#him and this red shirt are bonded !

[deadpoets]

GEORGE HARRISON’S OUTFITS: DAY TWELVE – JANUARY 21, 1969 The Beatles: Get Back (2021) dir. Peter Jackson

[peachesofteal]

Soulmate AU but it's just Simon and Johnny deciding they're missing something. There's a small piece of the puzzle out there, somewhere, that they've yet to find.

Even though that's not the case. Even though a triad soulmate bond has never existed. Will never exist.

Knowing the norm, it doesn't bother them when they find you without their mark. They don't need it to know. They can smell it on you. Feel it on you. They hear it in the sounds you make when they fuck you full of their cum, when they coax your orgasms free with their mouths.

You think it's casual, of course. A few wild romps with these guys who picked you up at a supermarket. Oblivious.

It's casual, until it's not. Until the night Johnny walks you into the living room where Simon is standing in front of the fireplace, fist curled around brass.

"We're gonna fix it love, dinnae worry." Johnny hums, helping you to your knees on the rug.

"Fix what?" you ask, perplexed, staring up at him with those wide eyes he loves so much.

"Somethin' must've happened when ye were born. Some mistake. Ye didnae get our mark." He pats his ribs affectionally, and the fire pops, orange and red sparks arcing up into the chimney. Simon rotates the rod in his hands and your confusion turns to panic.

"No." you whisper, but he only fists the edge of your t-shirt and tugs it towards your breasts, binding your hands behind your back. "N-no. No, please."

Simon pulls the iron from the coals. The end burns so bright it's almost white, and you scream, tears pouring down your cheeks, sweat beading across your forehead.

"Deep breath," Simon murmurs, turning the iron clockwise, ensuring a perfect match. He worked so hard on the brand, mapping every millimeter of their mark, tracing Johnny's over and over again, ensuring an exact replica. He can't wait to see you wearing it. Johnny tries to reassure you as Simon crosses the room, petting and stroking your face. Simon smiles.

"Don't worry love, it's going to be perfect."

[oukabarsburgblr]

Perfect to Pamper [Pet AU]

FEATURING : AITO SOUSUKE (OC), DAISUKE YUICHI (OC) x male reader

Two hot men adopt hybrids as pets! Experience their dynamic and their antics with you as a household animal!

little to no dialogue, fucking ur hybrid matured pet is normal in this universe

Find out more under the cut!

[LOADING SCENE...] AITO SOUSUKE!

Moving to a new neighbourhood wasn't easy for someone like him. Aito Sousuke had recently bought a new home, down in the quiet suburbs at the edge of the city. The down payment took a pretty penny out of his pocket but that wasn't the most of his concern.

With his resting bitch face, tall and muscular stature and burnt red hair, it seemed that his neighbours were reluctant to approach him. Although that specific neighbourhood was known for its residents being kind and friendly, it seemed that Sousuke had received the poor end of the stick.

He asked for advice from his small group friends and they all suggested for him to get a pet. Maybe a hybrid pet. Easy for conversation starters, a new housemate and someone to live with. Sousuke wasn't too keen on the idea at first but succumbed nonetheless since he felt so lonely.

As he arrived at the pound, he gazed at the young, old dogs, even hybrid ones as well but what caught his eyes was a young hybrid who looked to be around the same age as he was.

Bright (e/c) staring up at him behind jailed cells, his fluffy blonde ears surrounded by (h/c) hair perked up. His tail wagging behind him. A golden retriever.

Sousuke grabbed the tag taped on the cell and read its name. "(m/n)?" The hybrid stood on his feet and peered up at Sousuke, his tail wagging excitedly. The hybrid didn't look like he belonged there.

The redhead found himself bringing home a new dog, ordering a new bedframe and some wet food for the dog.

The morning after, he found the hybrid at the foot of his bed. Staring up at him as he sat plush on the carpet of his bedroom. Sousuke felt like he started to regret his adoption.

The dog followed him everywhere, nudging him when he was cooking, scratching his door when he was in his home office and even shoving his hand under the bathroom door while he was taking a shit.

Sousuke was annoyed, this wasn't the reason why he wanted a pet in the first place. But of course, the golden retriever managed to prance his way into the redhead's cold heart. Slowly, Sousuke looked forward to spend time with the dog, scratching his head, laying on the couch to watch TV, or even bathing together.

However, when he had taken (m/n) to the vet for vaccine shots, the vet had warned him about his late rut cycles. Mostly due to new surroundings and bonding with a new owner and it had been a while since Sousuke had adopted him.

