling from his neck, glinting faintly against the fabric of his black top, and without thinking, she reached up, wrapping her fingers around it gently.

Franco’s gaze flickered in surprise, his breath catching as she tugged on the chain, pulling him just close enough that their faces were inches apart. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, and the intensity of his gaze sent a thrill through her that made her heart pound. His hands settled on either side of her hips as he leaned in, their breaths mingling in the charged silence.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she closed the space between them, pressing her lips to his. The kiss was tentative at first, soft and exploratory, but the warmth in his response was immediate. His hand slid up her back, pulling her closer, and she felt his fingers tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss, his touch gentle yet confident.

She didn’t realise how tightly she was gripping his chain until she felt his hand cover hers, his thumb tracing lightly over her knuckles as if to say, I’m here.

When they finally parted, both of them slightly breathless, Franco looked at her, hand caressing her cheek, his smile soft and real, devoid of his usual playfulness. He looked at her with a quiet intensity that made her stomach flip.

“You know," he started, his voice dipping into that smooth, charming tone, “I thought I never had a chance with you. You made me work for every single look, every smile…” He shook his head, his hand still resting against her cheek, his thumb brushing just beneath her jaw. “I was convinced you’d never actually let me get this close.”

She felt a warm, amused smile tugging at her lips as she listened to him, his words genuine but tinged with that familiar, playful charm. Watching him, her heart surged with an undeniable impulse, one she didn’t want to ignore any longer. In one fluid motion, she slid her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down, pressing her lips to his again with a fierce, unrestrained intensity that sent sparks through her.

Franco’s surprise melted instantly, his hands slipping from her cheek to either side of her hips, matching her passion. The kiss deepened, turning slower, almost reverent, as if neither of them wanted the moment to end. She could feel his pulse racing under her hands, his warmth overwhelming in the most exhilarating way.

Without breaking the kiss, she leaned back, drawing him down with her onto the bed. She felt his weight settle gently over her, his hands bracing on either side of her as he kissed her with a hunger that felt both new and inevitable. When he finally pulled back just slightly, his lips hovering over hers, his voice was breathless, a bit dazed.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, his fingers tracing down her arm as he held her gaze, a vulnerable softness there she hadn’t seen before.

“Good,” she whispered back, her own voice unsteady, feeling as though her walls were completely gone now. “Because I don’t plan on making it easy for you.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned down, his mouth finding hers again with an eagerness that left them both completely lost in each other, as if the rest of the world had faded away.

Maybe he was worth the wait.

the end.

2K notes · View notes

trashytracktales · 3 months ago

Note

Love the Lando fic. I am soooo desperate for a really smutty Max fic. He’s been feeling down that he hasn’t been winning and his best friend jokes she’ll give him head if he wins the sprint in Austin. You can guess the rest. I really in some need for friends to lovers smut

So we ride | MV¹

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Thank you so much for loving my previous work!! I hope you like this one as much 🤍🎀

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

𐙚 summary ──── She’s been there for him even before his career in F1 took off. And now that Max is struggling, there’s no other place she’d rather be than beside him.

𐙚 pairing ──── Max Verstappen x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, smut, descriptive language & descriptive paragraphs (because I can't stop yapping), mature/sexual content, fingering, unprotected sex, friends to lovers, Filthy Mouth Max, swearing.

𐙚 word count ──── 4.4k

𐙚 date ───�� Nov. 4, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── I swear I planned to make an absolute filth out of this one, but somehow, I low-key ended up giggling and kicking my feet by the end. Nice 👌🏻

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

THE DISTANT CHEERS still reverberate faintly from the paddock as she waits by herself in Max's room.

She has no idea why she's suddenly nervous. It's just Max. Her Max. Her best friend.

She's been in his driver's room countless of times before, but something has shifted. The energy is charged, somehow, with the weight of everything that’s changed between them over the past month. He’s been making more effort to be in her life, but even though she thinks he does it only because he needs a break from his hectic life, she's not complaining. Quite the opposite.

They’ve been talking day and night, sharing calls and endless text conversations. Every message, every call, and every laugh they’ve shared has pulled them closer, blurring the lines that they’d always kept so carefully intact.

Memories creep in like old songs she can't stop replaying in her head while she rests in the small space that smells like him — a delicious, subtle scent that lingers wherever he goes, a clean mix of sandalwood and a hint of leather from his racing gear, with just a trace of something so uniquely Max.

Without having the privilege to stop her mind, she lets it wander to the first time they met, long before Max secured his seat in Formula 1. Even though he was only a teenager at that time, he was ferocious and resilient, and anybody could see the determination behind his eyes, to the point it was almost impossible to turn and look away.

At least that's how she remembers him.

From that day on, she’d been there for every milestone. Every point earned, every setback, every win, every lose, every title, every new girlfriend, and every break-up. She never questioned him, even when others criticized his aggression on track and his obsessive desire to win. She was aware that he had a cause to fight for and a lot to prove. And she understood that in a way that Max had told her no one else did.

She knows him better than anyone. Maybe because they go so far back. Or because he trusted her enough be unapologetically himself around her. They had always had a tight bond and, at some point, they ended up giving in to temptation. They were each other’s first, and even though both of them were so bad at it, that moment still remains until this day a mix of curiosity and comfort that neither of them had found elsewhere.

But they were young and very much not in love, and they didn’t want to lose themselves in the process. It made more sense to stay friends, because when it comes to relationships, timing is everything. He was going to be away all the time, and she couldn't wait for him — not that he would have ever let her do that. Max Verstappen is selfish in every aspect of the word, especially when it comes to the people he cares about, and she has always been his soft spot.

Being far too deep in thought, she barely hears the door open, flinching slightly as Max storms in, a tight smile plastered on his face.

“You’re here?” he asks in surprise, the second he sees her laying on the two-seater couch.

The first thing he notices is a papaya orange cap, and a Red Bull jersey that she stole from him two seasons ago, neatly tucked into her black skirt.

“Well, you won,” she shrugs, articulating her words, thoughtfully. “That was a cute drive.”

Max laughs, tracing a hand through his messy hair, “Cute?” he asks, raising an eyebrow in her direction.

“And simply lovely, congrats!” she giggles at the use of his catchphrase.

His skin is glistening with a mix of sweat and that post-win adrenaline that's still in his system. Even though it was just a sprint race, a win is a win. She can tell he’s tired, but he’s more alive now than she’s seen him in weeks. The second half of the season is not treating him well, and it has been hard for Max — though not impossible — to keep the cofidence up, given that the top step of the podium seems to get further and further away with each race week.

He even told her that he misses hearing the Dutch national anthem. Coming from Max, that means something.

It's frustrating, but he manages.

“Thanks,” says Max, leaning against the door as he unzips his suit, tying a knot with the sleeves around his waist.

She can’t help but take him in — his messy helmet hair that she always makes fun of, but secretly finds very, very attractive, the damp collar of his racing suit, the helmet marks imprinted on his rosy cheeks, and the muscles in his forearms flexing as he crosses his arms, still buzzing with energy.

“How’s Martin?” Max continues, the corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing smirk while he crosses the room to sit next to her.

The room itself it's pretty small — just the couch, a table with his water bottle and energy drink scattered on top, and a change of clothes resting on a shelf nearby. But despite its plainness, Max’s presence fills every inch of it.

“He had the nerve to shush me when I started singing your song after you crossed the finish line,” she admits.

Max laughs again, a deep, rich sound, making the walls seem to hum with it. He leans back, his arm draping over the back of the couch, close enough that she can feel the heat radiating from him. His scent is still there, more pronounced now that he's actually in the room and so close to her.

“You looked amazing out there,” the girl continues, turning to glare at Max, “Like you were fighting for more than just a win.”

“And you were in the wrong garage to see it. Isn’t that so sad?” he asks, his gaze softening as he studies her.

With a gentle touch, he takes her cap off and throws it across the room.

She gasps dramatically, pretending to be affected by his gesture, “That's bully behavior.”

“No, that's hideous and it ruins your pretty outfit.”

“Just say you're jealous, and I won't wear it again.”

“I'm jealous,” Max admits it in a heartbeat, making her breath catch.

There’s something raw in his expression, something he’s kept for himself for a long time. He reaches out, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, the back of his fingers lingering against her cheek.

She bites her lower lip as she looks down at the tiny gap between them, trying to act like none of this is making her head spin, “Good to know. I'll come in full papaya gear at the next race.”

Max gives her a ‘don't push it’ glare, his hand sliding from her cheek to rest just a fraction of an inch away from hers. “I didn’t expect you to be here,” he murmurs, his voice rough with somethings she can’t quite decipher.

“I told you I'll come if you win.”

They both pretend to believe her insinuation, even though they know she always cares about Max, not just when he wins races. Which circles back to the conversation they've had last night, and the way she tried to motivate him; it's been on their minds constantly throughout the day. It was just a joke, sure. But still, Max took the podium, and unconsciously credits her with a small percentage of his performance today.

When their eyes meet again, the air is suddenly suffocating, as if the past is racing back between them. She has no idea who moves first and, somehow, Max's hand finds hers, warm and steady. It’s just a simple gesture — delicate, innocent, but somehow it feels like so much more. It anchores them in the present. It keeps them aware of each other.

“That's the thing, no? You’ve always been there for me,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. And I want you to know that I never took you for granted. Not once.”

“Max…” she's not often at a loss for words, but when she hears his, it's hard for her to say anything else.

Every barrier they had both put up and every wall she had ever created around their friendship seems to be collapsing the moment Max starts caressing the soft skin of her hand with his thumb. There is an undeniable desire between them, and they are both aware of it. However, their bond is much more important than a passing feeling. Right? A feeling that forms like a warm ball in her stomach, and makes his heart pound even faster when he notices her breath intensifying.

“In my eyes, you always deserve it,” she assures him, deciding to intertwine her fingers with his.

“Is that so?” he challenges her.

She nods, “You deserve to have everything you want because I know how hard you work to—”

Max leans in, just slightly, his voice dropping to a murmur, “I wants us.”

Her heart races as she meets his eyes — a flawless ocean blue, in which she would gladly bathe. Or drown, even.

“I want you,” he continues, his free hand traveling to her bare thigh, squeezing it slightly, “I want to stop pretending like you’re not driving me fucking mad, and that I don’t care who you’re giving your attention to.”

For a moment, they both hold their breath, his forehead dropping against hers.

“Is it clear enough what I want?” asks Max, and she nods again. “No, baby. I need words,” he frowns against her skin, as if it pains him not to get her confirmation. The confirmation that he waited so long for, but didn't feel he had the right to ask for.

Until it was too much.

Until now.

“I hear you,” she finally replies. “But what if—”

“If, if, if,” he cutts her off. “I don’t give a fuck about imaginary scenarios anymore. If it's not what you want, tell me to stop, and I will.”

But she doesnt.

Instead, she spreads her thighs wider to make room for his hand to move forward — all the confirmation he needs. He grins instantly, closing his eyes for a split second, living the same feeling he gets when he's on the podium after a hard-won race, letting it all soak in.

Max’s hand is trailing further up her thigh, unable to help but keep the smirk on when he realizes that whatever they feel for each other, is mutual. He runs his finger lightly over the top of her lace panties, letting out a low sigh at the way her body responds to the slighlest touch. In return, she wraps her arms around Max's neck, looking at each other in anticipation. They know it right away — it’s like the fall of the Bastille, the moment before a revolution, when restraint gives way to a desire too powerful to ignore. They both know that after this, there’s no going back, no way to rebuild what’s been broken or control the outcome.

They know it’s not a calculated risk, and it can end so badly, but when Max leans in to kiss her — a kiss meant to suck every ounce of doubt out of her — the walls come crashing down. They melt into it, all the tension fading away. The hand between her thighs is now working her at the same pace as the kiss, soft whimpers cascading from her into Max’s mouth, making him lose it.

He almost can't believe this is really happening. But it’s as real as his win, and all he needs for tonight to get better is to bury his fingers in her cunt, preparing her for his cock, and pump her full of cum until none of them can take it anymore, just to make up for all the time they've lost while they were dancing around their insecurities.

Without any warnings, he drops to his knees between her legs as she lets her head rest on the back of the couch, her chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

Max decides to take it slow.

Even if he doesn't want to admit it, he is afraid that maybe this is just a momentary lapse, and he won't get to have her like this for who knows how long. Therefore, he needs to take his time, savoring everything she's willing to give him. Now.

He gently pushes the thin fabric of her panties to the side, running his index finger over her slik, getting coated in her wetness even before he's halfway up to her clit. His thumb starts to gently rub against her warmth in circular motions over her soft skin of her moud, automatically feeling the urge to look up at her as she clasps her hands against the edge of the couch, her knuckles turning white.

His mouth goes dry.

“God, do you always get this worked up?” asks Max with a husky voice, trying to ignore how annoyed he gets at the thought of her pussy dripping as a result of someone else's touch. “Has anyone ever made you this wet?”

She shakes her head, covering her mouth with her hand, but Max is way too focused on parting her folds with his fingers to register her whimpers and the way she's fighting to keep quiet — these rooms are not only narrow and practical, they also have extremely thin walls. Plus, her glossy, red clit is more captivating than any answer she'd give him.

The truth is, he doesn't even care, because his only goal now is to ruin her for whoever comes after him.

“So pretty,” he muses, pressing one digit inside, her pussy growing wetter as it tightens around his finger. Which encourages Max to add one more right away, gently scissoring them to stretch her out. “Fuck,” he exhales, as she pushes her hips into his hand.

“Max…” she drops her hand just as he's curling his fingers inside, touching her sweet spot repeatedly, pumping in and out with precision.

“Does that feel good, schatje?

“So. Good,” she whimpers, closing her eyes at the feeling.

Max’s fingers start moving faster, establishing an agonizing pace, his eyes watching her reactions intently, seeing her back arching.

“Look at you, fuck,” he swears, leaning in to graze his lips against her thigh, leaving tiny kisses in their wake while he keeps his eyes on her.

A few more pumps of his fingers are enough to feel her clench hard around him, and finally letting go. Her moans are echoing in Max's ears like a siren call, tempting, potentially dangerous, while his fingers help her riding out her orgasm. His free hand is gently caressing her side the entire time, his lips pressing harder into her thigh, which makes her moan again.

“Gotta be quiet, baby. I can’t fuck you in here if you can’t keep quiet. And you want me to, yes? You want your sweet cunt fucked until you cum around my cock?”

“Mhm... The mouth on you, Verstappen,” she pants as quietly as possible, while grabbing his shoulders to pull him on top of her.

He helps her getting rid of her panties altogether, while their lips meet again in an explosion of new emotions, each more and more intense. Max knows their options are limited since it's such a small space, and doesn't hesitate to pull her into his arms, flipping them around so now he's laying on the couch, while she straddles him. His hands are instantly landing on her waist, listening to her giggle at the sudden change of positions.

“Hi,” Max smiles at her, his face radiating with pure excitement.

“Hi,” the girl parrots, wrapping her arms around his neck, tenderly playing with her fingers in the hair at the back of his head.

“You good?”

“I’m great,” she says, returning the smile.

“I fucking want to, but we don't have to if you have the slighlest doubt,” Max reminds her. “I'll jerk off in the shower later.”

She presses the pads of her fingers on his swollen lips to shut him up. “I want to,” she assures him, “I'm just scared it'll ruin us.”

Max cups her chin in his hand, his eyes heavy with understanding and the desire to prove her wrong, “Not gonna happen.”

“How are you so sure?” she asks, swallowing hard.

“I'm not, but I'll give you head if—”

She bursts out laughing as soon as she realizes Max is quoting her, “You are absolutely outrageous.”

Max keeps his hold on her waist as she shifts around, a slightly nervous but excited breath leaving his chest while she gets comfortable on top of him. “Tell me what you want, schat.”

In response, her fingers start fumbling with the knot he tied around his waist earlier, tugging at his fireproof with an urgency she can barely contain. Once her hands are making contact with his bare chest, warm and firm, she's sliding the rest of his racing suit past his waist, until it pools around Max's hips. She feels the rush as he pushes the rest of it down his legs, sucking in a breath of air at the sight of him.

“Max, you…,” she swallows the lump that got stuck in her throat, raising her eyes to look at him, slightly worried; nothing could've prepared her for how big Max is. “I've never heard you bragging about your dick.”

He chuckles at her words, his eyes turning into two adorable crescents moons on his face.

He's changed a lot over the years, of course. Max was only 16 when they had sex for the first time. But seeing him under her like that it's just a reminder of how small she feels against him now. His big hands can encircle her waist if he wanted to, and his arms could easily break her if he held her too tightly.

She looks down and notices the stark contrast between them: his broad shoulders, his strength, and their heights.

With her body nearly dwarfed by his, she is overcome with trepidation as she questions whether they will even fit together. However, she notices that Max is already trying to ease her concerns without saying a word, as he lifts her chin and meets her eyes with a tenderness that releases all the tension.

“You can take it, baby,” he assures her, guiding himself towards her entrance.

She lowers herself on him, slowly, intently, so easily that her hot cunt is practically sliding along his length, forcing Max to swallow a moan at how her wetness spreads over him. He pushes his hips forward, impatient, watching his cock disappear between her thighs. It drives them both absolutely crazy.

The intensity, the intimacy and all the places they make contact would normally be way too much. But then, Max pulls his hips down, only to fuck back in, feeling her relaxing on top of him.

The fit is perfect.

Her body is finally full. Complete.

“God, look at you,” he almost chokes, palming her ass under the skirt to help her spread more around him. “You're so beautiful.”

She cries out a moan, feeling as if her body gets split in two in real time, in the best way possible. His cock is so big that she's pretty sure she can feel him between her lungs.

Max means to say something else, but his words get stuck in his throat as the air gets knocked out of his lungs. A gasp leaves his parted lips as she sinks down on him completely — finally — his arms immediately wrapping around her waist, holding onto his girl like she's his lifeline. His chest sparks with a goran as he looks at her, the blue in his eyes darkening at the feeling.

“So tight, baby, I can’t wait to fuck you,” says Max, his hands getting lost under her shirt, palming her breasts. “You feel so good already. Gonna make me cum so fast,” he adds in a breathless mess, his heart pounding in his chest at the feeling of her body against his.

It’s a consuming feeling, that leaves them both senseless.

Max starts to move slowly, guiding her up and down his cock, until they set a steady rhythm. They're an amalgam of moans and gasps, as his hands rest on her waist tighter than before, fucking in deeper with each thrust. The sounds they make and the way they hold each other brings them together in a new way. It's scary and exciting and far too risky, but none of that matters now.

All that matters is the way she holds onto him, mouth ajar as they look at each other. She uses him to anchor herself while she sinks deeper, again and again, until pleasure is all she knows.

“Oh… Max. Max, please,” she beggs, the sound of them connecting reverberating throughout the entire room.

At the sight of her flushed face and parted lips, Max’s jaw clenches, his eyes trailing down her body to where they’re joined, just to see how she takes him in with such ease. The image causes a low groan to leave his mouth, his fingers digging into the skin of her thighs. She takes him so well, to the point of getting his own thighs wet as her pussy drips with their combined pleasure.

“You feel so fucking good on me, love. So good for me, that’s it,” he moans softly, his eyes falling shut to allow him to feel her everywhere in his body.

“Max… I can’t… Please, it’s too much.”

His eyes snap open to look at her again. Hearing her on the edge of desperation and feeling her body starting to shake with pleasure on top of him, it’s enough for Max to take charge, even though he’s not the one on top. Without a thought, he moves his hands back on her waist, holding her still as he lifts up his hips to start moving from underneath.

“Hold on to me, baby. I got you.”

He manages to send her to a whole another realm as he intensifies the pace, while the sounds of their bodies slapping together animates the room.

“That’s it, fuuuck. Let me take care of you,” he's breathing hard between thrusts, feeling dizzy as his climax builds, the heat in his stomach burning hotter.

He’s consumed by her in the most satisfying way — she is all that he feels and sees, her body pliant over his, her sweet noises in his ear being the only thing he can focus on as he looks at her through his lashes.

Max’s name cascades from her mouth, over and over again, until she starts clenching around his length — he knows that she’s close, and he’s right there with her.

His breath sounds shaky when he speaks again, “Where do you want me, baby?”

She knows that it's not a good idea for him finish inside her, but the thought of Max owning her like that gives her goosebumbs all over her body.

“Inside,” she gasps, burying her fingers in his hair and leaning over for a messy kiss. “Want to feel you...”

“Yeah, you want me to fill your pretty pussy? That you kept from me for so long?” asks Max against her jaw, his voice coming out in a low, sultry moan, just as a few drops of sweat gather along his hairline.

He lets his head fall back with a low groan, fucking his cock deeper and making her see stars in the process.

“Oh, god! Max,” she gasps, her voice coming out almost like a warning.

He takes it as an invitation to fuck her harder, feeling her tensing, then becoming boneless on top of him as he rides her orgasm. Max follows closely, moaning loudly as his hips move slopply, spilling inside of her, rolling his eyes at the feeling of her body milking his release.

“So fucking good, schatje.”

She wants to agree with him, but her mind is far too foggy and all she can do is run her hand over his skin, which is slick with a thin layer of sweat. She cups his face in her small palm while her other hand rests on his neck, sealing their lips together in a much slower, tender kiss.

Their tongues meet in a slow dance, tasting each other, making Max smile under it. She presses her forehead on his, a content smile appearing on her face this time, both of them completely blissed out.

Max’s hands runs along her thighs, admiring the feel of her soft skin under his touch as he speaks in a low, husky voice that still sounds breathless, “How the hell are you real?”

“Don’t ask me anything for the next five business days.”

He chuckles softly, giving her one more kiss before helping her up so he can gently pull out of her. She gasps again at the emptiness he leaves behind, feeling Max’s cum mixed with her own release oozing out of her. He swallows dryly, forcing his hand to gather up the result of their pleasure and fuck his fingers back in her cunt a few times before she collapses on top of him.

Max softens under her, tracing his hand through the waves of her hair, and for a moment, he looks as though he might say something. Something that could change the entire trajectory of their friendship.

Friendship.

He puffs out a laugh at the word.

“What?” she asks, curiously raising her eyes to look at him.

He looks so incredibly beautiful as he breathes slowly, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. When it comes to Max, his beauty goes beyond his appearance; beneath the fierce, self-assured driver the outside world perceives, he displays now a softness and sensibility that only she has access to.

“You still owe me a blow job,” he murmurs, his breath warm against her skin.

A laugh escapes her, soft and giddy, but as she pulls back, the intensity in his gaze remains.

Oh, he’s serious.

“I’ll find you tomorrow, after the race,” she says, her voice soft, almost as if she’s making a promise.

“What if I don’t win?”

She laughs, “A podium also counts.”

For now, that’s enough for him.

MASTERLIST

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

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januaryembrs · 8 months ago

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i love your sunshine!reader x specer fics so much and ngl it's one of the best spencer fics i've ever read. i was wondering how the team would react to them dating? did anyone ever suspect that there was something going on between them or were they completely clueless??

PDA | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

description: Sunshine reader is worried about telling Unit Chief Prentiss about their budding relationship, despite Spencer telling her she's being dramatic.

length: 1.8k

warnings: fluff, TINY BIT OF HOTCHNISS BECAUSE I AM STILL MAD ABOUT THEIR SCENE AT JJ'S WEDDING I have never been blue ballsed so hard.

“Sweetheart, I think you need to calm down,” Spencer’s voice was calm and soothing, as was his hand that skirted down her arm to take hers in his own. Her palm was warm, the tiniest bit clammy as he meshed their fingers together, and stroked over the back of her knuckles with his thumb, “It’s only Emily,”

“I know, I know, it’s just,” She conceded, and she smushed her face into his chest as a last ditch effort to revel in his affection before they had to go back to remaining professional, the elevator quickly approaching the sixth floor, “I feel like we’re breaking the rules. Are you positive it said nothing in the papers about workplace relationships?”

“I would stake my life on it, believe me. Me and page fifty nine, sub section five, clause three are tight as can be,” Spencer reassured, after he had spent a good seven minutes reading through their entire contract, front and back, in an attempt to make her feel better because she knew she couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it, even more so couldn’t keep her hands and lips off Spencer for such an extended amount of time now she’d had him.

He watched the illuminated digits flick from four to five, and he yielded his restraint just the tiniest bit, knowing they might not get a chance to love on eachother so unapologetically until the work day was over. Spencer brought his hand that wasn’t wound tightly in her own around her shoulders, squeezing her to him with a pressed kiss to her forehead, the gesture full of eight hours worth of affections.

Five turned to six just a little too fast for his liking and he was forced to let go of her as the doors slid open, trying to ignore the saddened expression on her face as they parted, the way her lips turned into a pout like a kicked puppy.

“Good morning, my angels!” Penelope chirped, a sweet coffee with a buttload of creamer swirling around her octopus mug as she headed for her office, walking right past the two agents who looked like they’d forgotten how to behave normally.

“Morning, Penelope,” She sang back, smiling at the woman who hummed as she walked, a skip in her step, yet the second the tech analyst entered her lair, the younger slapped a hand on Spencer’s arm, turning to him with wide eyes, “Oh my god, she knew!”

He chuckled, shaking his head and resting a hand on her lower back, leading her to the bullpen as she fretted, “Relax, she did not know. And even if she did, we’re not doing anything wrong,” He cooed, thankful that the floor was empty besides Emily where she poked around her office, moving some folders between her desk and cabinet, “Derek dated pretty much every woman on the second floor within the first term of me being here, Penelope dated Kevin from Internal Affairs for years,”

“But that’s, like, between floors, between departments. There’s no way they can get distracted if there’s a whole bunch of concrete and carpet between them,” She explained, and the two of them headed for their joint desk so they could set their bags down, “When I look at you, I get side tracked thinking about your beautiful hair and your stupidly handsome face and kissing you and-” She puffed her cheeks out, flustered already.

“That sounds really difficult for you, I don’t know how you ever get anything done.” Spencer said with an indulging smile, because his favourite thing might just be humouring her. Besides kissing her and everything that came with it ofcourse.

“It’s a struggle, I’ll tell you now,” She said, almost unaware he wasn’t being serious as she looked at him finally, the glint in his eyes he got when he was teasing her, “It is. I nearly tipped coffee over my lap yesterday because you fixed your hair, it’s infuriating.”

He smiled, fighting every urge in him that wanted to pull her back into his chest and kiss her face a dozen times, because he knew she wasn’t joking when she said she was worried about breaking the rules. He knew Emily would be fine with them dating, they’d all turned a blind eye to the clear tension and lingering glances that had gone between her and Hotch for years, but he hated seeing her so frazzled, so he complied with her strict no PDA rule.

He would just have to give it to her twice over later, when they were alone, and the thought of it excited him already.

“Alright, alright, let’s do this. Am I speaking or are you speaking?” She asked, rubbing her sweating hands over her legs, and he shrugged.

“I’ll do the talking, will you just do something for me,” He said, his voice calm and collected as he took the stairs, her footsteps nervously trailing behind him.

“Sure, anything,” She said, looking up at him with wide eyes where he stood a whole step above her.

“Take a deep breath,” He reminded her, grinning when he heard her pause and do as he’d said, because this was just Emily.

“I’m sorry,” She mumbled, meeting him at the top of the landing, where he waited by the office door, watching her with gentle eyes, “I just really don’t want to mess anything up, least of all with you,”

He quickly tucked a slither of hair behind her ear in guilty pleasure, “You’re not messing anything up, I promise.” He murmured, his cadence low and calming because she already seemed worked up and they hadn’t even opened the door, “You ready?”

She nodded after another deep breath, and he knocked on the door with those boney knuckles of his.

Barely waiting for Emily to invite them in, he strode into the office, her trailing behind him like she was waiting for a scolding, and Spencer simply cleared his throat.

“Everything okay?” Emily asked, her dark eyes scanning between the two of them, a look of concern flitting over her face, “Why do you guys have a weird look on your face? Did you chip Penelope’s mug again? Was it the good one? Oh man, she’ll kill you, that was her favourite-”

The rookie shook her head, and before she could breath and regulate like Spencer had been trying to tell her it happened; the word vomit she’d been shoving down for fifteen days, “We’re dating! We’re seeing each other together, I mean were seeing together, I mean wait, hang on-”

Spencer put a hand on her shoulder to hush her, and she stopped then and there, sensing he could take over for her, because she’d quickly realised she was not one to handle pressure.

“What she means to say is we’re dating, and according to page fifty nine, sub section five, clause three of our contract, workplace relations are acceptable as long as they aren’t hindrance to either the team or the work, so,” Spencer tucked his hand into his pocket, the other still gentle as it stroked her back soothingly, “Is that okay?”

Emily shrugged, her lips twitching to hide the broad smile that begged to be released.

“That seems reasonable to me,” She said politely, looking to where the rookie seemed to have found her words.

“Th-that’s it, we’re not in trouble?” She asked on bated breath, her brows furrowed and confused.

“Look, are you guys happy?” She nodded vehemently immediately, and Emily threw her hands up, “Then, there you go. As long as there’s no funny business in the office, it’s none of my concern,”

“Funny business?” She asked, and Spencer ran a hand over her braid she’d twisted into running down the back of her head, a small smile tugging at his lips, as he and Emily exchanged a look.

“No bang bang on company time,” Emily said plainly, ignoring the way the girl stiffened, her face hot and embarrassed as she shook her head.

“Never, no, never. Never ever,” She spluttered, and Spencer took it as his signal to get her some space, “None of that ever, Emily, you don’t have to worry-”

“Who broke the rookie?” Tara asked, entering Emily’s office with a stack of folders in her arms, her eyes quickly zeroing in on the way Reid’s arm wrapped around her waist, and she turned to Emily with a knowing smirk, “You owe me ten bucks, Prentiss,”

“Hold on, you guys bet on us?” Spencer asked, his expression dropping because he’d thought that the two of them had been subtle the past few weeks, even if his sweet girlfriend looked like she was keeping bees in her mouth every time there was a pause, like the secret had been begging to come out any second it got.

Emily seemed guilty, though perhaps scathed would be a better term as she fished a bill out of her purse and handed it to Tara.

“JJ owes forty, so I’m not too torn up about it,” She replied, catching JJ’s bluebell hues as she swanned past the office window, her eyes narrowing on the way the youngest agent was all but pressed into Spencer’s ribcage, the two of them looking like they wanted the ground to swallow them whole.

Her face morphed into chagrin, “Two more weeks, and I would have been up by sixty bucks, you guys,” She bit at the happy couple, turning on her heel to where Luke was sipping coffee at his desk, clueless to the meeting they were having in Emily’s office, “Alvez, cough up. They told Emily already,”

There was some sound of indignation from the desks below as Luke rummaged through his wallet, and Tara looked like that cat that got the cream as the wads of dollar bills made their way to her.

“This is gross misconduct of workplace trust,” Spencer said, his lips pursed into something annoyed, and he could feel the way her face burnt with embarrassment without even having to look at her, “Alright, we are going out to get coffee, since we’re the only ones who know how to handle things like adults,”

He led her out with a tight, protective grip, shielding her mortified expression from the rest of the office as they got back into the elevator, and he damned himself when he let her hug into his chest again, though this time it was to hide her humiliation in his shirt.

“It’s okay, at least it’s out there now. No more secrets,” He comforted, and she nodded silently, her cheeks still on fire where the shame weaselled its way out of her face, “And, hey, it’s not like they can go on forever. They’ll have to give up some time,”

The group watched the doors close behind them, Luke immediately turning to the three women with an impish look in his eye, “Twenty says they’ll engage within a year,” Tara scoffed, waving her money in his face as Emily rooted around for more money, “You’re on, I give it eight months,”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader

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clesired · 1 month ago

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𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐈𝐓 | 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 !

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ! you miss one quidditch game, and somehow sirius ends up in the hospital wing!?

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! no warnings, fluff, fem!reader, friends to lovers, second person pov, 1.6k words!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Stupid, stupid, man! You can’t help but think to yourself as you hastily make your way through the empty corridors.

Of course, it’s the one time you miss a Quidditch game that your best friend decides to go and get himself hurt. You swear he’s gonna be the death of you.

You’d already felt terrible having to tell him you couldn’t make it to the game today because you had to finish a paper for one of your classes. The look on his face when you broke the news had almost convinced you to change your mind, his puppy dog eyes your greatest weakness—something you suspect he is well aware of and uses to his advantage as much as possible.

And now that he’s been injured? You just know he’s gonna give you hell for not being there. You’re inclined to let him though, because after this—you’re never missing a game again.

You don’t even know how severe the injury is yet—Remus’ patronus message having only given you minimum context, but it really doesn’t matter. It could be a simple scratch and that would be more than enough to get you going.

The first people you see when you enter the hospital wing are Remus and Peter. As soon as they notice your arrival, they step away from the bed they’re surrounding.

Your eyes fall to Sirius, who immediately smiles as he locks eyes with you. And just like every other time he looks at you, the butterflies in your stomach begin to flutter enthusiastically.

“Bug!” He calls out happily, his tone affectionate as he immediately attempts to get out of the bed—pouting when Remus forces him to remain seated on the edge.

“Moony! Tell Poppy I don’t need anymore of those nasty potions, my bug is here!” He makes a stink face at the thought of said potions before he looks back at you and smiles once more. “And she’s all the medicine I need.” He says sweetly, causing Remus and Peter to chuckle softly as you blush.

Remus nudges Peter gently and then calls out to you two, “We’re gonna go catch the last of the match and come back with Prongs before dinner. You good here, Pads?”

He nods quickly. “Perfect.”

As they leave, you move to stand beside his bed, your eyes scanning his form—assessing the damage.

Sirius notices what you’re doing and lifts his left arm, which you only now realize looks a little…off. “Just a broken arm, love. Nothing a little Skelegro can’t fix.” He says softly, tilting his head back to continue looking at you.

You huff softly, moving to stand between his spread legs as you frown gently. Your hand moves on its own accord, cupping his neck as you feel him swallow softly and lean further into your touch.

“You’re not allowed to get hurt again.” You grumble quietly, causing him to chuckle softly as he uses his uninjured arm to wrap around your waist and pull you closer.

He presses his face into your stomach ever so gently before looking up at you once more, smirking cheekily. “And you’re not allowed to miss one of my games again.”

You’re just about to respond when you feel a pinch at your side, causing you to yelp softly instead. You immediately glare down at Sirius as he just smiles and rubs the pinched skin soothingly.

“That’s what you get for taking my good luck charm away from me, bug.” He says unapologetically, causing you to roll your eyes playfully as you shake your head in amusement.

He’s talking about you, of course.

When you two had met in first year, he’d found you holding a bunch of ladybugs in the middle of the courtyard, completely uncaring of the odd looks the other students were giving you.

His first instinct had been to poke fun, of course. Why in Merlin’s name would you be playing with bugs!?

You hadn’t been fazed by his taunting though. Instead, you’d explained that ladybugs signified good luck and placed one in his hand, sweetly wishing him luck in all his endeavors.

You’ve been his ‘good luck charm’ ever since, hence the nickname.

“Oh, how ever shall I make it up to you, Siri? I’ll do anything!” You say dramatically, thumb gently caressing the side of his neck as you giggle.

He looks up at you, a soft smile on his face as he watches you laugh. He squeezes your waist gently with his uninjured hand and pulls you even closer.

His thumb slips beneath the hem of your shirt to caress the skin of your hip as he swallows, his eyes falling to your lips before quickly looking back up into your eyes.

“Anything?” He repeats lowly, causing your breath to hitch ever so slightly. There’s a tension now, that wasn’t here just seconds ago.

You nod slowly, your eyes mirroring his movements as you focus on his mouth, your heart racing at lightning speed. “Anything.” You whisper.

The next moment happens so fast—one second you’re looking at him and the next, he’s got you locked in a deep kiss as he pulls you to sit in his lap.

You return the embrace readily, mindful of his arm as you card your hands through his hair and tug gently. The action pulls a groan out of him and you do it again, kissing him deeper.

His uninjured hand moves to hold you by the neck as he takes charge, getting a soft moan out of you before eventually pulling back to let you catch your breath.

His eyes are dark and heady with want as he stares at you, taking in your kiss-stung lips with pure satisfaction.

Still holding your neck, he squeezes gently. “I don’t think you’ve made it up to me yet, bug.” He says quietly, tracing the tip of his nose along the side of your neck.

You let out a little shiver, your breath hitching once more as your hands move to rest at the nape of his neck. “I don’t think I have either, Siri.” You agree softly.

His eyes darken even further as he begins pressing gentle kisses all across your neck and up your jaw.

Suddenly, the sound of a loud gasp causes you two to spring apart as you attempt to get out of Sirius’ lap—a fruitless endeavor, as he holds you firmly in place.

“Mr. Black, I do recall telling you not to put strain on your body while the Skelegro mends your arm.” Madam Pomfrey chastises, staring him down as she deposits a tray of new potions at her desk.

You blush in embarrassment, successfully managing to get off of Sirius’ lap this time as you look down, smoothing out the wrinkles in your skirt.

“I’m so sorry, Madam Pomfrey!” You apologize quickly, not wanting to get in trouble.

The older witch looks over to you and softens, smiling gently as she waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t fret, my dear. I’m well aware of Mr. Black’s stubbornness.”

Sirius clutches at his chest dramatically as he pouts at her. “You wound me, Poppy!” He pretends to shed a tear before looking at you.

He grabs your hand, pulling you back into his arms. “I think I need another kiss to make me feel better, bug. My heart is aching!” He puckers his lips.

You and Madam Pomfrey share a look before you both roll your eyes playfully.

Looking back down at him, you peck his lips softly but quickly and then straighten up, raising a brow. “There. Happy now?” You ask teasingly.

He just shakes his head and puckers his lips once again, making you giggle as you shake your head. “We’re in the hospital wing, Siri.” You remind him gently.

Now that Madam Pomfrey is here, you’re not going to risk it—the quick peck as far as you were willing to go.

It’s his turn to roll his eyes as he huffs softly. “Fine. You’ll have to make that up to me too, then.”

You smile, nodding along. “I’ll give you all the kisses you want later, I promise.”

But he just shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. S’not gonna cut it.” He mumbles, squeezing your waist once more as he sneakily presses a soft kiss to your hip before you can stop him.

You chuckle softly, brows raising as you tilt your head. “No?”

He shakes his head again, pressing another kiss to your hip.

“How should I make it up to you then, Siri?” You question with a smile.

He swallows softly as he slowly looks up at you then, sobering up some as he studies your face intently. His expression is so open and raw, so vulnerable right now that it steals the breath right out of your lungs.

You’ve never seen him look so nervous before and you try to keep your hopes at bay—not wanting to jump to conclusions just yet.

He inhales gently before slowly grabbing your hand, intertwining your fingers and resting your locked hands on his thigh.

“Be mine, bug.” He says simply, soft and quiet—his words only meant for your ears.

The smile you give him is unmatched as you nod quickly, any thoughts of propriety out the window as you pull him into another deep kiss.

It doesn’t last long though, both of you smiling too much to keep the embrace going. When you pull back, he’s smiling contentedly.

“Finally my bug.” He says quietly, humming thoughtfully as he smirks softly. “And all I had to do was break an arm to make it happen.”

You do a double take. “Wait, what?”

He planned this?

You smack his uninjured arm gently as you glare. “You didn’t have to get yourself hurt just to ask me out, Siri!” You scold your boyfriend.

Merlin, he’s your boyfriend now! The thought makes you giddy and you can’t hold your glare any longer as you smile, blushing softly.

His only response is to return your smile and shrug as he pulls you in for a tender kiss and murmurs softly.