One morning, Sousuke was horrified as he dashed out the door and into the backyard. (m/n) had been trying to jump the fence, climbing over the wooden boards, drooling over the cat hybrid next door. Turns out, his heat had came and his first desire was to mate with his neighbour's pet.

"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE! BAD DOG!"

Sousuke locked him in the guest room, immediately calling the vet for advice and all he received was to wait it out or help him with his own devices. The redhead chose the former, checking in after a few hours.

Creaking open the door, the hybrid didn't notice his owner peeking in as (m/n) desperately humped the sheets. Sliding his cock between a pillow, drooling and growling to himself. He had tossed aside his shirt, sweat dripping from his skin and he was oozing slick from his ass as well.

"Fucking hell man..." Sousuke groaned to himself before entering the room. It wasn't a peculiar relationship for a hybrid to form a sexual bond with their owners, especially mature hybrids. The redhead thought he would never indulge in one.

"Hngg... mmnhh anhh..." Sousuke quietly groaned into the hybrid's ear, his pants bunched at his ankles as the redhead rutted his hips further into (m/n)'s ass. The dog only growled, mewling as he clenched tightly around his owner's cock slamming in and out of his slicked hole.

(m/n) was starting to get loud, howling and whining and Sousuke didn't want the neighbours to call the cops on him so he laid himself on top of his pet. The hybrid on his stomach at the end of the bed and Sousuke laying on top, (m/n)'s sweaty back pressing against the redhead's tight compression shirt. The fluffy wagging tail was a bother to Sousuke, that kept swishing around as the redhead pulled it back and focused his eyes on the twitching furry ears instead.

He pulled the collar on (m/n)'s neck, curling his fingers underneath it as he pulled him close, forcing the hybrid to arch his back. Sousuke put his arm around the dog's neck, putting him in a headlock as Sousuke slumped his head into (m/n)'s shoulder when the hybrid bit into his forearm.

Sousuke moaned loudly as he spurted cum inside the hybrid, (m/n) yelping as he felt semen dripping from his asshole as he milked more of Sousuke's cock, swaying his hips more. The hybrid bared his teeth again, and gently pressed it onto his owner's arm, carefully chewing the skin, not breaking it like a baby suckling on a bottle feeder.

The (h/c) came, rolling his eyes as he squirted from both ends, staining the sheets and making cum drip onto Sousuke's crotch from his ass. His ears flickering as he does so. Sousuke began to fuck himself into the dog, pounding his hips again as he pressed his tip into the dog's prostate. (m/n)'s drooling tip dragging against the messy sheets.

After cumming for the nth time, Sousuke found himself passed out in the guest bedroom, (m/n) snuggling under his arm, his face stuck in his armpit, smelling his mild scent. The redhead left him after cleaning the mess, not daring to face his pet after having sex with him.

(m/n) was confused, his ears flopping against his head as he barked to get Sousuke's attention. His owner had just warmed up to him but now he's cold again. It wasn't until the week after that the redhead began to pay attention to his adorable golden boy again.

The (h/c) was sneaky, grinding behind Sousuke, rutting his crotch against his owner's hips. The redhead glared at him while he was busy going through his files in his bookshelf. Wordlessly, he held out a hand in front of (m/n)'s crotch who immediately dropped his pants and began to jerk his cock into his owner's hands until he stained the shelves.

Sousuke wouldn't properly fuck him, only letting him use his hands or his fingers to fill his hole. Not until one night that Sousuke got drunk, insisting that if they would have sex again, he would have to get drunk for this bullshit.

"I need a drink...I can't do this sober." Downing another glass, Sousuke couldn't fathom that he was developing a sexual bond with his pet. Either it was from the shock that was inhibiting him, or it was the attraction developing in his heart that made him hesitate.

Nonetheless, that didn't stop his dog from climbing into his lap, grinding on his bulge and licking all over his face. Sousuke ripped (m/n)'s pants and forced him to ride him for the rest of the night. He never got close to his neighbours for a good month but he did get to fuck a cute puppy for the rest of his life.

[END SCENE]

[LOADING SCENE...] DAISUKE YUICHI!

"A cat...for my birthday?"

Skimming over the papers, he looked up to his father's secretary who nodded at his question. His birthday had passed a week ago, and he had fun celebrating the date of his birth but he didn't expect his father to prepare a post-event gift.

On the tables were multiple papers with pictures of kittens, young hybrids. His dad wanted to buy a hybrid from a breeder. Daisuke managed to pause the brakes on that one. He requested an older cat, one that is around his age, not a kitten. He felt a bit guilty that the fact it was from a breeder but proceeded nonetheless.