“Worth it.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! wooh, first oneshot done!!! i hope you lovelies enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

xoxo,

mila! *: ･🐚༄🫧*ੈ✩

#clesired #clesiredwrites #clesiredoneshots #clesiredsiriusblack #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic #harry potter marauders #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #marauders era #marauders era fanfiction #marauders era fic #sirius black #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fic #sirius black x reader

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starmocha · 7 months ago

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you are my favorite mistake [Sylus/Reader ★ 2155 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] It was supposed to be a surprise visit for you, but now Sylus is the one surprised. A/N: Naming your toy after Sylus is just a form of self-care. 💁‍♀️

Can’t you just use the stairs like a normal person?

Don’t just come in uninvited!

This is an inappropriate use of your evol!

Sylus smirked as he stood in your living room alone, uninvited, recalling all of the instances where you had nagged at him about using his evol to come into your home unannounced. However many times you had chided him was also the number of times he, unapologetically, ignored you and continued to do as he pleased.

Today was no different, albeit, Sylus could argue that in this particular instance, he wanted to surprise you with a romantic gesture. With both of your busy schedules, it had been a while since the two of you were able to see each other for some one-on-one time.

He had already set a bottle of wine in the fridge to chill and placed some beautifully bloomed red roses in a glass vase on the kitchen counter for you, so now all that was left was to set the mood in the bedroom. Carrying some extra roses in hand, Sylus made his way to your bedroom.

As he made his way to your bedroom, he could have sworn he heard noises behind the closed door.

Strange…

He was almost positive you wouldn’t be home at this time today. The closer he gotten to the door, the more his frown deepened, feeling a sense of unease at the kind of noises he was hearing.

Dropping the roses, he drew in a sharp intake of breath through his teeth when he realized he was hearing you moaning in the bedroom. His body tensed up with anger as his mind was already clouded with dark thoughts. He raised his fist, ready to pound the door down, but he stopped.

He froze, fist midair, confusion flashed across his face.

“S-Sylus!”

He slowly lowered his fist, calming down, but his confusion remained.

You were moaning.

You were moaning his name.

Alone in your room.

As the cloud of fury finally cleared up, Sylus realized he could also make out a faint buzzing noise inside. He started to smirk, laughing quietly to himself as he finally connected the dots.

“What a naughty little kitten,” he said to himself, wondering if he should leave you to have your fun or perhaps let you know that he was here. His ears perked up as he heard a change in speed from the toy, hearing louder, faster vibrations from behind the closed door and your moans reaching a new pitch.

“Fuck…” He leaned back against the wall, feeling a tightening in his pants.

“Oh, Sylus, please, please…”

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, his hands were already reaching down to unzip his pants and free himself. He grasped the hardened member, already pumping himself hard and fast to match with the sound of your moans.

Sylus was losing his mind just imagining you laying completely nude in bed, legs spread and pleasuring yourself with a toy as you fantasize about him. He was panting hard as he stroked himself faster, his ears picking up on every desperate moan and whine coming out of your mouth. God, he needed to know the kind of dirty thoughts that were running in your mind that was making you sound like this.

“Oh, god, oh, god, Sylus…ahh, ahh…”

That was it. He could hear your moans growing needier, your release was close, but he didn’t want you to come just yet.

He wanted to be the one to make you come.

Sylus closed his eyes and with a deep groan, he used his evol to teleport inside your room.

You gasped in surprise when the bed shifted, a heavy weight was on top of you. You opened your eyes and met Sylus’ aroused gaze as remnants of his evol slowly dispersed, the dark feathers drifting all around the two of you before disappearing altogether.

At first, he said nothing and just let his eyes do a slow, appreciative sweep of your nude body, taking in the sight with a growing desire. His hand reached down to pry the vibrating toy from your grasp, tossing it to the side and not even wasting time to turn it off.

“You need something bigger, don’t you, sweetheart?” he asked with a lecherous grin, his deep voice heavy with arousal. You tossed your head to the side, moaning as he pressed his bulge close to your cunt, teasing you of what is to come.

“Sylus…” you whined, your hands tugged at his clothes impatiently, and with a deep laugh, he made quick work of discarding his garments.

“Playing with yourself and moaning my name,” he kissed your lips roughly, his hands were on either side of your head, keeping you trapped under his body. “Just what has this naughty kitten been doing by herself?”

You cried out in relief, arching up, as you felt him push his thick length into you, filling you in a way that your toy couldn’t.

Sylus immediately set a hard, fast pace, well past the point for gentle lovemaking. You could only grip the bedsheets, unable to do much else as he was fucking you senseless. You nearly screamed when his strong hands gripped your thighs, spreading you even more than you thought possible, his thrusts were now harder and deeper, making you see stars.

“Ahh, Sylus, ahh—"

Your eyes widened in shock when his large hand covered your mouth, muffling your cries.

“Shh, just listen,” he said, hushed, a soft groan followed his words, “Can you hear it? You’re so wet, sweetheart.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your moans muffled by his hand as he made you listen to every squelch whenever he thrusted in.

“Such a lewd sound,” Sylus groaned with a deep chuckle. “Fuck, you feel so good, sweetheart.”

He removed his hand and you cried out his name again. He kissed you once more, his tongue slipping inside your mouth to explore. You responded to him with equal fervor, your arms wrapped around his neck, desperate for a deeper connection with him.

“Mm, taking me so well,” Sylus said, breaking free from the kiss. He chuckled as he took in your desperate expression, all flustered and on the brink of pleasure. “It’s like you were made for me.”

“Sylus, I can’t…ahh…”

He kissed your forehead. “I know,” he murmured, “You were close, weren’t you? You want to come, don’t you?”

You gripped the bedsheets, head tossed to the side, the agonizing pleasure building up inside you becoming overwhelming as he took you relentlessly, not showing any sign of easing up now that he knew you were close to your climax. You were practically sobbing in pleasure as each powerful thrust brought you closer and closer to your release until, finally, you screamed out his name in pure ecstasy.

The sound of your climax was music to his ears, but even as you clenched around him, Sylus did not show any sign of slowing down or stopping, his own release was also near. He gripped your hips tightly, fingers digging into your flesh, leaving marks, as he drove into you again and again. He panted hard, dark crimson eyes taking in the erotic sight of you overstimulated and overwhelmed, tears in your eyes, mouth opened in soundless pleasure as you allowed your body to be used by him for his own satisfaction.

“What a good girl you are,” he murmured, groaning as he came, pumping you full of his seed.

As you both came down from your high, Sylus relaxed his body on top of yours, not enough to crush you, but still enough that you can feel his weight. You peered up into his ruby red eyes, both of you still softly panting as you try to catch your breath. You leaned up and pecked his lips, causing him to chuckle before he kissed you back more deeply.

As you break free from the kiss, you nagged him playfully, “I thought I told you to stop sneaking into my apartment unannounced using your evol.”

He rolled his eyes before he carefully pulled out of you, rolling over onto his back and dragging you on top of him. He held you firmly against his chest. “It was supposed to be a romantic surprise.”

“Breaking into my apartment is not romantic.”

“What an annoying tongue you have, sweetheart,” he quipped, earning a slap in the shoulder instantly. He playfully glared at you. “I was going to surprise you with a romantic evening of wine and roses, but I see you would rather fuck yourself silly on some toy instead.”

You blushed, half out of embarrassment and the other half in irritation. “Excuse you, don’t make me sound like some kind of sex addict!”

He raised his brow, smirking in amusement at your outburst. “Oh?” He leaned in closer, his face mere centimeters from yours. “Didn’t I catch you with a sex toy just a while ago?”

“Well…technically…”

“Weren’t you screaming my name?”

“Yes and no…”

“Pardon?” Sylus had to pause, his earlier arrogance being quickly replaced with confusion. “What do you mean ‘yes and no’? You either screamed my name or you didn’t.”

“Yes, I screamed your name, but also…”

“Also what? How many Syluses do you know?” He glared at you, growing increasingly annoyed by your roundabout responses.

“Um…two?”

“Two?!” He pulled away and stared at you shocked, repeating, “Two?”

“You…and…” You reached over and picked up the toy that Sylus had tossed to the side earlier, its battery now completely dead. You gave him a sheepish smile. “Meet Sylus II.”

Sylus stared at the toy in your hand and then your embarrassed face, and even he couldn’t stop the laughter that erupted from the sheer ridiculousness of this moment. “You seriously named a sex toy after me? I don’t know whether to feel flattered or aghast.”

You dropped the toy on the mattress and laid down, burying your face in your pillow in horror, hoping that you could just suffocate yourself to death in that moment. You held onto the pillow tightly, whimpering, even as Sylus wrapped his around you and pulled you back into his embrace.

“Don’t kill yourself, sweetheart,” he said, amused by your reaction, “I suppose I can understand you needing a stand-in for whenever I am unavailable to satisfy you.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled into the pillow.

“How rude,” he quipped, unoffended. He planted a kiss on your neck. “Just out of curiosity…”

You peeked behind you, wary of what he was about to say next.

“It is just Sylus II, right? You don’t have any others?” He paused, frowning, “Or rather…you didn’t name any others after other men, have you?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes. “Yes, this is the only one.”

“Only one you have or only one named?”

You flustered. “Sylus, knock it off!”

“Alright, alright,” he conceded when you started swatting him with your pillow. He reached up and grasped both of your wrists, forcing you to drop the pillow. He easily pinned you back down to the bed, his grip on your wrists was firm and unyielding, but still gentle enough that he wasn’t hurting you. He leaned down and nibbled on your lips.

“You know, I had planned a surprise romantic evening for us.” He kissed your forehead. “It would be a shame to see all of my efforts go to waste.”

You raised a brow at him. “What did you have planned?”

“Reservations at only the finest restaurant for the most beautiful woman in the world—”

You scoffed at his overexaggeration, earning an “I’m serious” look from him before he continued, “A night drive. We can chat for a while, catch up. And then back here where a bottle of wine is already chilling in the fridge…”

“Hm,” you looked thoughtful as you pondered his words, “It does sound nice.”

“And we would have ended the lovely evening with…” He raised a brow suggestively, eyes traversing up and down your nude body. He loosened his hold on your wrists, letting his hands skimmed down your body before settling on your hips. “But it seems we are going in reverse order of my plan. Not that I am complaining.”

You flustered and hit him in the face with a pillow again.

Sylus sighed, mildly annoyed, and grabbed the pillow, tossing it to the side. He pinned you back down, his hold on your wrists strong. “You really shouldn’t be provoking me like this, sweetheart.”

You squirmed in futile, half-glaring at him.

“You know,” he started, amused by your defiance, “I can be flexible with the plan I had.” He pressed his body closer to yours as he leaned in and covered your neck in kisses. You shivered with anticipation when his voice dropped lower, dripping with seductive intents, “I wouldn’t mind spending the whole night in bed with you.”

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace fanfiction #lnds fanfics #lnds smut #sylus smut #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x reader #x — fanfics #😇

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demonic0angel · 7 days ago

Note

Vlad discovers that his whole ghostly vampire look makes him very popular with Gotham women.

“Wow… Are those real fangs, Mr. Masters?” A woman batted her eyes.

“Um—”

“Or should we call you ‘Master’?” Another woman chittered. “You’d be the perfect actor for Dracula. Like wow!”

Vlad turned green in his own version of a blush and coughed. “Well, er— I mean, um…”

The women giggled some more and now the men were beginning to notice the congregation of women all drifting to this man’s side. Even Bruce Wayne was blinking in confusion, although his expression was strangely one of both irritation and relief from where he was standing nearby.

Meanwhile, the Nightingales all looked at Vlad with varying expressions.

“I can’t tell if I want to help him or leave him to his fate… or get all of them away from him….” Dani muttered. She shoveled more hors d'oeuvres into her mouth. Jazz sighed and reached over to wipe her messy face.

“I think I’m going to just watch the show,” Danny said, amused as he cheerfully waved back when Vlad turned to look at him with a desperate gaze.

Dan snorted. His tone was vicious as he said, “Let’s hope one of them seduces him and kills him in his sleep.”

“Dan!” Jazz said, appalled while the other Dannies all gave a long ‘oooh’. Dan, however, was unapologetic as he crossed his arms and shrugged lazily with a smirk.

A boy with black hair and blue eyes began approaching them from where they were standing in the corner. Then again, Gotham City was practically ruled by boys with black hair and blue eyes, so it didn’t matter much.

They all went silent as the boy approached.

“Hello,” he said, looking at them with an easy smile. His gaze lingered on Dani for a second longer than the others before he turned to Jazz and asked, “Do you know that man?”

He gestured to Vlad and everyone answered almost immediately.

“No.”

“Nope.”

“Not at all.”

“I don’t think so.”

The boy stared. Then he said, looking shocked like he had expected them to speak up for Vlad, “Are you serious?”

They all shared a look and then shrugged. Even Jazz, who had been worried about Vlad earlier, had a blank expression on her face now as she ruthlessly backed up her siblings. The boy stared at them some more and then he sighed.

“Well, thank you anyways. We were a little worried about him since he seems to be overwhelmed by so many other guests, but if none of you know him… then never mind.” After that attempt to get them to confess, he received silence. When he got no response again, he turned to address Dani. “If you’d like, we can ask the servers to bring you more hors d'oeuvres?”

Dani choked on a bite of some sort of salmon canapé. Then she nodded. He returned the nod and then swiftly left to walk back to Bruce Wayne. So he was probably one of the Wayne kids, Jim or Dick or whatever.

The four of them remained silent for a moment longer, just watching as Vlad was being completely and utterly surrounded by women like the last French fry in a flock of seagulls.

“… so we’re definitely not helping him now, right?”

Jazz sighed. “I guess not.”

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burntsaltsblog · 7 months ago

Text

cruelty - billy butcher x reader

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details: butcher is being a real ass, so you decide to run away for a bit <3

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"Well, if ya' tried putting effort into any of these missions, then the rest of us wouldn't have to carry you around like dead weight."

Butcher's words hung in the air before piercing me. I met his gaze, waiting to see if he'd display even a tiny ounce of regret, but his face remained stoic, and his eyes bore into mine unapologetically.

No one said anything, and a tense silence encompassed the group. Everyone was waiting to see if I had a rebuttal to defend myself against Butcher's harsh accusation.

But I had nothing to say. For weeks, Butcher had been unusually nasty towards me, a complete switch from our old dynamic. Instead of his praise that I'd grown used to, he'd hurl nothing but criticism and bitter insults my way. And what made it worse was that he was charming to everyone else. Well, as charming as Butcher was capable of being.

The whole situation was disheartening and confusing because he and I used to be quite close. Yes, we had a significant age gap between us. But those years didn't hinder our ability to connect over our love of bizarre humor and sarcasm.

The rest of the boys assumed that we had had some misunderstanding or disagreement, but nothing of the sort had transpired. I had tried approaching Butcher to coax the reasoning for his cruelty out of him, but he brushed me off, refusing to give me the time of day.

But today was the last straw. I refused to linger any longer in an environment where I wasn't wanted or appreciated. Wordlessly and full of resolve, I turned on my heel and headed for the comfort of my room.

"Kid, wait," MM called, trying to fix the situation, but it was useless. I slammed my bedroom door behind me and slowly sank to the floor.

I didn't bother stopping my tears as they shamefully slid down my face. Through my blurred vision, I pulled out my phone and composed a text to an old friend.

Me:

Hey, do you still need help this weekend?

I used to be a drug dealer and ran in various questionable circles to support myself before I joined The Boys. But I still had friends from my former life that I kept in touch with, and every once in a while, I'd dip my toe back into the drug scene when they needed help with an extra burdensome deal. And right now, I was desperate for any excuse to get out of here.

Alex:

Have you changed your mind about joining?

Me:

Yeah, I have. It's an out-of-town one, right?

Alex:

Yup. We'll be gone for at least three days, so pack a bag. And you can crash here tonight because we have to head out early in the morning.

Grateful for the impromptu getaway, I packed my small duffle bag with my spare pair of black jeans, sweaters since it was getting cold outside, and other essentials like face wash and my phone charger.

Considering it was just past midnight, I didn't have to wait long before I heard the guys mumble goodnight to each other from the other side of my door before they all retreated to their respective rooms.

I waited five minutes to be safe before opening my door and peering out. The common room in our bunker under the pawn shop was empty, and I took it as an opportunity to sneak out. I tiptoed up the old wooden stairs and breathed a sigh of relief after bolting through the old store and out the door, letting the chilly New York air blow across my face.

The walk to Alex's apartment was short because I was already close to that side of town. And I arrived soon enough with my duffle bag in tow.

"You look like shit," Alex said, opening their apartment door and quickly letting me in.

"Well, hello to you too."

Alex snorted as they pulled me in for a hug before directing me towards the couch I would be sleeping on that night.

"Don't let the bed bugs bite!" They called, heading into their room to rest for the night.

I dumped my bag on the floor and fell onto the couch. It squeaked loudly in protest, and I felt several springs dig into my spine. But I wasn't complaining. Anything was better than sharing a wall with Butcher, knowing the hate he now carried for me. Besides, he snored terribly loud, which the entire group complained about daily.

After some extensive tossing and turning, I fell into a fitful sleep.

༺༻

"Rise and shine, motherfucker!" Alex yelled.

I jerked awake before immediately falling onto the floor. The decades-old carpet did little to cushion the blow, and I groaned loudly as my head throbbed in protest.

I peered up at Alex from my place on the floor and saw them holding two coffee cups. "Want some?"

"Yes, please." I rose gingery before sitting back on the sofa and accepting one of the steaming mugs. I took a small sip and nodded thanks to my friend.

"We need to get on the road in twenty minutes because our first client expects us to arrive at eight tonight. And I don’t want to be late so we can make a good first impression."

"I think the eighteen pounds of coke you're selling them should help win their approval," I said, taking an enormous gulp of the caffeinated beverage.

"Speaking of coke, I need you to help load it into the car. Come on."

༺༻

"You gonna answer that?" Alex asked from the driver's seat on our way to Bardstown, Kentucky.

"No. It's probably just spam."

Alex glanced from the road ahead to give me a knowing look. "I don't think any spam caller would ever waste their time calling the same person two hundred times."

"It's not my fault they're dedicated to their job," I mumbled.

My friend chuckled, shaking their head.

I rolled my eyes and finally peered at my phone after ignoring its constant ringing for six hours. Hughie had texted me a wapping eighty-seven times and called me fifty-one times, which wasn't surprising because he did tend to be a phone stalker. I scrolled through his messages, landing on the most recent one sent three minutes ago.

Hughie:

Look, I get that you're pissed at Butcher, and that's probably why you left. But please let us know that you're safe. We're freaking out over here.

I sighed heavily before I forced my fingers to type out a response.

Me:

I'm fine. I'm out of town helping a friend. Sorry to worry you. I'll be back on Monday.

I pondered over the words before deciding to go ahead and send it. It was a little colder and more direct than how I usually communicated, especially to Hughie. But I knew he'd understand.

Hughie's reply came within seconds. But before I could read it, the notification of an incoming call covered my screen. A lump formed in my throat when I saw Butcher's name flashing in front of my eyes. My thumb hovered over the 'accept' button before I shook my head and hurriedly declined the call. I am sure he only called to yell at me for disappearing, and I wasn't in the mood to be reprimanded by him.

"I can drive the rest of the way," I offered, returning my focus to Alex.

"No thanks, I'm good," They responded like I knew they would. Alex was very particular about driving and refused to get into an operating motor vehicle unless they were the one behind the wheel. I respected that, but it still felt like the right thing to do was offer so it didn't look like I was putting the burden of transportation on them.

My phone vibrated, notifying me that I'd received another text, and I reluctantly viewed the message.

Butcher:

I know you ignored my call.

Ok? And the sky is also blue. I'm so glad he's able to notice the obvious. At least there's nothing wrong with him in that department.

Just as I decided to ignore his text, his name lit up on my phone again, signaling another incoming call. I slumped in my seat, and groaned under my breath. Again, my finger pushed the red icon, sending him straight to voicemail. Not even a second later, Butcher began to call for the third time.

"You know," said Alex, "If you answered the phone, they might stop calling."

"I'd answer if it was anyone else. I refuse to talk to this particular person."

"Alright, have it your way," they muttered, changing lanes.

We fell quiet, and the only sound was my phone as it buzzed with a final text.

Butcher:

Please come back.

༺༻

"I'd say that was pretty successful," I declared as we pulled into our Kentucky motel the next day. We had just finished our final deal, and while it was a little tedious, Alex's client ended up being happy overall with their purchase and promised they'd do business again.

"Yeah, thank God," Alex replied, cutting the engine after pulling into a parking spot. "I'm just grateful you were there. I think your presence was a great influence. You're still a legend in the drug community," they smirked.

I laughed lightly. "I'm happy to help anytime."

"Watch out because I will hold you to that promise."

We piled out of the car, and I waited out front while Alex headed in to get the key to our room. It was just past one in the morning, and I glanced over my shoulder, staying on high alert.

Alex exited the front entrance and dangled a key triumphantly. After entering our room, we each fell onto a twin-sized bed, and I watched as Alex almost instantly fell asleep.

I curled up on the wrinkled comforter for a few minutes before sitting up and rummaging through my bag for my phone; it had died a couple of hours ago, and now was my first opportunity to charge it.

I had received a text from Hughie asking if I was ok, to which I replied that I was, and I hadn't heard from Butcher since I'd blocked him last night when he proceeded to call me every thirty seconds, disrupting my sleep.

With nothing else to do, I slipped my jeans off, stashed my handheld in the bedside drawer, rolled under the covers, and attempted to sleep.

༺༻

"That was fun. We should do it again sometime," Alex said as they pulled up to the pawn shop.

I nodded my head. "Yeah, it felt like old times."

We hugged before I got out of the car and looked up at the one building I wanted to avoid more than anything. Three days wasn't long enough, and I genuinely considered asking Alex if they wanted a roommate. But their jeep was already speeding down the road, so I had no choice but to enter the pawn shop and descend the familiar steps.

"You're back!" yelped Hughie as he rushed forward and wrapped his arms around me. I stumbled back before gaining my balance and returning the hug. "Yeah," I replied lamely.

I nodded to Frenchie and MM before they both turned to Hughie. "You ready?" MM asked, and Hughie replied that he was.

"D'accord, let's go," Frenchie said, and the three of them passed me as they headed upstairs and out of the pawn shop, leaving me alone with Butcher, who stood by the couch.

"Y'alright?"

I ignored his question and headed for the solitude of my room.

"Oi, I'm fuckin' talking to you." Butcher barked, and I heard his boots stomp in my direction. He wrapped a large hand around my arm, spinning me around. "Don't ever fuckin' do that again, ya' hear? You 'bout did me fuckin' head in, running off like that."

Butcher's face was inches from mine, and his warm breath fanned out across my cheeks and neck, causing goosebumps to flare. "I guess you forgot that I can take care of myself," I muttered bitterly as I wrenched my arm from his grasp and pushed the door open to my bedroom. Much to my dismay, Butcher followed me in.

"What's with the fuckin' attitude?" he demanded, crossing his arms. "You're acting like a right twat."

I whirled around as I threw my bag onto the floor, my nostrils flaring. "Oh, so you're allowed to have an attitude, but I'm not?" I glared daggers at him. "Get out."

"No. We're gonna talk," Butcher pressed, standing his ground.

"I don't want to talk to you."

"Well, too fuckin' bad, sweetheart. I ain’t leaving until you tell me what kind of stick is up your bum, and why the bloody hell you fucked off for three days without telling anyone."

"It's a free country, and I'm allowed to go where I please," I shot back. "Besides, I figured I'd give you all a break from carrying my dead weight around. I hear it can be quite tiring."

Butcher's mouth opened before he closed it, taking a beat before speaking, "S’that’s what this is about, eh? The fact that I called you dead weight the other night? No offense, love. But if a comment like that was enough to drive ya' out of town, you've gotten too sensitive."

"It wasn't just that one comment, William. It's the fact that you've been terrible to me for weeks now, and the shittiest part of it all is that I have no idea what I've done to deserve it!" I exclaimed, panting slightly as my shoulders rose and fell. Butcher raised a brow, and I scoffed, flopping on the bed. "Forget it. Now, would you mind kindly fucking off and leaving me alone?"

I turned away, and Bucther sighed quietly. A couple of seconds passed before the bed dipped behind me.

"M'sorry, alright?" he said quietly.

"Whatever, I don't even care anymore," I muttered, picking at the skin on the side of my nail.

"Yes, ya’ do."

My stomach flipped as Butcher carefully reached up and brushed the hair off my shoulder. "I didn't realize I was hurting ya' so much. I thought I was doing what was best."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, turning back to face him. A calloused finger traced my cheek before his hand fell limply in his lap. Even though Butcher never slept more than a couple of hours a night, this was the first time I'd seen him look truly tired.

"I needed to push you away, and I figured a bit of tough love would do the trick." Butcher's hazel eyes met mine. "I realize I may've gone a bit too far."

"But why would you want to push me away? I thought we worked well together." My voice grew softer. "I thought you liked me."

"Oh, love, my feelings for you go way beyond like."

My thoughts became jumbled as I tried to comprehend what Butcher was saying, and I struggled to form a response, but it all ceased when he cupped my face in his hand. I instinctually leaned into his touch, and my eyes drooped, feeling serenity from the simple contact.

"M'sorry. M'so fucking sorry," Butcher apologized again. But this time, I saw emotion in his eyes. "You're the most precious thing in my life, and the last thing I would ever want to do is hurt ya'."

His lips gently grazed my forehead, placing a soft kiss there before continuing. “I'm no good for ya', doll. God only knows I'd fuck up an angel like you. In me own messed up head, pushing you away was the only way I could protect ya'."

"That's not true," I whispered, shaking my head, but Butcher didn't look convinced. "And even if it were true, I wouldn't care because I'm no saint either."

It was quiet between us, and our breaths were the only thing filling the small space. My gaze roamed Butcher's face before it fell on his lips, and I swallowed audibly.

"I want you, Billy."

Butcher looked torn. There was a deep crease between his brows, and his breathing grew quick as the seconds ticked by.

"I'll ruin you." His voice was rough, full of gravel.

"I'm already ruined."

Butcher's resolve began to fray before it split wide open, and his lips crashed into mine.

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not my best work, but i hope you enjoyed it!

-xoxo

#billy butcher #billy butcher brainrot go brr #the boys billy butcher #billy butcher the boys #billy butcher x you #billy butcher x reader #karl urban #karl urban try not to serve challenge #the boys tv #the boys amazon #the boys fanfic #billy butcher imagine #billy butcher fic

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writerfromshikahr · 2 months ago

Text

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Lath’halani - Lucanis X Rook Fanfic

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Lucanis knelt, examining the small flowers scattered across the ground. Their vibrant pink petals caught his eye, delicate and striking.

“Whatcha found?” Bellara asked, her curiosity piqued.

“These flowers, they’re beautiful.” Lucanis’s gloved fingers brushed the petals with care.

Bellara leaned over his shoulder, her eyes lighting up. “Oh! I know what they are. In Dalish they are called "Lath’halani", it loosely translates into "Love's Healing". The story goes, if you give them to someone special, they’ll always take care of your heart, and you.”

“A flower can do all that?”

“Well, not literally,” Bellara admitted. “It’s just a myth, but a romantic one! And sometimes, we all need a little more tenderness in our lives, right?”

Lucanis stood, levelling her with a look. “I’m a Crow, Bellara. What part of my work screams ‘romantic’ to you?”

She grinned impishly. “Which is exactly why you should pick some and give them to....” She stopped abruptly, her mouth snapping shut.

“Give them to who?” He frowned, waiting.

“Well,” she began, shifting awkwardly, “Look, you didn’t hear this from me because I don’t like to gossip—”

“Could have fooled me,” he interrupted dryly. “Go on.”

Bellara forged ahead, unbothered. “But I’ve noticed... something between you and Rook. The way you two sneak glances at each other, honestly.... it’s adorable. Like one of those stories where they don’t kiss until chapter thirty, but the tension is delicious. She’ll probably tell you, one star-filled night in Treviso, that you’re the only person who’s ever made her feel safe. And, in the end, you’ll save each other. Classic.”

“You got all that just from me looking at someone and smiling?” Lucanis muttered.

“Uh-huh.” Bellara’s energy remained as bouncy as ever. “I swear, I’m writing this down later. The Assassin’s Promise—a tale of love, danger, and...”

“Bellara,” he cut her off, his tone sharp. “If you write anything about me, I’ll swap your sugar for salt the next time I cook.”

“Fine, fine,” she relented, though her grin said otherwise. “All I’m saying is maybe you should pick some flowers for Rook. Take them back to the Lighthouse. I think she’d love them.”

Lucanis regarded her for a long moment, then knelt again, plucking a few blooms. He wrapped them carefully in his handkerchief and tucked them into the small pouch he usually reserved for poisons.

“I knew it!” Bellara squeaked, clapping her hands.

Lucanis shot her a look and sighed, “What exactly did you know?” His tone was flat, but a flicker of curiosity lingered.

“That underneath all the grumpiness and doom, you’re just a big softie. A romantic at heart!”

Lucanis rolled his eyes so hard that Bellara feared they might stick.

“I assure you, Bellara, whatever you think you know, you don’t.”

“Mm-hmm. That’s exactly what someone in denial would say.” She clasped her hands behind her back and practically skipped alongside him as they headed back to the Eluvian. “You’re going to give those flowers to Rook, aren’t you? You should. She’d love them. She’d look at you with those big, doe eyes and probably blush to her ears. So sweet.”

“Bellara…” His tone carried a warning, though it lacked bite.

“But I digress,” she continued breezily. “If you’d rather be the brooding type who stares longingly across the room and never acts on his feelings, that’s fine too. Classic slow-burn. Delicious tension. So much angst.”

Lucanis stopped abruptly, fixing her with a flat stare. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not when it’s this much fun.” Her grin was unapologetic.

For a moment, Lucanis debated whether or not to toss her into the nearest river. Ultimately, he decided against it, if only because she’d probably swim back with more commentary. Instead, he shook his head, whispered something in Antivan to himself, and resumed walking.

Bellara trailed behind him at a respectable distance or perhaps a strategic one, but she couldn’t resist one last parting shot. “Just think about it, Lucanis. You, Rook, flowers, romance… a story for the ages!”

Lucanis didn’t dignify her with a response, though his fingers brushed the pouch at his side, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

#lucanis dellamorte #lucanis x rook #rook #rookanis #rookanisfanfic #dragon age the veilguard #bellara lutare #fluffy nonsense #rookderiva #dragon age

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mymindisneverhere · 2 months ago

Text

FAVORS (5)

Part Five

warnings: 18+, MDNI!, SMUT, sub!Terry, soft dom!black fem OC, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, dirty talking, lil bit of angst, explicit language, lots of dialogue, slow burn (forgive me if I missed any)

Masterlist

*Knock Knock Knock*

Khloé went to open the door without even looking through the peephole. She swung the door open and stood there for a few seconds.

“Can I come in or do you just wanna stare at me?” Terry smirked. His expression quickly became serious as he saw that her demeanor hadn’t changed.

‘What did I do now?’ He thought.

Khloé turned and walked away. He followed behind her, quickly shutting the door and locking it. He walked deeper into the room and stopped once she turned around to face him.

She wore a soft pink slip dress that fit snug to her body, with small slits down the sides, showcasing her round hips. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail and her lips were bare

“Is something wrong?” He asked, eyebrows raised in concern.

Khloé took her eyes off of him and looked around the room until her gaze landed on her dining table. She walked over to the set, pulling one of the chairs out and away from the table.

“Sit.”

Terry eyed her skeptically as he made his way over to the chair. He sat down on the soft cushion in the seat and spread his feet apart, hands rested against his legs.

Khloé walked out of his view to the small closet by the entrance. He heard some ruffling for a few seconds until the door snapped shut. She reappeared back into the open area, stern eyes locked on him. He looked down at her hands to see rope hanging from her grasp.

“I have a couple of questions for you.” She stopped directly in front of him. “Because I’m under the impression that you’ve been lying to me and I don’t like being lied to.” Khloé placed the items on the table and looked down at him.

“If you give me the wrong answer, you remove what I tell you to remove.”

She stood in front of him, hands behind her back, chest on full display. He stared directly at her breasts. The slip she wore was so thin he could see her dark nipples through the dress. He licked his lips, excited for whatever she was about to task him with. Staring unapologetically, he could feel his dick growing in his pants, completely unaware of what was to come.

“Who is Summer McBride?”

“She’s family.” He responded confidently.

“Watch.” She instructed, looking down at his wrist.

He looked up at her to read her expression. It remained the same, still and unpleasant. He unhooked his watch, still eyeing her as he took his time removing the accessory. He placed the watch onto the table and returned back to his initial position.

“Let’s try this again, who is Summer McBride to you?”

He paused before answering. “She’s a woman I met in Shelby Springs. She’s like family to me.”

“But she’s not an actual relative though, is she?”

“No ma’am but-“ He answered, ignoring her eyes.

“So you did lie to me?” She tilted her head. “Shoes.”

“I didn’t lie t-“

“Shoes!” She spat, uninterested in whatever he was about to say.

He let out a breath as reached down to untie his work shoes one at a time before kicking them to the side.

“Why did you have me send her $16,000?”

“She helped me with the bail money for my cousin. She also played a part in uncovering some of the corruption in the city. I just wanted to return the favor.” He spoke remorsefully.

Khloé looked down at him, noticing the guilty look on his face. “You said she was in need of assistance, so that was another lie?”

“I can expl-“

“Shirt.”

He huffed as he reached down and raised the company shirt above his head, pulling each arm out of the sleeves and tossing it to the floor. Sitting back against the chair, he continued staring down at the floor awaiting the next question.

“A woman, who you met not that long ago, is bringing you lunch that you left behind at her home?”

He remained silent.

“Why were you there?”

“She was nervous about the money popping up out of nowhere, I just stopped by to ease her anxiety.”

“A phone call or text wouldn’t suffice?”

“Well, yes but I wanted to-“

“Pants.”

His eyebrows bent as he stared up at her, frustrated at the fact that he couldn’t even finish his sentences without her cutting him off. She lifted a brow as if she were repeating herself without having to. He stood from the chair, standing over her while he undid his pants. She was eye level with his bare chest, watching as it flexed with his movement.

Terry stared down at her, seeing the mixture of anger and lust in her expression. He dropped his pants and stepped out one foot at a time, kicking them off to the side.

“Keep standing.” Her eyes shifted to his, which were already on hers. “Were you involved with her?”

“No ma’am.”

“So you had me send her that much money just to say thank you?” Khloé folded her arms in disbelief.

“She has a daughter who needs better schooling, I wanted to help her the same way she helped me.”

Her weight shifted to her right leg. “What does her daughter have to do with you?”

Terry took a deep breath before responding. “If you’re trying to ask me if I’m the father of her daughter, the answer is no.”

“So Mr. Richmond is such a noble man that he sent the majority of the money I offered him to a woman for her daughter who he has absolutely no ties to whatsoever?” She laughed, sarcasm lacing every word.

“Yes.” He answered harshly.

She squinted, sensing the sincerity in his voice. Her eyes darted back and forth between his. He may have been telling the truth but he had still broken one of her rules.

“Okay, let’s say I believe you.” She stepped around him, behind the chair and grabbed the black rope from the dining table. “You’re still in violation of one of my rules. What was rule number 2?”

“Break up with whoever I was dating. But I wasn’t dating anyone.” Terry answered, looking over his shoulder at her.

“I also told you not to have any women popping up asking for you.” She shot back, undoing the rope in her hands. “Boxers.”

He let out a deep sigh as he ran his thumbs against the waist of his underwear and pushed them down. She looked down at his bare ass, licking her lips.

“Sit down.”

He obliged.

She pulled both of his arms behind the chair and tied the rope tightly around his wrists. “Do you like when I’m being a bitch to you Mr. Richmond?”

“I don’t recall you ever being that nice to me in the first place.”

She walked around the chair to face him and grabbed his jaw pushing his head back forcefully.

“You’re gonna learn to watch that smart ass mouth of yours.” His jaw clenched in her hands.

She slowly bent down to tie his ankles to each leg of the chair. He watched her as she tied the restraints and noticed a blind fold in her hands. Now standing, she tied it around his head covering his eyes for now.

“I’m not gonna hurt you too bad but if you decide to bitch out, let me know.” She whispered into his ear and licked his earlobe. She bit down on his ear, noticing the change in his breathing. She trailed down to his jaw until she got to his lips. Kissing him for a moment she allowed him to fall into her rhythm before she bit down on his bottom lip. This wasn’t the moment for intimacy, she needed to make one thing very clear to him.

“My rules are to be followed.”

Khloé ran her hands down his body, feeling every muscle, every vein, every piece of him. Her hands traced down his abdomen until she reached his dick. She rested on her knees as she came face to face with it.

Tracing the veins in his dick with her tongue, she followed them all the way up to the tip, teasing him. He cursed when he felt the warmth of her tongue on him, making his stomach flex a bit. She licked him again, embracing the taste of him on her tongue.

“If you followed my rules, you would be inside me however you choose right now.” She said, placing wet kisses along the shaft.

“I d-didn’t know she w-would pop up.” He barely managed above a whisper.

She wrapped her lips around his dick and sucked on the head, her tongue rubbing against the underside of it. She slowly raked her teeth against his shaft, noticing his teeth clench at the feeling. Pushing down on his dick, she sucked him dreadfully slow, taking every inch of him with in then pulling back and spitting on his tip.

“Oh fuck.”��

“She shouldn’t have come looking for you.”

The sounds of her sucking him filled his ears instantly. The only thing he was forced to focus on was the pleasure he was getting from her and the noises that came with it. His mouth hung open as she sucked him, turning him into the bitch she knew he’d be as the minutes rolled by.

She moved her hand, pushing her head all the way down until all of him disappeared into her mouth. She stayed there for a few seconds until she felt herself gag then raised her head up. The thick strings of spit that hung between the two of them made her clit throb. The enjoyment she got from throating him was very clear as he heard her moan each time she did it. The more she gagged, the wetter she became, the more he felt his nut rising.

“Aw look at you, you’re so helpless.” Her voice had switched from harsh and cruel to soft and sensual. The way his dick jumped each time she spoke, she knew it was driving him crazy. “I love seeing you like this.”

Unable to move, only allowed to receive the pleasure she was giving him. She sucked him sloppily, moaning at the feeling of him hitting her throat, letting all that built in it run down his dick.

“Shit.” He said through gritted teeth. His body tensed as he felt his nut brewing. She felt his dick stiffen in her mouth so she pulled back, painfully sending him back down the ladder.

“Are there any more women I should know about Mr. Richmond?”

“No ma’am.” He grunted.

The frustration in his tone caused a soft giggle to escape her lips. She grabbed his dick once again, rubbing the tip against her wet lips before licking it again. His dick was glistening, along with the bottom half of her face. Running her thumb under his balls she lifted them, licking and sucking while stroking his dick, squeezing the tip every now and again.

“Fuuuck, I’m s-sorry.” He breathed out. The feeling of her toying with his heavy balls and his dick all at once had him in a frenzy. He wanted to cum so badly but she wasn’t gonna let that happen anytime soon. Every time she sensed his nut building, she’d stop just to watch his frustration grow on his face.

Terry dropped his head back as his lips parted, loving and hating every second of this pleasure he was getting. On one hand it was everything he wanted but on the other hand the edging was tormenting him.

However, Khloé was thoroughly enjoying herself. Her pleasure was coming solely from the feeling of his hard dick in her mouth and his inability to breathe or speak clearly. If she really wanted to she could give him head all night, that’s just how much she was loving his reactions.

Khloé dragged her tongue across his balls once more before spitting on them and licking it all back up to his dick. The sound alone made him let out a deep moan. He was past the point of trying to maintain his composure. She was breaking him down one second at a time.

She slapped his dick against her tongue and looked up at him, the expression on his face swarmed with desperation as his eyebrows furrowed.

“I think I need to see those eyes when I finally let you cum.” She reached up behind him to untie the blindfold.