When (m/n) had arrived, Daisuke was fascinated with his hairless ears, seeing the bare skin in contrast with his (h/c) hair. A sphynx breed, but almost as tall as he is. His tail was long and skinny, the ravenette mesmerized as he tried playing with the cat with toys he bought but was ignored.

Turns out, the cat disliked Daisuke as much to his dismay. He refused to even entertain his new owner. Hissing and scratching at him, even cowering at corners of the room, although Daisuke could clearly see his stature.

The ravenette thought the best action was to give him space, acting as if the cat didn't exist, letting (m/n) smell his hands. Regularly placing the treats near him. It was working, the (h/c) purring and perking up and staring at him whenever he walked into the room with starry eyes.

(m/n) was such a lazy cat however, only eating expensive treats, he ignored all store bought food whenever Daisuke randomly bought them in a rush. Daisuke was tired but amused seeing him laying lax around the modern couches. He was still picky with people though, not liking butlers and preferring his owner, that made Daisuke's heart melt even more.

It was swell until Daisuke left the balcony door open and he came home to find out (m/n) had ran away. Immediately deploying a cat hunt, he found his pet three miles away hissing at a poodle. He was crying and sobbing when he reunited with his cat and at home, he found out that the reason he had ran away was because it was mating season and the sphynx had gone into heat.

Deep purrs reverberated through the cat's throat as (m/n) climbed on the couch to nuzzle against Daisuke's chin, his naked tail swaying seductively behind him. The ravenette stared at him with a hesitant smile. "...I'm not a bottom..." He jokingly spoke.

It wasn't until (m/n) dropped down on his hands and knees and wiggled his ass to Daisuke's direction did his dick flinch and he realised (m/n) wasn't in the mood for jokes.

Moments had passed and clothes were tossed to the side, a naked Daisuke was huffing and shivering. His bare nipples twitching as the cat purred, perched in his lip. Trailing his fangs over his shoulder, (m/n) dragged his course tongue across his owner's neck, sucking on the skin roughly. His hands were Daisuke's pecs, kneading on the soft supple skin with his trimmed claws.

"F-Fucking hell..." The ravenette cursed as he pulled the (h/c) by his collar and bent him over the coffee table. Daisuke pulled out his heated penis from his pants and slipped it inside his pet without prepping him.

(m/n) mewled in pain, scratching at the coffee table as Daisuke leaned down, pressing against his back. "That's a good kitty..." He mumbled, licking (m/n)'s cat ears and biting on his nape.

Grinding his teeth against the loose skin, Daisuke blushed wildly, a horny smirk stretching on his face as he fucked his cock deep into the meowing cat. The (h/c) had his ears flopping against his hair, his tail coiling around Daisuke's thigh as he yelped every time his owner thrusted against his prostate.

(m/n) dug his claws into the table as he clenched around Daisuke's tip, spurting cum onto the white carpet. His owner not lasting any longer as he pounded his remaining cum inside his pet's throbbing hole.

The dynamic in their household changed, Daisuke lessening the amount of staffs inside his home. The ravenette would regularly entertain his cute kitty, sometimes he would trap his pet in his bedroom for his own pleasure. (m/n) was now the most valuable treasure in his home.

His toys were all thrown away and replaced with golden versions or by the least, his favourite play-string was a Swarovski necklace. (m/n) had his own bedroom with an extended catio that stretched out into the balcony.

Although no matter how much the bathroom was renovated, (m/n) still disliked bathing. And with how frequent their sexual encounters were, it was war everyday for Daisuke since he was his pet's favourite person. However, Daisuke would battle whenever and whoever if it meant getting to spend his time with his new spoiled pet.

[END SCENE]

Afterthoughts:

not my best work

Taglist:

@tehyunnie @rainnyydaysworld @webwanderer @a-short-ass-disappointment @chikai-k @mello-life25 @miyuuuki @simpsations @sugar-p0p @kiiyoooo @helloanime @garlicforthewin @jaxyy219 @mikahrh @gayaristocrat @m4r13ll @pinxeajin @gyarukitti @syyyy4ever @pato-spoiler-27 @citrusequalsfrogs @animefan106sposts @bensontrechic @partywalker @gaynesspersonified @yanrandom @theorye @jentlesoldier @apotatoishereee @blepp0c @g0ldencl0ver @mazunzunne @basketbaal

[etfrin]

⤷❝ The Quiet Gift | Coriolanus Snow❞ˎˊ-

⇢☾Warning: NSFW | squirting, Snow is his own warning, mentions of killing, possessiveness, fingering (f. receiving), bathroom sex, mirror sex, semi-public sex (there was a gala), pinv sex, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), dumbfication if you squint, dom sub undertones, degradation, ownership kink, breath play with a twist | lmk if I forgot anything!