His eyes fluttered open once the blind fold was removed, the soft blend of green and gray filled his irises. He looked at her, the sight sending him right back up the ladder she had just forced him down once again. She stroked his dick, letting the head hit her lips as she stared directly into his eyes.

“You wanna cum don’t you Mr. Richmond?” She asked, licking him as he opened his mouth to respond.

“Fuck y-yes.” He whimpered.

“What’s the magic word?” A sly grin on her face.

“P-please.”

She proudly sucked him, allowing her hunger for him to completely take over. He watched her go to work on him. His legs jerked against the restraints, while the muscles in his stomach flexed violently. His dick was beginning to stiffen once again and she kept throating him, still staring directly at him. He closed his eyes tightly, finally releasing all of the built up tension in her mouth.

“Ah fuuuuuuuck.” His voice roared through the room as she continued sucking, not stopping until his sack was totally empty. His head dropped forward, as his body folded inward on its own. His body jerked again and again as she continued her motion, showing no remorse.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He chanted through clenched teeth, veins popping out his neck.

Finally letting up, she pulled back and rested a hand on his leg. His body slowly began to relax as he let out a deep breath. Opening his eyes, he looked down at her as she stuck her tongue out, mouth full of his DNA. She closed her mouth and swallowed then wrapped her lips around him one last time just to be sure she got all of what she wanted.

“Ssss-shit.” He hissed, trying to fight against the natural reaction his body was having once again, twitching and jerking against the chair.

She released her grip and stood to her feet. He took this time to regain his composure. His head hung as he breathed heavily, nostrils flaring with every breath.

“I’m not done with you.” She pushed the straps of the dress off of her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Straddling him, she placed sloppy kisses down his neck, biting and tugging on his skin.

Khloé lifted her hips and positioned his semi-hard dick right at her entrance. She slid down slowly, squeezing her walls purposely to watch the agony spread across his face. He clenched his jaw at the feeling of her tight pussy on his now sensitive head.

Sitting all the way down, she began rolling her hips, bouncing up and down on him. He tried his hardest to avoid her gaze, dropping his head to her shoulder. He didn’t want to tap out but she was doing a number on him.

“Look at me.” She spat, grabbing his jaw and forcing his eyes back on hers. She bit down on her bottom lip as she continued fucking him. The look on his face was bringing her flood to the surface faster and faster.

“This dick belongs to me don’t it daddy?” She asked, completely out of her body.

“Yes ma’am.”

She continued rocking her hips on him, chasing her own orgasm while also conjuring up another from him. The sounds of her ass slapping against his thighs echoed throughout the room.

“Are you gonna lie to me again?”

“N-no ma’am.” He was struggling to hold himself together.

“Good boy.”

She threw her head back, completely caught up in her own pleasures. Her hand slid down to his neck, while the other fondled with her nipples. He watched her as she used him like a toy solely for her enjoyment, not caring about his.

His stomach began to flex once again as her pussy tightened around him.

“Fuuuck I’m about to cum all over this dick.” She moaned.

Her voice was like kryptonite for him at this point. Announcing her own climax had his coming right along with hers.

“Oh shit.” He groaned loudly.

“Yes, give it to me!” She demanded through gritted teeth.

They came in unison, loudly cursing each other until they couldn’t take anymore. Her body bucked along with his as she held onto him with her hands wrapped around the back of his neck. Bringing her movements to a stop, she let out a few deep breaths.

Terry dropped his head, completely wrecked and defeated while the rest of his body went limp. She finally brought her gaze back down to him and placed her head against his. They both sat for a while, silent and out of breath.

Minutes passed and the room fell completely still. They both returned to their normal states, heartbeats rested, breathing steady. Khloé sat up and looked down at him, gently lifting his chin. His eyes were barely open.

“Omitting information is lying to me. I need to know everything and everyone.” She spoke softly. She caressed his face and placed a kiss on his lips. “Come, shower with me.”

Terry stepped out of the bedroom and made his way into the kitchen, following the aroma that spread throughout her place. He stopped just a few feet out of her view. Khloe was preparing a late night dinner for the two of them.

He watched as she stood over the stove, flicking her wrists and tossing in seasonings in left and right. She was deep in her element. Her movement around the kitchen was swift, humming to herself, a small smile on her face.

“You’re not the only one with great ears Mr. Richmond.” She spoke, not bothering to look up at him. “Or should I say ex-Marine.”

Terry chuckled, finally stepping into the kitchen and taking a seat at the island. After their shower Khloé gave him a plain white T-Shirt and gray sweats to lounge in. Some old clothes she had purchased for an ex-lover that he never got to wear.

“I didn’t wanna interrupt your flow.”

She giggled, turning off the eyes on the stove.

“There’s a very important event coming up and I need you there with me.” She started.

“What’s the occasion?”

Khloé let out a deep breath, clearly annoyed. “My mothers 60th birthday party,” She rolled her eyes. “There is no dress code but I would prefer you’d wear an outfit I picked out for you.”

Khloé reached up into the cabinets next to her refrigerator and grabbed two large white plates. She carefully plated the meal she prepared for Terry and herself. Two 8oz steaks cooked medium, grilled onions, asparagus and creamy mashed potatoes sat beautifully on the expensive plates as she carried them over to him. Grabbing a tall bottle of her favorite red wine from her wine rack, she poured a decent amount into two wine glasses and took a seat next to Terry.

“This looks really good.” He said in surprise, looking down at his plate.

“When I’m not traveling to spy on the warehouses, I’m perfecting my cooking skills.” She smiled, taking a sip from her glass.

“I have to admit, I'm very surprised.” Terry glanced over at her.

“There’s a lot to learn about me Mr. Richmond.”

“I’m listening, if you’re interested in sharing Ms. MacArthur.” He said, grabbing his utensils and digging into the meal that sat before him.

Khloé placed her wine glass down and stared at him. She was only joking but he sat quietly, waiting for her response. She was taken aback at his genuine interest in her. Not her money or her popularity in the city, but simply her.

She told him all about her dreams of becoming a chef and owning her own restaurant downtown someday. Ever since she was a teenager she loved being in the kitchen and coming up with new recipes. Having rich parents who spent most of their time perfecting the family business and less time building bonds with her caused her to spend most of her younger years studying their private chef as she prepared dinner for the family every night.

After sharing her dreams and aspirations with her family, her mother in particular didn’t seem to believe that culinary arts should be the path Khloé should choose. Khloés looks were supposed to get her the richest man in town, connected with high class social groups and the privilege of being a housewife and mother to beautiful children.

“MacArthur women do not serve people, people serve MacArthur women.” Khloé stated, mimicking her mothers deep, condescending tone.

Khloé didn't see her future the way that her mother saw it, however disappointing her mother was far worse than going after her own happiness. Although she hated the duties of checking in on the warehouses and attending the events for her family’s business, she didn’t want to be a traitor and ruin her fathers legacy.

“As long as everyone else is happy, I’m happy.” Khloé finished with a forced grin on her face.

“Are you really happy?” Terry looked over at her with a raised brow. He could see the obvious discomfort in her face but he didn’t care much, he truly wanted to know.

“I have a nice condo in the heart of the city, I drive luxury vehicles, I have expensive clothing pieces, I have a man at my beck and call. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Terry chuckled at that last part, shaking his head at himself and her.

“I don’t know-“ Terry started, “-it just seems like living a life that everyone else wants you to live instead of the one you choose would be hell. I mean yeah you have nice things but do you genuinely enjoy them? Or do you feel like you have to because of who helped you get them?”

Khloé shifted her gaze down to her plate, picking at her potatoes. She wanted so badly to shoot back with a quick witted response but she couldn’t because he was right. But how could she just up and decide to go against everything and everyone who worked so hard to get her here? The thought of it alone brought her a feeling of anxiousness.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to upset you.”

“No it’s fine really.” Khloé stated, stopping him from feeling any guilt about what he had said. “You’re not wrong at all but how can I throw all of this away? I can choose to live a life that is fulfilling and makes me happy but it’s so much easier said than done. The cost would be far too great.”

Terry shrugged his shoulders and sat back in his chair.

“I think if you start small and work your way up it’ll get easier as time passes.” Terry laid his fork down on his now empty plate. “You don’t have to make such drastic changes all at once nor do you have to announce it to anybody, just take one step at a time. Before you know it, you’re exactly where you wanna be.”

She stared at him, hanging on to every word.

“The cost would be worth it in the end though right?” He asked.

Khloé looked at his glass that had gone untouched. “You haven’t touched your wine.” She said changing the subject. Terry took note of this but decided against steering back in that direction, not wanting to be too pushy.

“I don’t drink.”

“Why not?”

Terry shook his head as he broke eye contact with her. Memories of the past ran through his mind as he tried to come up with a response.

“It’s just not for me.”

Khloé nodded her head slowly before grabbing his glass. “Well it can be for me then.” She joked, tossing the bottom of the glass in the air.

Terry laughed at her carelessness. As the night went on, Khloé dove right back into her dream restaurant. She told him how she wanted it to look, the food she’d serve, the celebrities that would come and visit just to taste her delicious food. The way she lit up as she spoke so openly about her dream made Terry smile. Her excitement was similar to that of a small child, dreaming fearlessly.

*BUZZ BUZZ*

Khloé opened her eyes, frowning from the loud vibrations that were coming from the coffee table. As she slowly came into reality, she could hear soft snoring coming from just above her head. Her hand rested on his chest that rose and fell in a rhythm with every snore.

*BUZZ BUZZ*

The cell phone on the table lit up as the loud vibrations continued again. It was Terry's phone. She lifted her head and looked down at the table, annoyed from its loud notifications. Sitting up slowly, making sure not to disturb him, she picked up the phone and read the text message that appeared on the screen.

Summer:

Can you stop by tomorrow? I’m having some problems with my car. Can’t get it to start.

Khloé read the text message and looked over at Terry to see him still fast asleep, one arm rested above his head, the other in his lap. The thoughts roaming through her head were becoming louder and louder as she tried to push them away.

‘You don’t want to be old and alone.’ She could hear her mothers voice loud and clear in her mind.

Khloé debated on deleting the message so that Terry wouldn’t have a reason to go visit Summer again. She knew her insecurities were getting the best of her and she didn’t want them to ruin this thing she had with Terry, whatever this “thing” was. No matter who she was, there was no amount of money or compliments that would make her feel worthy of having any man by her side. But for the first time in a long time she actually felt seen only after a brief conversation.

For the first time in almost a decade, she had opened up about something she kept secret. She wasn’t sure if it was the liquor or the amount of comfort she felt while speaking to him, but regardless she didn’t want the feeling to go away so soon. Surprisingly, he hadn’t made her feel as if her dream was far-fetched. After their talk, it actually felt like it could be real someday, like it could be closer than ever before.

She stared back down at the phone, sighing to herself, she decided to simply turn it off instead. She placed it back down on the table and returned to his chest, shuffling to try and sink deeper into him as she fell back asleep. Naturally he wrapped his arm around her waist, never waking out of his slumber. The more Khloé tried to force herself back to sleep, the more she could hear her mothers voice in her mind.

‘If you don’t make your presence top priority in a man’s life, you’ll lose him to someone less deserving.’

to be continued…

#aaron pierre #terry richmond #aaron pierre fanfiction #aaron pierre x black fem reader #aaron pierre x black reader #rebel ridge #terry richmond fic #aaron pierre fic #terry richmond x black female reader #terry richmond x black!oc

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teapartyprincess4two · 10 months ago

Note

Can you make a Latina reader x Matt sturniolo smut? You can make it up how you want it

Lipstick- M. Sturniolo

pairing: Thick!Latina!reader x Boyfriend!Matt

classification: fluff, smut

inspiration: request^^

translations: embedded within the story!

warnings: 18+, MDNI, literal sex, use of Spanish, Hispanic/ Latino culture mentioned, established relationship, slight cursing, traditional parents, mentions of alcohol, didn’t name any of the side characters, long

summary: Matt’s nervous to meet your family, but after making a good impression you treat him to a night full of kisses and lipstick stains.

—

Matt sits in the living room, nervous hands playing with the keys that hang from his belt loop. Your mother keeps him company, sitting on the sofa across from him as she asks him a plethora of personal and uncomfortable questions. Latina mothers are unashamed to prod into the personal life of others, especially when meeting their daughter’s boyfriend for the first time.

You’ve only been dating Matt for a couple of months, and although he seems like a nice kid, she’s not entirely sure she can trust your judgment just yet. The few boys you’ve brought home before haven’t always necessarily met her high standards. Matt hasn’t done anything to throw her off yet, but she’s sure she’ll find something to dislike. If he manages to stick around long enough, though, he’d surely grow on her.

“So what do you do for work?” your mom asks, momentarily looking up from her latest costura project to catch Matt’s anxious gaze. She expertly weaves the string in and out of the white lace, forming an intricate floral design in the process.

[translation: costura- sewing]

“Oh um… my brothers and I we make YouTube videos,” Matt doesn’t know where to look, he’s afraid to make eye contact but also afraid that if he doesn’t it’ll come off as disrespectful. He’s never been so nervous in his life, and from the look on your mother’s face he can tell that that’s probably not what she wanted to hear.

Your mother scoffs, obviously unimpressed with his answer. “Esta niña, siempre saliendo con los más huevones,” she turns her head towards the stairs. Matt’s been waiting for you to descend for over 30 minutes, and the awkward tension was even becoming too much for her.

[translation: “This girl, always going out with the laziest ones.”]

Matt coughs, taking a quick swig of the water bottle in front of him. He’s nervous, his hands are clammy and he has no idea what your mom just said. What was taking you so long?

“So is YouTube gonna pay the bills?” your mom was abrasive and she knew it, but she couldn’t help it. In her eyes, nobody was worthy enough of her babygirl. Matt remains silent, he doesn’t even know what to say, so she continues, “You know, when you two start having kids.”

The thought of having children at 20 years old terrifies Matt beyond belief, he can feel his hands getting clammier by the second. He understands that it’s a cultural dissonance, though, so he keeps his mouth shut. “We’re not planning on any kids soon, ma’am. We haven’t— Um, we haven’t really talked about it,” his voice trembles slightly, your mom was doing a good job of intimidating him.

Matt takes another swig of his water, his mouth was dry and he felt like his throat was closing up. “Oh, but you’re having sex with my daughter right?” the question is so unapologetically bold that it causes Matt to choke on the liquid, some of it managing to dribble down his chin.

“I’m sorry?” he chokes out, but he heard your mom loud and clear.

Finally, as if on queue, Matt hears footsteps coming down the steps. ‘Finally!’ he thinks, watching as your curvy figure rounds the staircase and enters the living room. Matt shoots up from his spot on the couch, his eyes immediately dancing over your entire body.

You’re wearing a fitted, black bodycon dress that reaches just above your knees. The spaghetti straps work to hold your bust in place, a gold necklace dangling delicately above the curves of your breasts. You push your freshly curled hair onto your shoulders, luscious locks framing your face perfectly. White lace-up sneakers adorn your feet, your ankle bracelet glimmering as you walk into the living room.

Matt can’t keep his eyes off of, every aspect of your being pulling him in and putting him in a trance. Your mom notices Matt’s inability to hide his attraction for you, “her eyes are up here!” His face goes beet red, eyes immediately darting up to your face.

You roll your eyes before sending Matt an apologetic smile, “Ya nos vamos, Ma.”

[translation: “We’re leaving, Ma.”]

“Bueno, mi niña. Pórtate bien,” she warns, bringing you in for a strong, warm embrace. Your mom’s change in behavior is so quick it gives Matt whiplash, but he can’t blame her for being standoffish with him. He understands that it’s her mother bear nature.

[translation: “Okay, babygirl. Be good.”]

You kiss your mom on the cheek, your red lipstick staining her face. You turn to Matt with a big, toothy smile sprawled onto your face. “You ready?” you ask, taking his hand in yours as you guide him outside. He nods and hums in response, squeezing your hand as he trails behind you in a lovesick daze. Your ass jiggles with each step and Matt wonders how he ever got so lucky.

“Sorry for taking so long,” you apologize once you’re in the car, getting situated in the passenger seat. “No problem. You look really beautiful,” he replies, starting the car and doing another once over on your body. You lean over the center console with puckered lips, “kiss?” He happily obliges, your red lipstick instantly transferring onto him. His pants are becoming tighter by the second and you notice it right away. Your relationship is still in its infancy, so even this has you blushing.

“Was my mom nice?”

“Mm yeah, some like that,” he replies with a chuckle, adjusting his pants and beginning the drive to your destination. You know he’s lying, but you’re grateful that he’s courteous enough to put up with your mom’s attitude.

“Just wait till you meet my dad and my siblings. They’re not as bad,” you say, the hum of the car engine and the low music in the background creating a calm atmosphere.

“Can’t wait,” he laughs, and although he’s nervous for when that day finally comes, he’s actually excited to become a constant presence in your life. It might be too early to say it, but he’s definitely falling in love with you, the tent in his pants making it obvious as ever.

—

A year has passed since that day and, as expected, your mom has warmed up to Matt. They aren’t super close yet, but she definitely sees him in a different light. She can tell that he truly cares for you and that what you two share is real, but the real test comes when Matt meets your dad.

Your dad works a lot, the manual labor taking a toll on his body that puts him to sleep as soon as he gets home. So, even if your dad is home when Matt’s around, he’s usually asleep or resting in his room.

Matt was nervous when he met your mom, but he’s TERRIFIED to meet your dad. There are so many factors to take into consideration; the language barrier, the cultural dissonance, the fact that he’s your literal dad! It doesn’t help that your siblings are gonna be there too, all of it makes Matt tremble with unease. But he’s been invited to your family’s cookout so he can no longer postpone it.

It’s a sunny Saturday afternoon. The weather is nice, it’s not too cold or too hot. It’s the perfect day for a cookout, and Matt should feel excited, but he doesn’t. Sweaty hands grip the steering wheel as he anxiously drives to your house. Chris and Nick are being dragged along as moral support, but unlike Matt, they’re not nervous.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you guys. I don’t even think they know I’m a triplet,” Matt’s words are coming out a mile a minute as he places the car in park outside your house. The panic is starting to set, and from the looks of it they’re the first ones here. Usually being on time would make Matt proud, but this just means there will be less people to hide behind.

“Dude, it’s gonna be fine. Plus, maybe Y/n has a cute cousin or something and we can be like brother in laws,” Chris is only half-joking. “Gross,” Nick grimaces, hopping off the car and beginning the short walk to your front door. Chris laughs, copying Nick’s actions and following closely behind.

That just leaves Matt. He’s glued to the front seat, mind racing uncontrollably. If he’s going to do this, it needs to be quick and painless or he’ll just psych himself out. He takes one deep breath in and out, unbuckling himself with such fervor that the seatbelt slaps the door. Once he steps out of the car, he takes a second to anchor himself before jogging to catch up to his brothers, who are already ringing your doorbell.

Three minutes pass and no one has opened the door, so Nick rings the doorbell again. “Allí voy, allí voy!” a voice shouts from inside, the door swinging open aggressively to reveal your little sister.

[translation: “I’m going, I’m going!”]

“Oh it’s just you,” she deadpans, moving aside so they can walk in. She slams the door shut, pushing past the stunned trio until she’s at the foot of the stairs. “Y/n’s upstairs,” she says, waving towards the staircase haphazardly.

“Y/N! YOUR BOYFRIENDS ARE HERE!” she shouts up the stairs, the loud outburst taking the triplets by surprise.

Your sister is a good 4 years younger and the complete opposite of you. She’s a thin tomboy, wearing an outfit so oversized that she’s drowning in fabric. Her style directly resembles Chris’s, chunky sneakers adorning her feet and a backwards hat resting atop her long, curly hair. A long gold chain that she stole from your older brother hangs from her neck, swaying back and forth as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Her makeup is nicely done and her glossy lips are resting in a smirk, she loved embarrassing you.

“Stop yelling, pendeja!” you shout back, head peering from your doorway. Your sister shoots you an unbothered shrug, turning on her heels and disappearing into the backyard. You descend the stairs, immediately hugging Matt and planting a fat kiss on his lips. Within seconds his lips are the same color as yours, your cherry lipgloss tasting all too familiar.

[translation: pendeja- dumbass (feminine)]

“You guys are early,” you chuckle, pulling away from Matt to greet the other two. “You can blame Matt for that,” Nick says, the four of you walking outside to the backyard patio. The setup is simple but nice, rows of foldable chairs and tables lining the grassy lawn. Coolers are up against the walls of the house, each one filled to the brim with soda, juice pouches, and alcohol.

As Matt is surveying the area, he sees your dad, or at least he thinks he does. A tall, muscular man is working the grill. His shiny, bald head reflects the sun and his tattoos are on full display past the sleeves of his ribbed cotton tank top.

Matt grabs your hand, pulling you back slightly, “Is that your dad?” His voice is hushed, afraid to be heard accidentally.

You follow his gaze, “What? No. That’s my brother.”

An audible sigh of relief escapes Matt, and you instantly clock it, “Don’t worry, babe. Everyone’s gonna love you.” The reassuring words momentarily calm his nerves.

Your older brother’s boisterous voice breaks the moment, “Y/n, go get the rest of the carne from the kitchen!” He’s pinching carne asada, elote, and cebolla off of the grill with long metal tongs, stacking it neatly on a metal tray.

[translation: carne- meat, carne asada- grilled meat, elote- corn, cebolla- onion]

Chris is the first to approach your brother, his friendly nature making it easy for him to talk to new people,“Dude, that smells good!”

Your brother is very kind, his scary appearance completely juxtaposing his hospitable personality. He’s wearing baggy jean shorts and black air forces with a matching gold chain and bracelet. The black sunglasses that rest on his face make him look unapproachable, but the warm smile he offers Nick and Chris makes up for it.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” you quickly peck Matt’s cheek, once again staining his face with your lipstick. Matt hums in response, joining the rest of the men around the grill.

“I feel like I’m seeing triple. I didn’t even know there was three of y’all,” your brother jokes, offering them each a firm handshake. Even though they’ve heard the joke millions of times before the triplets laugh.

“Yeah, we get that a lot,” Nick laughs.

“Bet you do. Which of you is dating my sister, though?” your brother asks, but he knows the answer; the red kiss on Matt’s cheek is a dead giveaway.

“That would be this lucky guy,” Nick replies, shaking Matt’s shoulders playfully. Matt’s cheeks burn a bright red and he can’t stop himself from smiling, he truly was lucky. “If the red lipstick on his face doesn’t tell you, then his smile surely will,” Chris chimes in, his finger smudging the makeup on Matt’s face.

Your brother laughs, “Yeah you might wanna wipe that off before el jefe gets back.”

[translation: el jefe- the boss (masculine, a nickname commonly used when referencing one’s father)]

“Oh shit,” Matt mutters, scrambling for a nearby napkin and rubbing it along his face feverishly.

—

An hour has passed and no one else has arrived yet, I guess the triplets didn’t get the memo that Hispanics are almost always fashionably late. Your brother is still working the grill, immersed in an entertaining conversation with Nick about God knows what. Chris, on the other hand, is playing soccer with your sister. He keeps either kicking the ball over the fence or missing it completely, his clumsy actions make your sister laugh uncontrollably.

You sit with Matt at one of the many tables, hands intertwined as you both anxiously await your parents arrival. “He should be back by now,” you mumble, a restless leg bouncing up and down. You knew Matt would make a good first impression on your dad, but you were still nervous.

It’s almost like you summoned him, the familiar sound of your dad’s pickup truck ringing in your ears as he pulls into the driveway. “Is that him?” Matt asks, grip tightening on your palms. “Yeah that’s him. Don’t be nervous, my dad is nice,” you reply, but you’re equally as anxious.

Your dad’s first words do nothing to help your case, you’re just glad Matt can’t understand them, “Vengan a ayudar, huevones!”

[translation: “Come help, lazies!”]

“Lemme go help, you stay here. Okay?”

“No, I’m coming with you.”

“Actually yeah, good idea.”

Matt follows you to the front yard, he’s so beyond nervous that his hands are practically dripping with sweat. Your dad senses Matt’s presence immediately, “Y este pinche güey que?”

[translation: “Who’s this fucking guy?”]

“Pa! No seas feo!” you exclaim, but your dad just rolls his eyes and silently instructs you to unload the truck. He bought more alcohol for the party, because when you’re Hispanic you can never have enough.

[translation: “Pa! Don’t be ugly!”]

“Es tu novio o que?” your dad asks, grunting as he picks up two cases of beer. He rests them on his shoulders with ease, he’s so strong that it intimidates Matt. “Yes, dad. He’s my boyfriend,” you reply, playfully rolling your eyes.

[translation: “Is he your boyfriend or what?”]

Your dad, much like your brother, is also bald. The greatest differences between the two men are the wrinkles that crease near your dad’s eyes when he smiles, his long bushy beard, and his protruding beer belly. “Nice to meet you,” your dad finally directs his attention towards Matt, offering him a genuine smile as his thick accent butchers the words.

“Nice to meet you too, sir,” Matt replies, picking up a case of alcohol as to make himself useful. Your dad can tell that Matt’s nervous, and even though he doesn’t like the idea of you dating, he decides to take it easy on him. He’s heard stories about Matt from your mom and by the way you look at him, your dad knows he’s the one.

As your dad enters the backyard, absolutely shocked to see Chris and Nick. Never in his life has he met a twin, let alone triplets, “Ay güey! Hay tres? No chingues, creo que me mareé.” Everyone, except for the triplets who have no idea what’s going on, laughs at your dad’s statement.

[translation: “Oh shit! There’s three? Fuck, I think I just got dizzy.”]

“I think he likes you,” you shrug, a sly smile playing on your face. Matt suddenly feels confident, all the nerves washing away.

—

As the hours pass, the party becomes less innocent as everyone becomes more and more inebriated. Matt’s chatting with some of your uncles and cousins, a cold beer resting in his hands. He’s been nursing the same bottle all night, only sipping from it occasionally.

You’re on the opposite end of the lawn, sitting at a table with your chismosa cousin. “Your man is so handsome, prima. If you find another one like that, send him my way.”

[translation: chismosa- gossiper (feminine), prima- cousin (feminine)]

“He does have a brother,” you joke, eyes still trained on Matt. You needed to get him alone in the house, away from prying eyes.

You could think of so many actual reasons you needed him right now, though. First, he was being such a gentleman with your family. He introduced himself and made small talk despite the evident language barrier. Secondly, when you served him a plate, he finished it faster than you’ve ever seen him eat anything. Then, when he got up for seconds, he moaned as the delicious flavors melted in his mouth.

Everyone loved him, and for whatever reason that turned you on. The longer you looked at him, the wetter you became. You’re clenching your thighs together, the sheer thought of him making you squirm. Before you know it, you’re excusing yourself from your cousin and walking up to Matt with a random excuse as to why you need him inside.

“Hey is everything okay?” Matt whispers, hands resting on your hips. His head is crooked down towards you, lips capturing yours briefly before resting his forehead against yours. “Yeah, just missed you,” your breathy words fan his lips as you place a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth and travel them down his neck.

Although he welcomes the feeling, you’re both standing in the kitchen and if anyone were to walk in they’d catch the intimate moment. That’s the last thing he wanted, especially not after making a good first impression, “not here, baby.”

You pout, completely retracting yourself from Matt, “okay.”

“No, wait. I said not here,” he pulls you back in as he looks around the house in search of another secluded area, not wanting to completely abandon your touch.

“Then where?” your voice is sultry and inviting.

“Outside?” it’s the first thing that comes to Matt’s mind, and the suggestion breaks you from the mood.

“Outside, Matt? Really? Like what, like a dog?” you have a dumbfounded look on your face, almost like you can’t believe he even suggested it.

“No, like, in my car,” he dangles the keys in front of your face before pulling you back in for a heated kiss.

The kiss seems to convince you because he’s successfully leading you to his car. The street is dark, only illuminated by a few street lamps, but you find it with ease.

You fumble into the backseat, Matt following behind you giddily. “We have to be quick, okay?” you whisper, pulling Matt in for another kiss by the collar.

“You know I like taking my time with my girl,” you can hear the smirk in his voice, a playful scoff falling from your lips. You scoot further into the back seat, making room for Matt as he situates himself between your legs.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?” he brushes a stray curl away from your face, a gentle hand caressing your cheek. “Hmm yes, but I could hear it again,” you turn your face, kissing his palm.

“You look beautiful today,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss. You mould into each other, your lips fitting perfectly against his. Matt grinds himself down on you, momentarily breaking from you long enough for you to feather kisses along his neck.

With each kiss comes an affirmation, “I’m. So. Proud. Of. You.” It’s too dark to see, but you’re leaving lipstick marks all over him. The praises send blood rushing to his dick as you continue, “You did so good, papi. Just like I knew you would.”

[translation: papi- daddy (bear with me ppl)]

“Yeah? How good?” he eggs you on, relishing in all your sweet words. His hands push your dress up, the fabric scrunching up around your hips to reveal the red lace panties you wore underneath. Matt swears he’s in heaven.

“You did perfect…” your words trail off as you watch Matt remove your underwear in a daze. “How about you show me how good I did?” he grabs your waist, flipping you both over so you’re on top. You let out an excited squeal, your bare cunt coming in contact with his rough denim jeans. His dick is straining against the fabric, begging for release.

You grind onto his clothed penis, one hand resting on his chest as the other pushes your hair out of your face. Matt’s hands instinctively find your hips, a firm grip guiding your swiveling motions.

“Tell me how you want me, baby.”

“Ride me?”

As soon as he says it, you’re wiggling down onto his thighs and unbuckling his pants. Your fingers dance along his erection, teasingly tracing it. Matt bites his lip at the sight, “Please don’t tease.”

“So polite,” you giggle, finally tugging his pants down. His dick slaps against his stomach, the swollen tip already dripping with precum. Your thumb runs across the tip, spreading the lubrication along his shaft.

Matt’s a whimpering mess, propped onto his elbows to get a better view of you. When his hips subconsciously buck into your hand you decide to stop teasing and situate yourself above his crotch, dragging his penis along your wet folds before positioning it right at your entrance.

You’re going so slow, too slow, so Matt decides to take matters into his own hands. He grabs handfuls of your ass, pushing you down onto his dick with force. “Matt!” you gasp, the delicious stretch sending you into overdrive.

He doesn’t respond, instead he pushes and pulls your hips so that you’re bouncing on his cock. Your breasts are jiggling rhythmically, threatening to spill out of your dress. Animalistic grunts fill the car as Matt watches your pussy wrap around him, his jaw is slack and his eyebrows are furrowed in pleasure. Your soft whimpers and moans motivate him to keep going.

“You like that?” The car is rocking with the intensity of your movements, windows becoming foggier and foggier with each breathy moan that escapes your lips.

“Yes!” your voice is high pitched and squeaky, the pleasure choking you up. “Use your words, pretty girl,” he grunts, feeling the familiar wave of pleasure approaching.

“It’s so good, papi. So, so, so good,” you babble, struggling to formulate coherent sentences. Your pussy is fluttering around him, the sensation bringing Matt closer to his breaking point.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum,” he whimpers, large hands squeezing the skin around your hips so hard that it was sure to bruise. You place loving kisses all over his face, especially on his cheeks and the corners of his mouth.

“I love you,” you moan, chanting his name again and again right after. He’s thrusting up into you feverishly, his pace faltering slightly as you both near your climax. “I love you too, princess. So much,” his voice is strained, strong arms wrapping around your waist and holding you in place as he shoots his warm load into you. His affirmations send you into a state of euphoria as your orgasm washes over you.

He’s peppering kissing all over your chest, whimpers escaping his lips as he comes down from his high. You delicately push his hair off of his sweaty forehead, admiring him as he continues his gentle attack on your chest.

“We should probably get back, babe. They’ll be wondering where we are,” you whisper, but he doesn’t want to let go. He wants to stay like this with you forever.

“Let me enjoy this a little longer,” he murmurs, hooded eyes finally looking up at you. Your lipstick is smudged all over your mouth. “Aww baby, your lipstick is all messed up. You look so cute,” he laughs, attempting to wipe some it off but failing.

He shifts slightly, the streetlights briefly managing to illuminate his handsome face. Your kiss marks are all over, a clear visual representation of how much you love him.

“You’re wearing more of it than I am,” you joke, earning yourself a playful slap on the ass.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n: clearly I couldn’t just write a smut right? Lmaoooo idk I had all the characters in my brain & it couldn’t just be smut 😭 hope u enjoy

This is so different from anything I’ve written before so lmk how yall like it & if you enjoy having Spanish in stories w/ the translations in the story💃🏻 also don’t kill me for using papi, i’d gladly call my man papi any day 😋

-L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01 @junnniiieee07 @sturniolololover @missriddle03

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐

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theunsinkableship1 · 2 months ago

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SMOKE AND MIRRORS?

Smoke and mirrors? I don't know, that is what I know for certain, but...

The events surrounding “chaos week” remain the greatest dissonance in the narrative of Luke Newton and Nicola Coughlan allegedly being in love with other people. The sequence of events during that week, coupled with their subsequent behavioral shifts, feels too deliberate and well-timed to dismiss as mere coincidence. Chaos week was not random, it was purposeful, likely orchestrated with fandom in mind. This alone speaks volumes about the complexity of their situation and the unique bond they share.

Before diving into the details, we must recognize that Luke and Nicola have always been unapologetically open about their connection, their mutual admiration, and their playful interactions. Prior to June 12, their relationship was marked by overt displays of affection and an almost magnetic camaraderie that was loud, proud, and undeniable. The abrupt shift to being elusive and discreet post-chaos week is suspicious, particularly given their prior dynamic. This change cannot be entirely attributed to fan speculations. If they were simply friends, this misunderstanding could have been cleared up quickly and effectively with straightforward communication. Yet, the silence is deafening, and the avoidance suggests something deeper, something they feel they cannot or should not fully address. If they were only friends, the message could have been clearer. Yes, they don’t owe explanations to strangers on the internet, but we’ve seen them correcting narratives in real time (e.g., the Luke cake story), and we know they are aware of how we interpret things. Nicola is chronically online.

Another glaring inconsistency lies in how their supposed current relationships are handled publicly. Nicola, known for her privacy on personal matters, has seemingly, through some interpretations, gone public with her alleged boyfriend. This contrasts with Luke, who has historically been open about his romantic relationships, always acknowledging them publicly. Yet now, there is a notable reluctance on his part to confirm anything explicitly, even as speculation swirls. Nicola may have decided not to hide her relationships anymore, but why now? And why so soon into this supposed relationship? The bigger question is what she is really doing, or if it's just an interpretation of the situation. Luke may have decided to separate his private life from his professional one, perhaps because it had unwanted effects on his previous relationships. We could easily argue that this approach could be even more damaging to his reputation, fueling the "bad boyfriend" image, and to his supposed girlfriend, as she is, willingly or not, heavily scrutinized. Should it be like that? Of course not, but it is. So, this strategy seems counterproductive, ineffective, and poorly managed.

The contrast between their approaches raises further questions. Why would Luke suddenly shy away from acknowledging a relationship when he’s never had an issue doing so in the past? And why would Nicola, who has always remained quiet on such topics, choose this moment to break that pattern? These behaviors feel inconsistent and potentially performative.

The timeline of their supposed separations and Nicola newfound love also doesn’t add up. For two people who seemed to share a deep and genuine connection, it’s highly improbable that she could fall in love with another man just two months after the world tour. Yes, I believe the look in her eyes since Brazil was deep down bad love Yes, I believe the look in her June 15 Tatcha video was sad love eyes. Real emotions don’t dissipate that quickly, especially when they were as visible and vibrant as theirs. The way they looked at each other, the way they supported one another, and the energy they exuded when together painted the picture of a bond that doesn’t vanish overnight. It strains credulity to believe that both could have moved on so effortlessly in such a short span of time.

And then there’s the matter of trust. As fans, we trust Luke and Nicola. They’ve never given us a reason to believe they’re dishonest or manipulative. Their authenticity is what made their connection so compelling. Please stop with the "it's just PR" narrative. Yes, we know they are paid to lie while acting, but those two are not known liars. I believe they’ve been telling the truth all along, which is why their connection felt so natural and authentic. No amount of PR training could have produced those results, it was rooted in truth, as Golda Rosheuvel would say. PR campaigns don’t start years in advance, don’t include personal time, aren’t micromanaged behind the scenes, and certainly don’t appear in all cast and crew contracts. And I know that they are good actors but some reactions are too visceral to be fake.

This love is not a lie. That’s what makes this current situation so confounding. If they are truly in love with other people, why does so much about their behavior and timeline feel unnatural and inconsistent? There’s too much smoke here to believe there isn’t a fire. Their mutual elusiveness, the unexplained shift in their interactions, and the deliberate way chaos week unfolded all points to something more profound at play.

Ultimately, we know one thing for sure: Luke and Nicola share a unique love for each other. Their bond, whether romantic or not, is rare and undeniable. It is precisely because we trust them that we can’t reconcile the current narrative with what we know to be true. Their story, full of laughter, connection, and now mystery, deserves clarity. Until then, the dissonance remains, leaving us to wonder what lies beneath the surface of the chaos.

BEFORE THE CHAOS

Before June 12, they both seemed a little sad in Galway and London, which I initially attributed to exhaustion and the bittersweet emotions of the tour's end, closing that chapter. However, in retrospect, it might have been more than that. They may have already known they wouldn’t be able to stay as close as they were for some time.

Nicola sharing the song "Frames Your Face" before the end of the world tour

The song’s lyrics express themes of love, emotional vulnerability, and longing.

The lyrics of "Frames Your Face" speak to a longing to connect, to be seen clearly, and to have one's feelings acknowledged. Nicola might have been signaling that despite external noise, her emotions and connection to Luke remain strong. It could represent a desire to focus on what truly matters: the connection she shares with Luke.

“Give me that look again Give me that look 'Cause I'm gonna wait for you”

Luke sharing the clip with the line "Don't let her ruin our night" from the Bridgerton, where Luke’s character speaks to Nicola’s character about Cressida, can be interpreted in the context of the events following the "papgate", the line could metaphorically reflect Luke's desire to protect the bond between him and Nicola from external forces. The "ruin our night" aspect may symbolize a desire to maintain peace and happiness amid a chaotic situation Just as Cressida is a disruptive force in Bridgerton, there may be individuals or circumstances that Luke and Nicola are trying to resist. The line could signal their determination not to let external factors affect the genuine connection they share.

Overall, both the quote and the song suggest a desire for clarity, protection, and the maintenance of a strong bond despite external pressures. These elements in context further reinforce the notion that there may be much more going on beneath the surface, with both Nicola and Luke attempting to navigate their feelings amid the scrutiny they face.

Chaos Week recap

1-The French Toast

It was just a French toast but it could be more than that.

2-The Wordle Post: A Puzzle of Emotions (future reference the post Emmys post)

One of the first breadcrumbs in the intricate web of Nicola and Luke’s story might be Nicola’s Wordle post. At first glance, it seemed like an innocent nod to a daily word game, but upon closer examination, it unraveled layers of emotional symbolism.

"Aloud": The puzzle’s first word, "aloud," hinted at the unspoken truths in their connection. It suggested that certain feelings or realizations, perhaps Luke's internal struggles or his evolving feelings for Nicola, had yet to be fully articulated. Nicola’s intuitive grasp of the situation implied she was aware of his emotional turmoil long before it became apparent.

"Anvil": Symbolizing the emotional weight and something still being forged, this word represented Luke’s state of emotional limbo. It reflected his process of disentangling from his relationship with A while grappling with his bond with Nicola. The green and yellow letters subtly symbolized dynamics at play: Luke (yellow "L") being present but not yet in the right emotional place, and the public perception of his relationship with A (green A and L) still intact despite the reality of his growing distance.