⇢☾Pairing: young president Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

⇢☾Summary: continuation of the arranged marriage au, this is your one year anniversary with him with a gala held in place to celebrate, you get insecure because of some bitches and Coryo fucks you in the bathroom with sprinkles of your daily life with him.

⇢☾Request: this is a request (idk if i’m writing it in the write place im new to tumblr i usually use wattpad) young coriolanus snow bathroom mirror sex like him making u watch ur self come undone in the mirror

⇢☾A/N: enjoy everyone! And to one who requested, hope you like this! :) this might be my last post of this theme btw, i am getting sick of the blue :/

arranged marriage au: the study, mine to love

< masterlist > < bc: @cafekitsune > < tag list >

A year had passed of your marriage, a bond between two souls which wasn't much of a lie as before. Things with Coryo were better than you could ever expect. You thought he would isolate himself from you after your confession but so much had changed. He had gotten softer but more possessive. His edges are sharp yet he makes sure it's a shield for you, not something that would make you bleed.

Among his actions include changing your entire wardrobe (not without your opinion first), a library that connects to his office (his office is something you have access to at all times now), his room was now yours both (your favorite change), and last but not least a poison taster was included so that no attempts of assassination at the First Lady could be taken.

At first, you thought it to be extra, but knowing that it would put his paranoid mind at peace you allow it without much to say. He picked out your outfit every day, and sometimes you did the same for Coriolanus. He would frown as you decide what to wear or not for him for the day, knowing that some of the pieces don't match his style but when he sees your smile as you pick out the clothes. He smooths his frown and takes whatever horrible fashion statement you created for him and wears it with pride.

If anyone dared to speak up about it, he proudly said that his wife picked it out and everyone knew better than to speak a single ill word of the unspoken Queen of Panem.

Today was one of those days when you decided to pick his outfit. Today was something special after all. One year had passed since you had become Mrs. Snow, and a gala was to be held tonight to celebrate the union.

So yes, you were going to pick his outfit. You had even woken up early because of it. You giggled as you opened your eyes, your arm around Coryo whose hair looked impossibly messy, sticking out everywhere. It made him look years younger than he was. You chuckled at the sight, your heart clenching with the love you have for this man. You lean forward to press a kiss to his forehead and then his cheek. You whispered, not expecting him to wake up until his alarm rang, “Good morning, Coryo”

You quietly slipped away from the bed and tiptoeed to the closet. The closet you both shared now. One side carrying every single piece of your clothing and the other side his. You wanted to pick out something different for your husband once, sick of seeing him in his white shirts and black vest. That's how you picked out a black suit with a white vest and a red silk shirt. You could imagine unbuttoning this off of him tonight and the thought made your body heat up and a giggle escaped your lips.

“What are you laughing about, doll?” A voice, his deep sleepy voice startling you. “Nothing!” You quickly said, turning to look at Snow, your breath hitching as his eyes were half closed and his hair turned into a mess of curls. Sometimes you wonder if this was all a fever dream and if you truly have the privilege of seeing him like this. You placed the clothes into a corner and went to him.

You pulled him down, your hand on his nape and another on his cheek as you guided him to your lips. Morning breath be damned. His actions were reflexive with how his arms pulled you in closer as his lips pressed into yours. He smiles against your lips and soon both of your tongues tangle in an uncoordinated sleepy manner and you whimper into his mouth.

This was real. This was your reality and you would do everything to keep it as it is. You pulled back and he whispered, “What was that for, doll?”

“Just needed to make sure this was real,” you answered him. Your words make him crack a real smile, something even you saw rarely and it would only be possible in moments like this. Moments when you have shocked the man with your actions and words and made him fall harder for you.

“Well it is,” he grins. Before his expression clears up he focuses on the clothes you have set aside. “Outfit for today?” He asked. You nod and smile at him, gesturing at the clothes. “You would look handsome in them,” you said. “Don't I always look handsome?” He smirks, you laugh, “I am not falling for that trap, dear husband. I'll be in the shower, choose something for me.” You press a kiss on his cheek before leaving the closet.

After showering and wearing the red dress he had decided, both of you go on for your respective duties. The gala would start early in the day and there were a few hours left before it formally started as guests were already coming in.