Solving the puzzle in two guesses: Nicola’s ability to "solve" in two tries metaphorically illustrated her sharp understanding of their emotional dynamics. She saw through the layers quickly acknowledging the tension, unresolved feelings, and shifting allegiances beneath the surface.

3-A Subtle Declaration

Amid Luke’s public challenges, Nicola showcased her unwavering support through a heartfelt Instagram post. Sharing a behind-the-scenes moment from Bridgerton Season 3, she captioned it:

"I thought I’d already shared this, but I hadn’t, so here you go, now it’s all yours!"

Timing and Intent: The timing of this post coincided with negativity surrounding Luke, which made Nicola’s gesture seem purposeful. It wasn’t just about sharing a photo; it felt like a deliberate act of solidarity, subtly reminding everyone of the joy and warmth in their bond.

"Now it’s all yours": This phrase carried layered implications. On one level, it seemed directed at fans, a casual offering of content. On another, it could have been a message for Luke, a way of reaffirming her affection and loyalty amidst the turbulence. The deliberate ambiguity left room for interpretation, as if she was signaling something deeper while maintaining plausible deniability.

"The loveliest pal a gal could have": Her use of "pal" was affectionate yet strategic, downplaying romantic overtones while emphasizing the unique closeness of their bond. The phrasing, playful yet tender, left space for speculation, especially when paired with the subtle intimacy of a purple heart emoji.

4-Scrabble and Subtext: A Coded Message (A Layered Callout)

Nicola’s apparent love for word games resurfaced with a Scrabble board that seemed ordinary at first but, upon analysis, revealed a complex message seemingly directed at A.

Words like “DAD,” “LIED,” “DEAD,” “FATE,” and “FLED” hinted at themes of betrayal, endings, and inevitability. Together, they painted a picture of unresolved tensions and shifting dynamics.

The inclusion of “HEY A” and “WATCH” suggested a warning, perhaps to A, while words like “Hey A watch we chill”

“HUG” and “JET” hinted at comfort for Luke and the possibility of departure or change.

The board reflected Nicola’s nuanced way of addressing the situation, subtle, clever, and full of layers that only attentive followers might decode.

5-Birthday Tribute: A Masterclass in Friendship and a jab at Luke’s entourage (now deleted iyyk)

For her best friend Camilla’s birthday, Nicola posted a heartfelt message with a subtle yet pointed undertone:

"Happy Birthday @Camilla, I love you so much that I could never imagine my life without you!!! Remember the time paparazzi took a picture of us and to protect me you grabbed my face?"

A Subtle Contrast: This post seemed to highlight the true essence of friendship, protectiveness and loyalty in contrast to the betrayal Luke supposedly faced from some of his friends. It was a gentle reminder of what genuine support looks like, directed not just at Camilla but perhaps at those who had failed Luke.

6-You speak to me through Music

Nicola’s references to songs like Bless the Telephone and Juna seemed to reveal her inner emotional landscape:

Bless the Telephone: A soulful ode to connection, the lyrics about how a simple call can brighten one’s day mirrored the emotional highs and lows of their relationship. Nicola’s choice to highlight this song suggested a yearning for closeness, even amid challenges. The call of someone you are missing and haven’t seen or heard in a while, not someone you were just hanging with, or you’ll spend the next day with.

Juna: With its themes of vulnerability and gradual intimacy, Juna Nicola’s cautious yet hopeful approach to deepening her connection with someone points to Luke as the most likely candidate. Lines like "With you, there's no pretending" underscored the authenticity of their bond, while "Come to me ready" hinted at her desire for emotional readiness and mutual growth.

Nicola is chronically online, and she undoubtedly knew who they’d be associated with. If it wasn’t about Luke, why post them publicly? And why double down, knowing it would be misconstrued? Let’s not forget the triple down with “the very demure, very mindful.” Of course, the fandom would overanalyze, so why play the double entendre game? Please don’t argue that she isn’t, don’t underestimate her social media literacy!

her social media literacy!

While the exact nature of their relationship remains ambiguous, their mutual affection and understanding shine through. The chaos week suggests a steady ship navigating turbulent waters, one that holds the promise of a deeper connection as it moves toward the horizon. Yet, these days, the waters are murkier but calmer, making it difficult to discern what’s truly happening. For me, nothing feels definitive. I trust their love more than I trust what I can see. I choose to believe that whatever is unfolding, they will find their way back to each other. It may take time, but I’m here for it.

#lukola #lukolaland

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luveline · 1 year ago

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hi! your stories are so captivating😍 Thank you so much for doing them!

If you feel inspired I would love to see a story of Spencer x badass reader where she physically defends him from an unsub and/or verbally from someone they are working with like a cop or something

tysm! ♡ 1k

Sweat drips into your eye.

It follows a line down your cheek like a teardrop and hits your swat vest with a thud. Quiet has settled with the heat, a blanket encompassing everything, your one drop of sweat enough to give you away. The unsub stills at his computer screen, white light bouncing against his jaw. He looks up like he's looking for rain.

He turns right first. He sees Spencer.

"FBI," Spencer announces steadily.

You point your weapon at his chest. "Put your hands up and stand against the wall."

Cory doesn't look like he's going to surrender so easily. "You have three children upstairs," you say, though it's not true. The children sit outside in foil blankets, and with any luck they'll be taken somewhere safer before the arrest. "Three young children who love you. What do you want them to think of you now? Come peacefully."

Cory's face rippled with rage quickly masked. He sits back from his computer and pauses. Then, slowly, he puts his hands against the wall.

"Reid," Morgan instructs, at your left, his gun similarly trained.

Spencer moves forward to handcuff him. It's not your normal routine but it isn't out of your jurisdiction, quieter arrests often mean you act as cops rather than full-fledged agents. "Cory Harrison, you are under arrest for the homicide of Tara Harrison. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say–"

The handcuffs clink as they're whipped from Spencer's grasp, one cuff open, the other closed around Cory's wrist, the links brought unapologetic to the pale curve of Spencer's throat.

Spencer grabs for his gun. Cory pulls the cuffs tight, forcing Spencer closer to his chest and choking the air from his throat.

You reposition your aim. Another drop of sweat curves past your eyebrow. The basement humidity and your panic threaten to blind you.

"Let him go," Morgan says sharply.

"I'll shoot you if I have to."

Cory scoffs at you. "And shoot through string bean?"

You tense your finger against the trigger of your glock. "I have good aim," you say simply.

You have no intention of firing. Cory has a standard issue pair of handcuffs to his discretion. He isn't big or muscled enough to kill Spencer bare-handed, not quickly, and he's on unsure footing.

You step closer. Cory snarls. "Stay back. I'll kill him, you stupid bitch–"

Men. Cory killed his defenceless wife with rohypnol and a rope and now he thinks he can win a fight against two agents trained extensively (admittedly one more than the other) in defence. He's lucky Spencer's in the way —you would've attempted to push his nose into his brain. As it stands, you hook your leg between his and Spencer's, your teammate more than aware of the manoeuvre you're about to pull. With one hand you pull the cuff links cruelly up against Spencer's neck but away, most importantly, allowing him the room to dive from Cory's grasp, and with the other you tuck your gun out of Cory's reach. His arms up, his stomach open, you pull your leg behind his knee and grate your foot down his calf.

He collapses to the floor. You stomp your foot into his groin.

Morgan saves you the chore of cuffing him a second time. He reads the Miranda Rights by heart as you catch your breath, stepping back into Spencer's open hands.

You relax at his touch. He's alright, he–

"Did I hurt you?" you ask, spinning on your heel.

Spencer pouts at you, irked at being worried after. "Of course you didn't."

"Your neck, I almost choked you like he was," you say, mindful of the agents and specialists flooding the room to secure the crime scene and any evidential material.

Spencer lifts his chin. "Doesn't hurt."

There's a rubbed red line up the column of his throat, but it could be worse. You finally wipe the sweat from your face, exhausted and ecstatic that you got the bad guy.

"Come on," Spencer says.

You follow him outside. In the grass yard waits medical, parked along the entirety of the street stands law enforcement. Hotch nods at you as you return and you take it as a job well done, slouching against the side of a cop car to take a breather.

"You okay?" Spencer asks.

You grab for his hand without looking at him. His fingers are warm, neat as they slot through yours. "Why do they always pick on you?" you ask.

Hotch's voice startles you, but you don't take back your hand. "They underestimate him," he says. "And you. Do you need anything? You're looking…"

"I'm fine." You're tired, too hot, and the short-lived adrenaline of a confrontation is crashing. "Thanks, Hotch."

He trudges away. Spencer draws closer as you bend forward, his hand on your back. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"No, I feel awful. I feel sick," you confess.

He's the only person you'd ever admit it to. You crave his comfort. Spencer must read your mind (or more likely, the twitch of your sore back), his hand landing in the space between your shoulders as he crowds you. "That makes sense. High stress situations make us nauseous because of the fight or flight response. Our body's aren't good at keeping neurotransmitters where they're meant to be. Adrenaline mostly, but cortisol too. It's probably the norepinephrine that's making you feel sick."

"How do I make it calm down?"

"Just take a deep breath," he says, rubbing your back.

You breathe in and out until the sick feeling subsides. Spencer prompts you into standing tall.

"You know everything," you say fondly, touching his elbow. "Thank you."

He nudges you. "Thank you for defending me."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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sarawritestories · 11 months ago

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Unwavering Presence Chapter 8

Cassian X Archeron Sister (Reader)

Summary: Rhys and Cassian talk about Under the Mountain. The twins, Rhys and Cass meet the bone carver where Y/N sees someone unexpected, the IC goes out for dinner and two familiar faces come to greet Y/N. Cassian gets jealous.

Content Warnings: broad allusion to the S/A of Rhys. Mention of death by childbirth, unwanted touching from a stranger in a bar setting.

A/N: This is a chapter that i'm really happy about! I'm excited to share but this is also where I'm going to warn that we're no longer going to follow canon exactly. Big moments will happen in the same order but i'm adjusting time lines and some canon moments to fit what I want. I hope you liked this chapter as much as I do. I'm also close to 500 followers and that's crazy. Thank you for reading and giving my stories some love!

Word Count: 6.5

Unwavering Masterlist, ACOTAR Masterlist, Chapter 7

Rhysand’s POV

I opened the door to peek inside, and my heart swelled. The twins were curled up on the bed together Y/N’s arm protectively over Feyre. Their faces were so peaceful, not a worry on their features. I smiled and closed the door. Turning to walk away, I jumped as Cassian was leaning against the wall arms crossed, “Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, unapologetic snoop.” I flipped him off and he chuckled. “Everything okay?” His tone turned serious.

I smiled, “Yeah, they are sleeping together.” I paused as Cassian raised an eyebrow, “I mean they are asleep on the same bed. Don’t make it uncomfortable, brother.”

Cassian feigned offence placing a hand over his heart, “Rhys, how you wound me so!” I rolled my eyes, as my brother’s face grew serious, “Do you think they are going to resolve their issues?”

I tucked my hands in my pockets, “I think they have already begun.” I looked back at the door and could hear the two rustling in bed before they settled. I nodded my head toward my study. Cassian held his arm out letting me lead the way. When we got into the study Cassian sat on the couch. “Cassian.”

“Rhysand.” He counters his elbows resting on his knees as he leans forward, hands clasped together, his siphons gleaming in the fae light.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair, “I have a confession to make.”

Cassian brows furrowed, “By all means, Rhys, leave me in suspense.” He chuckled his laughter died in his throat at my face, “Shit, what is it?”

“There is something about that night that Y/N defended those girls, I never told you.” Cassian gave me his undivided attention. I held my hand out and Cassian rose from his seat, tucking in his wings he gripped my hand, and I took him to that night:

Cassian.

This girl reminded me of Cassian. Even as Amarantha cinched her wrist together, Y/N kept her chin up, her eyes met mine noticing aware her twin was on my lap her head on my shoulder. My hand remained on her waist. Amarantha had Y/N pinned to her. It’s like I could hear him chuckle, “Where the hell did you find these two human women, brother?”

Breathe. I’m sorry Y/N, I cannot help you.

Those girls didn’t deserve to see the cruelties of this world just yet. Try to keep their innocence.

Cassian would have said something similar with that same stance that same glint in his eye. I gave her a nod, and for the first time in 49 years I could not reign in the memory of my brother or the hope in my chest of seeing him again. Maybe these two human girls would be able to break this curse. Then I can go home and tell him about her. I can’t afford to think that way and I chug the rest of my wine.

“Eris Vanserra, please step forward.” My blood ran cold as the heir of the Autumn Court’s name came out that witch’s mouth. My gaze drifted over to the red-haired male step up as Amarantha forced Y/N to her knees and pressed her forehead to the floor.

I gripped her sister tightly as she began to wiggle, “Darling, dance for me, will you?” I whispered in her ear. She drunkenly giggled and got up to begin to dance. I could feel Y/N’s pulse quicken, Breathe. Through your nose. I could see she obeyed as Eris lifted her to her feet. I fought against gritting my teeth keeping my mask of cool indifference. I focused on Feyre as her hips swayed positioned right between my legs. My gaze drifted back and saw that Eris put a collar of flames around her neck and he was guiding her by a leash of flame. The crowd separated as he approached me.

Feyre spun and saw her sister and smiled, “Y/N,” she grinned not realizing her sister was in the grips of a viper and yet she still held her chin up high a challenge in her eye. Again, I could hear Cassian’s voice, “You need to keep her safe, Rhysand. Keep her alive so I can meet her.”

I pulled from the memory and Cassian sat in the chair across from mine, his face unreadable and his shields were locked up tight. “Cass, it was the second time I let myself think of you. The first is when she defeated the worm, and she gave a dramatic bow to the crowd as Feyre threw a muddy bone to Amarantha. When Y/N ran up to those girls I allowed myself to think of you and the hopes of coming home so I could tell you about them. Y/N did something dangerous without ever knowing.”

Cassian took a deep breath, “What was that?”

“Hope,” I lifted my hand and a decanter, and two glasses appeared I poured two fingers worth in both glances and handed one to my brother, “She gave me hope that we would make it out of this, that we would be able to come home. And when I dropped Feyre into her cell, I made it back to my room and cried. I cried so hard I vomited I let out 49 years’ worth of missing you, Azriel, Mor, even Amren.” Cassian chuckled, “This one human girl unraveled me all because she reminded me of you.”

Cassian smiled and gripped his hand in mine, “Well you did make it home, brother, and you kept you promise too spiritual me.” I snorted as he continued, “She’s wonderful Rhys.” He released my hand, and I watched as his eyes went distant, “Is it possible to fall in love with someone from the first time you’ve met them.”

I tilted my head, “What?”

Cassian sat up straight, flaring his wings, and his cheeks turned a shade of red against his tan skin, “What? Did I say that out loud, mother above.” He drinks the alcohol to the dregs and sets the glass down. “I enjoy her company. Is all I’m saying.”

I chucked, “Someone have a little crush, brother?”

Cassian leveled me with a glare, “Shut it, you prick.”

“I mean, Y/N, is funny. Kind.”

Cassian interjected, “Extremely kind.”

I grinned slyly, “She’s also beautiful.”

Cassian exhaled and his face morphed into a lovesick teenager’s, “The word beautiful doesn’t hold a candle to what she is.” Cassian blinked and looked over at me. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” I chuckled and stood having this sudden feeling of being dirty I plucked lint from my shirt and Cassian’s brow furrowed, “You’ve been doing that a lot since you’ve been home.” There was an underlying question that caused me to straighten my spine. “You don’t have to talk about it, Rhys, but I am here, if you want to.”

He stood and walked out of the study leaving me as my thoughts drifted to those haunted

Reader’s POV

I could feel eyes watching me as I slept and I jolted awake, Feyre doing the same to see Amren at the foot of the bed. “Don’t you knock.” I muttered rubbing my eyes. The morning sun filtered in the room.

Amren threw an amulet onto Feyre’s lap, “This is on loan. I expect this to be returned.”

Feyre looked at the jeweled necklace and looked at the tiny female confusion on her face. “What is this?”

“It’s, what helped me get out of the Prison, girl, you’ll need it today.” With that she left. Feyre and I exchanged glances and I simply shrugged sliding off the bed.

“Y/N,” I turned as my sister slid out of the bed as well, “Would you come with us today? To see the Bone Carver.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Rhys purred as he leaned against the door, Feyre threw a pillow at him, and he ducked in time that it flew in the hall. Rhys smirked and tucked a hand in his pocket. “Such a violent little thing.” I rolled my eyes.

“You two make me sick.” I muttered at the same time Feyre asked, “Don’t you knock.”

Rhys looked at me, “Do you want to come join us today?”

I nodded, “Sure, whatever I can do to help.” I walked toward the door, Rhys blocked the door, I crossed my arms.

“Want Cassian to come?” Rhys lifted a suggestive brow.

I pursed my lips, “He’s a grown male, he probably has other things to do.”

Cassian popped up behind Rhys, “It just so happened that Rhys cleared my Schedule, Princess.” He gave me a wink and I fought the butterflies flittering in my stomach.

“A group adventure it is.” I looked at Rhys, my smile falling as I noticed the dark circles sunk in his eyes and stars gone and he looked distant. You, okay? I reached out into his mind.

Rhys met my stare, Never better.

Liar.

High Lords can’t afford to have breakdowns in the time of War, Y/N.

I snorted. Someone better inform the High Lord of the Spring that.

Rhys laughed and placed a kiss on my cheek, “You are something else, Angel.”

My face didn’t change. If you need to talk, I’m here. You need to heal too. War or not.

Stars flickered back into his eyes, and he nodded as I moved to get to my room. The sound of boots was the only indication that I was being followed. “Something I can do for your, General?” I didn’t bother to turn around as I asked the question.

His hand gripped my wrist gently, “I wanted to see if you were okay.” His eyes drifted from my face to my chest. His face tilted as he gently pushed my hair behind my shoulder. I had to remind myself to breathe as he tugged the tunic to reveal the new tattoo there. “Well, hello,” he purred as his eyes flicked to mine, my toes curled, and I had to fight my arousal by his sensual tone. “This wasn’t here a few days ago.”

I took a deep breath and centered myself trying to ignore how him rubbing his thumb against my tattoo caused my whole body to thrum in response. “Feyre and I made a promise to one another. The tattoo appeared not long after that.”

Cassian nodded, letting the silence blanket the hall and I was able to take a good look at him. His eyes had a warm kind glow to them and being this close little flecks of green poked through, and one eyebrow had a slit going through where a white scar laid bare. His face had stubble on it as if he hadn’t shaved yet and I yearned to cup his face to feel it against my skin. My eyes drifted to his lips full and as tan as his skin. My mind wandered as I thought what it would be like if I pressed my own to them. What would he taste like. Cassian shifted eyes widened and I hadn’t realized how close our faces had gotten. I took a step back and cleared my throat, “I should probably get ready.”

Cassian rubbed the back of his neck and a blush fell onto his cheeks it made him look boyish, “Good idea,” his voice was husky and slightly strained, and he tucked his lower lip behind his teeth. He was beautiful in every sense of the word.

I turned forcing myself to look away from him and headed to my room when his voice rang out, “Princess,” I turned my head back he opened and closed his mouth and opened once more, “The prison is cold make sure to bundle up.” He looked pained as he said it, almost embarrassed.

“Thank you, General.” I winked and continued to my room all the while settling the erratic beating of my heart.

***

Cassian was not lying about it being cold. Rhys had winnowed us to the side of the mountain where the cold air pierced my skin. I wore my leathers with fleece line leggings and a long sleeve tunic underneath, but my teeth were still chattering. Cassian shuffled in the bag he brought with him and pulled out his leather jacket. There were patches on the back that were able to detach when he wears it to accommodate his wings. The wind caused a few of the loose strands from his bun to fly into his face though as he approached me, he seemed unfazed by the cold as he held up the bag. “Here, Princess.”

I slipped my arms into the leather sleeves, and he raised the jacket to my shoulders. Warmth encased my upper body as his jacket falling to my knees. Cassian’s hands gave my shoulders a squeeze, “Thank you.”

Cassian leaned in close his warmth seeping into my bones as he whispered, “You’re welcome.”

We made to the entrance of the building and Cassian interlaced his hand in mine and gave it a comforting squeeze. Rhys was the one that broke the silence talking to Feyre, “Do not let go of my hand. No matter what you hear or what you see. Do. Not. Let. Go.” Feyre nodded.

Rhys turned to me. Not like you would want her to let go of your hand. I smirked as Rhys leveled a glare my way, the only indication that my statement got to him. “Same with you, Y/N. Don’t let go of Cass’ hand.”

I lift our entwined hands and open my hand up as Cassian’s still clamped down and go as far as shaking our arms causing the male behind me to chuckle, “I don’t think he would let me. If I want to.”

“Not a chance. Not here.” Cassian murmured.

“Amren-“a hand clamped over my mouth muffling the rest of my sentence and I tried to wriggle from Cassian’s grasp fighting against how his body pressed against me makes me feel.

Rhys sighed, “We don’t mention her near or in the prison.”

Cassian released my mouth and I shoot him a glare. “Why?”

The General spoke this time, “The prisoners here do not take kindly to her escape. If they know we know here it could get messy, fast.”

“Next time just say that.” I punched his shoulder, “No need to manhandle me.”

He kissed my cheek, “Sorry, Princess, won’t happen again.” He leans in lowering his voice, “Unless you ask me to.”

Heat crept up my face as he straightened to his full height, and I tried to ignore how the words left a pool of heat in my belly, I punched him again, “Shameless flirt.”

Cassian laughed, “Keep it up, Archeron, and your punches could actually hurt me one day.”

I scowled as we entered the prison my humor dying as the darkness consumed us. The low fae lights didn’t help with lighting the path before us. Though Rhys and Cassian led us like they knew the place backward and forward. I could feel Feyre’s tension as badly as my own as we turned this way and that. Every turn reminded me of the path Under the Mountain but before my mind could wander too far into those memories there would be a squeeze of my hand. Like the male beside me knew where my mind was going and wanted to bring me back to him.

After a few minutes we reached the cell of the bone carver. Feyre looked back at me, and I gave her an encouraging nod. Rhys led her into the cell, and I stepped closer to Cassian our hands still entwined, and he curled his wing around me giving me extra warmth. We stepped inside and moved around, and I lowered my head finding my feet interesting.

Feyre and Rhys had begun their musings but the metallic smell from the power this creature possessed was making it hard for me to focus. I drowned out the conversation picking up key words. The book of breathings and Like calls to like but everything else was drowned out I tried to focus on Cassian’s hand in mine and how he was rubbing his thumb along the side of my hand. Back and forth back and forth, before I knew it, I was matching my breathing to the slow movements his thumb was making to center myself. The cell fell silent as I finally adjusted to the cell.

A female voice flooded my ears, “Look at me Y/N Archeron.” I looked up and was taken aback by the female before me. She was beautiful. She had one hazel and one Blue gray eye that looked so much like Feyre’s she had long dark hair braided in a crown atop her head a few wavy pieces that strayed from the updo framed her face highlighting her pointed ears. Her tan skin was clad in leathers similar to the ones Cassian and Azriel wore. What really caught my attention was her wings, they too were like Azriel’s and Cassian’s broad and beautiful even when tucked tightly behind her. She smirked, “Step closer, child.”

I attempted to take a step, but Cassian’s hand stayed firm in mine gently pulling me back to him. I wouldn’t move back to him I wanted to get a closer look at the female, she had a slender face, freckles kissed her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She looked so much like Cassian, but then there was that smile and it looked so similar to the one my twin and I share. Was this a relative of Cassian’s? She was beautiful.

Her laugh was boisterous, “Who do you see when you look upon me child?”

Don’t answer that. Rhys voice flittered into the spot of my shield for him.

“I don’t know.” I answered honestly.

You’re a great listener, you know that?

Cassian once again gently tries to tug me back to him. As the Bone Carve paces like a wild animal in a cage, “I wonder, what secrets does the human Archeron twin keep. Tell me one secret, Y/N Archeron.”

“What do I get for sharing a secret with you?” I asked and tried to release my hand, but Cassian refused to let go.

“Oh, clever girl,” The females wings fluttered, “A secret for a secret then and as a sign of good faith I will go first.” She met my gaze, “There are ancient creatures that roam these lands, Legend states that they were extinct in the first war. They were not, they just went into hiding. They want to come out and play again.”

Rhys swore, and I looked back and saw Cassian’s face paled as he muttered, “Dragons.”

The female looks back at Cassian, “Indeed, Prince of Bastards.” Something made me bristle at the implication of the title and the sneer on her lips. She turned back to me. “A deal is a deal.”

Rhys stepped in, “No we’re leaving, your insight has been very helpful.”

He turned and my sister was made to follow, Cassan gripped my arms releasing my hand and turned me away but wiggled out of his grasp and took the opportunity of his mistake stepping toward the Bone Carver, “A secret of any kind?”

She smiled and bowed her head, “I am partial to the darkest secrets, but I will accept any, Y/N Archeron.”

“Y/N,” Cassian’s tone was laced with warning that I promptly ignored.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, “I am responsible for the death of my mother.”

***

We returned to the Town house in complete silence it wasn’t until we were in the dining room that Rhys debriefed Azriel, Amren, Mor. About what the bone carver said about the Dragons and the Book of breathings. I just listened as they talked about half the book being at the summer court and the other half with the human queens. I could feel eyes on me, but I proceeded to ignore his gaze and focus on Rhysand.

“I want to keep this between us for now. I have a plan to test Carver’s theory that Feyre can sense these objects. Like calls to like but I will need a few days to do so. I’ll send a letter to Tarquin and see if he will allow us to make a visit there. That leaves the human queens.”

I mutter, “Nesta and Elain could help.”

Feyre nodded, “We could use their manor as the meeting point. They could be our Correspondence with them since they reside in the Human lands.”

“You both willing to go back and talk to them.” Rhys looked at me.

“You did give us the job as your human emissaries, Rhys. I’ll do what I must.” Feyre nodded in agreement.

‘Alright, send word to your sisters tomorrow and see if we can set up a time to meet. However, I think tonight we have earned off. Let’s go out to dinner.”

Everyone cheered, even Amren had a sly grin to her face as they exited to go get ready, Cassian, Feyre, Rhys and I stayed in the dining room. I met Cassian’s gaze his lips were in a tight line and his arms were crossed over his broad chest. He was stunned at my confession at the prison, but he didn’t say a word, he had just grabbed my hand and led me back out, holding it tightly to keep me grounded. His eyes went vacant for a moment and when they went back to normal, he looked to Feyre and grinned “Feyre, let me escort you back to your room. Maybe that way I can talk you into fighting lessons. With me.” He held out his arm for her to take and winked, and my heart sunk. He was flirting with her. I mean I guess this was the first time I’ve seen him interacting with other women in the court. I had been so wrapped in my bubble that I never noticed that he was a natural flirt.

Feyre smiled and looped her arm in his and he walked out leading her upstairs. Rhys was facing the door looking out at Velaris, I pushed out of my seat, “What did you mean today?” Rhys asked turning to face me, “When you said you were responsible for your mother’s death.”

I shrugged, “What I said is what I meant, Rhys.” His brow furrowed. “Can we not talk about it? Please.”

Rhys sighed and walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her, “Fine, but we have to talk about it.”

I pulled away, “Like how we have to talk about how Feyre is your mate?” His face paled as he dropped his arms. “I’m human, I’m not dumb, I noticed your behavior changed. She doesn’t know does she?”

Rhys shook his head, “No,”

I shook my head, “When did you find out?”

“When we said goodbye after we beat Amarantha.”

Shock rocked me, “You were going to let her marry, him…”

Rhys bit his lip, “I was going to respect what she wanted. I wanted her to be happy. Then she called out for help, Y/N, she was begging for anyone to save her. I felt it down the bond.”

I nodded my head, and I cupped his cheek, “Don’t keep her in the dark forever, Rhys, she’ll hate you for it.” With that I walked to my room to get ready for dinner.

***

We arrived at the restaurant, and everyone was dressed to the nines, and I opted for black silk pants and a sapphire blue corset top and a leather jacket. Put my hair up in a ponytail and placed a matching sapphire blue bow and some comfortable slippers. I walked down and Azriel shared an amused look, “Well Archeron, may I say blue looks ravishing on you.” He kissed my cheek. It was then that I noticed I matched his siphons. Everyone laughed as a blush crept up my face and I glanced at Cassian. He looked bemused but still made sure to extend his arm for me to take to escort me to the restaurant though it was apparent he kept us a good distance from the shadow singer.

Even at the dinner table Azriel sat by the window and I was making my way to sit next to him, Cassian guided me to the end of the table on the opposite side. “Cass, he doesn’t bite.” I murmured.

Cassian pulled out my seat for me and gently pushed me in, “Yes. He does. And he is a sore fucking loser.”

Azriel snorts, “I’m sorry she chose blue instead of red, brother.”

Rhys buts in, “She is allowed to wear whatever she wants, in whatever color she wants. Just because she wears a color doesn’t mean she is swearing an allegiance to either of you.” The kind restaurant owner came and brought our food and handed us a goblet for Amren. “Thank you, Nicolette. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

The older female bowed her head, “Likewise, Rhysand. I hope everything is to your liking.” She looked to Feyre who was dressed in another radiant midnight blue Top and matching pants. “Its an honor to meet you Cursebreaker,” her gaze reached mine, “You as well Y/N Archeron. I hope you enjoy.”

Simultaneously Feyre and I said, “Thank you.” She smiled and left.

We all began eating and I looked over to Amren, “You don’t eat.” Not a question.

“Very observant, girl.” Amren snorted swirling the goblet in her hand.

“Are you not high fae?” I asked curiosity getting the better of me.

Rhys interjected, “She is in a way.”

“I do not know what I am completely, I did take form in a high fae body I chose this body.” Amren said in a tone telling me that that was all the information she was willing to give. I took a note and began drinking out of my own glass.

Azriel leaned his elbows on the table there was a mischievous glint in his eye, “Y/N, tell me. Did you have any lovers back in the human realm?” I choked on my drink; a fit of coughing erupted. A hand was rubbing my back and I looked to see Cassian giving Azriel a glare that if I were on the end of it would make me want to crawl out of my skin. Azriel didn’t seem phased.

“Just one.” I answered when I regained my breath. “Lover is a generous term for it though.”

Azriel quirked a brow, “Oh, why is that?” Feyre shifted in her seat uncomfortably by this conversation.

Before I could answer two tiny voices called out, “Y/N, Y/N.” I turned my brow furrowed in confusion as two small girls came running to the table and when I turned to face them, they leapt into my arms. Two little red-haired girls with tan skin tucked their heads into my neck. I rose, arms securing them as I moved off the chair.

The girls’ mother came toward us, “I’m so sorry. They saw you and they wanted to say hello.”

The two girls pulled away and met Y/N’s gaze and I gasped their green eyes shined bright and their red hair was not matted but curled and their tan skin looked healthy and gleaming. “Well look at you two. You have grown.” I smiled, holding both of their hands.”

Mor’s voice piqued, “You know them?”

One of the girls who was slightly taller, “You remember us?”

I smiled, “Of course I do.” She pulled them into a hug again and the two girls clung to her tightly. “I would never forget either of you.”

Their mom smiled, “I never got a chance to see you, to thank you for what you did for them.”

I met the mom’s stare with a smile of my own, “No thanks necessary.” The girls pulled away from me but still clung to my hands, “I’m glad you girls are okay.” I looked back up to their mom, “I didn’t realize you resided in the Night Court.”

“We were originally from the Autumn Court. I served for the Lady of the Court. Rhysand offered me a place to stay and a comfortable home if I wanted it.” I looked to see her gazing at Rhys with a smile and Rhys nodded his head, “I couldn’t stay in that court knowing what the prince did, so I grabbed the girls, and he brought us here.”

The girl that spoke before said, “We love it here!”

I smiled, “I’m so glad.” I leaned and naturally the two girls also lean in as if we’re telling a big secret “I love it here too.” The girls giggled in response, “What are both of your names? I never got a chance to be properly introduced. I’m Y/N.”

The social butterfly of the two smiled wide, “I’m Alexis, you can call me Lexi. This is my twin Elizabeth, but we all call her Lizzie.”

Lizzie gives a shy wave before biting her lip a bit. I beamed and I turned and point to Feyre, “Well what a coincidence my Twin is right there. That’s Feyre. I call her Fey.”

Feyre gave the two girls a small wave, and the two waved back enthusiastically. Y/N looks to the mom, “I’m Evangeline. Feel free to call me Evie.” I let go of the girls’ hands for a moment and walked toward Evie as she blinked away a few tears and gripped me into a hug, “I can’t thank you enough,” She turned her gaze to Rhys and Feyre and the rest of our table. “All of you, for your kindness.”

Rhys smiled, “The pleasure is ours.” The table all gave nods in agreement.

Lexi tugged on my pant leg, “Can we have a sleepover sometime?”

Alexis!” Evie scolded, “She is probably busy with working for the high-“

I interrupted her raising my hand, “For my two new friends,” I knelt to their level, “I would make the time. You just need to convince the High Lord. I do live at his house at the moment.”

Lexi and Lizzie ran to Rhysand and held their hands up, “Please, High Lord. Please.” I noticed that Cassian and Azriel were trying really hard not to laugh as they saw their brother turn to into putty at these girls hands.

Rhys smiled, “Tell you what whenever, mom needs some time to get errands done, or would like to have an evening to herself you can come to my townhouse and spend as much time as you want with my family.”

“Including Y/N?” Lizzie asked quietly.

Rhys smiled widened, “Yes, including Y/N.” He gave them a playful wink and the two girls giggled and ran back to their mom.

“C’mon girls, let them enjoy the rest of their dinner.”

Alexis waved, and Y/N stands to take her seat, and she feels a tugged on her pants. She looked down to find Lizzie and her eyes lined with silver, and she blurts, “I want to be like you when I grow up.” She looked down sheepishly after blurting it.

I took a minute to process what she said, “What do you mean, Sweetheart?”

She looked up tears streamed down her face, “I want to be brave and kind and not afraid like you,” I could feel the emotion swelling in my chest and tears of my own were beginning to fall. I fell to my knees and pulled her in to a hug, and Lizzie erupted into sobs burying her face in her shoulder. I held out my other arm and Alexis ran into tears in her eyes too. Lizzie whimpered, “I was so afraid I had an accident. You were so brave, Y/N.”

“You were so brave.” I whispered, stroking their hair. I pulled away from them and made the effort to wipe both their tears from their faces. “I think you both were extremely brave. You both held your chin up so high going back to your mom. I was proud of you.” I looked at both girls, “I was proud of both of you.” I smiled and hugged them both, “And we’re here now. And we’re friends.”

“Forever?” Lexi hiccuped.

“And ever.” I promised.

I gave both girls a kiss on their forehead and sent them back to their mom who was smiling with gratitude. I took a seat in my chair watching them walk away, “So those were the girls you told me about.”

I nodded as I shifted back to face my friends, Cassian held out his napkin for me to grab and I graciously took it and wiped my eyes. “Yeah, I didn’t even know they were twins. Kind of poetic.” I chuckled as I felt the familiar callouses of Cassian’s hand on the back of my neck, that thumb rubbing soothing circles and I leaned into his touch. “Thank you, Rhys, for bringing them here and giving them a better life.”

Rhys held out his hand and I took it, and he grabbed Feyre’s hand and gave them both a squeeze, “They deserved it, as you both deserve a chance at a better happy life.”

***

Dinner came to a close and as we walked out in the crisp night air Mor linked arms with me, “I say we head to Rita’s anyone in?”

Cassian and Azriel agreed to join but it was Rhys and Feyre who both declined Amren already left for the evening. I smiled at both of them and waved before I was being dragged away to the bar.

The atmosphere of Rita’s was nothing like the taverns at the human realms, the music thrummed, and the beat could be felt on the floor there were various colored fae lights, Azriel led us all to a table and offered to grab everyone drinks. Mor sat next to Cassian, and I ended up at the end of the booth. I noticed how Mor laid her head on Cassian’s shoulder and he laid his head on top of hers giving her forehead a light kiss and that pang rang in my chest again. How had I not noticed that he is like this with everyone. Clearly he expresses love through touch.

Azriel brought everyone a drink and a shot. I took the shot with fervor and welcomed the burn of the alcohol. Az sat across from me and quirked his brow as I also chugged the drink, he brought for me. This was going to be a long night.

A few drinks in and Mor was basically on Cassian’s lap. I tried not to gape, but it was hard as she kept whispering in his ear. He held her but his face was slightly bored, Az and I just sat and watched the people on the dance floor. His shadows swirled around my ankle, and I smiled.

“Excuse me,” I male’s voice interrupts my appreciation of Azriel’s shadows and look up to find a fae male, with pale skin and blonde hair smiling at me. “Could I bother you for a drink and a dance.” I looked him over his body was toned and I noticed that he had a tail that touched the floor if he were to extend it out. “I just couldn’t help but notice how you beautiful you were.”

I opened my mouth to refuse but Mor cut in, “She would love to.” Mor gave me a light push and I turned back to look at Cassian who seemed more interested in his drink as Mor nuzzled back into him. I gave the male in front of me a bright smile and took his hand.

We walked to the bar, and he said his name was Mark not even bothering to ask for mine, “So I’ve not seen you around before?” He purred in my ear as our drinks came. His tail brushed up my leg and I stepped out of its reach.

“I’m new in town.” I said shrugging.

“For being new in town, you do keep interesting company. The Lord of Bloodshed, The Morrigan and the Shadowsinger. You must have made some impression.” His tail pushed me closer to him, so he grabbed me by the waist. I pressed a hand to his chest, “Sorry, Babe. Sometimes my tail has a mind of its own. I nodded and fought the urge to roll my eyes. We continued our drinks in proximity, and he insisted we go dance. He placed a hand on my lower back his tail once again grazing my leg and moving to the under curve of my ass. The alcohol was settling in my system so that where his hands were didn’t bother me anymore and I let the beat of music take me away.

Mark wrapped a hand around my stomach and held me flush to his chest. “You are such a pretty thing,” He murmured in my ear. I hummed in thanks as his free hand gripped my throat lightly, to angle my head to his. I could see the lust in his eyes as they glanced at my lips, and he leaned in. There was a cough behind us.

We turned and Cassian stood there, ire was in his eyes and the object of that anger was geared to Mark. “Mind if I cut in?”

Mark had a look as if he wanted to say he would but thinking better of it he walked away not so much as a goodbye. His tail did manage to graze my ass. What a dick. Cassian moved closer and gripped my hand and spun me around. He pressed me to his back my head meeting his chest. Both his hands entwined with mine and pressed me closer and calm washed over me. He whispered, “You look beautiful tonight.”

I smiled and shifted my head to see his hazel eyes now soften and his pupils were blown out. “Thank you, Cass.”

He spun me around, so he pressed my chest to his, and his toned arm snaked around my waist. His nose brushed mine, “I wonder though how you would look in red instead of blue.”

The alcohol made me bold because I grinned, “Hmm I wonder how Az would fee-“

Cassian growled, “I don’t want to hear his name out of that pretty little mouth of yours, Princess.”

“Whose name should I say?”

His lips were so close to mine, our breaths intertwining, as he huskily said. “Mine.”

Before I could press my lips to his, Mor tapped his shoulder, “We’re going home, fly me to my apartment?” Cassian pulled away and I instantly missed his warmth.”

“Sure.” He muttered before kissing my head, “Goodnight, Princess.” He turned back to Mor glaring at her, and she only gave him a saccharine smile.

Mor blew a kiss to me before looping her arm in Cassian’s and the duo walked out.

Azriel was beside me in an instant, “She’s a brat.” He murmured and pressed a hand on my back and led me out of Rita’s.

When we reached the Townhome I walked into my room and sat on my bed and looked out at the night sky, hoping to see wings and flashes of red on the horizon.

Chapter 9

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