The mansion was set up beautifully, no words could have possibly explained the amount of work and dedication to make this the event of the year, valued higher than the Hunger Games itself. In another universe, it may not have been possible, in this one however you somehow managed to crack into his heart and made yourself a higher priority.

You were doing finishing touches of your makeup when Corio came in, his hair slicked back but his body tense, his eyes unable to hide the shakiness in them. You don't say anything, letting the man have his moment of vulnerability. You knew you would mess him up even more if you pointed it out, so you continued your task.

You didn't pay him any attention despite the itch to turn to him. You force yourself to stare straight into the mirror, applying your lipstick for the night. That was until he came behind you, his arms around your waist and pulled you against his chest, his head propped on your shoulder as you felt him take deep breaths.

You don't ask if anything is wrong, accepting the rare form of intimacy he initiated. Usually, you're the ones for the hugs, the genuine ones anyway. You knew despite everything you were like a math equation to Snow. His mind figured out the formulas to keep you to him forever, you doubted if he saw anyone as his equal but you were perhaps the closest thing to it.

You had accepted it long before, but moments like this when Coriolanus allowed himself to be a human meant everything to you. You fell for every version of him, the one that is an untouchable deity who could kill you without guilt, and the human he was, obsession filling in veins making you the sole objective of his mind as he already achieved Panem.

You close your eyes, taking deep breaths with him. In the end, you were human too and you broke. “What's wrong?” You asked, as softly as possible yet breaking the bubble that had formed.

He smirks through the mirror, his eyes meeting yours, a sense of superiority in the blue hues. “Nothing’s wrong, my doll,” he whispered to you, pressing a ghost-like kiss to your bare shoulder. His arms cage you tighter, making a small gasp on your lips. “Okay,” you smile at him.

“Ready to start the gala then?” You asked, “Snows are born ready,” he replied, his tone smug.

One of his arms was kept wrapped around his waist while the other opened a drawer to take out a small box. “For you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your neck. You opened the box, and in it was a gold necklace with the initial ‘S’. You blush, and leave it to Corio to give you a necklace with his initials for an anniversary gift. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered, your head turning back and you gave him the brightest smile. “Help me wear it?” You mumbled as you handed him the box.

And so he did, and now a necklace was on your neck, the letter ‘S’ sitting perfectly on your skin. It scratched an innate itch for Snow to see you wear this. A part of him had expected you to fight, and be disgusted by this action, his mind thinking of several ways to make (force) you to wear the necklace. But as always you surprised him with your acceptance, as if you knew that wearing this would help him with his possessiveness. You were truly the right woman for him.

With his arm around your waist, you walk into the celebration. Countless people, the top elites of the Capitol were attending the gala. Everything had to be perfect.

Alas, fate is nothing but fickle.

The rumors didn't catch your ears at first before slowly the whispers caught up to you. Too busy with your life in the mansion and with Coriolanus, you rarely were social. You never had many friends from the capitols' elites. And those who knew were merely allies for the future. So the gossip never reached your ears.

Gossip you knew better to believe. Words change when they travel mouth to mouth. It can be easily manipulated too, your husband was a living proof of that. The snake tongue of all of Panem. But when the words seemed to get louder and louder, you couldn't help but feel maybe it's tinged with truth.

Snow was busy talking to diplomats while you were politely having a conversation with the ladies. That's when the questions began about some things they had heard about Snow. Each worse than the other but nothing you didn't already know. You make sure to change their perspective whenever something new comes up. Coriolanus was still new at this position, anything could snatch the power away if either of you weren't careful.

Feeling like you have finished the job, you begin to move away, only to stop when you hear, “...even wearing a pendant with his initial, she's nothing more than a whore who was pushed up to play the role of the First Lady. A woman of her standing would never deserve such a title.”

It was true, when Snow asked you to marry you, it was sudden and he gained nothing from it. Nothing, no money, power, and just a few connections you had but he had already impressed them all beforehand so there was no need for you. Your history in the academy wasn't all that great either, you were never the best but wholly average. A man like Snow deserved the best.

Insecurity claws at your heart and even so with recent events you knew their words were wrong. Tears burned your eyes. Your hand goes to the necklace you had on, your fingers twirling the pendant. Meanwhile, despite Coriolanus' focus being mainly on talking sweet to the guests and gathering sponsors, his eyes were on you, your every moment, and each person you spoke to. He notices you walking away from the gala and into the hallways. He followed you.

You were in one of the many bathrooms the manor had to offer. You stared at the mirror, the necklace you were wearing, and your hands traveled to the back ready to take it off. That's when Coriolanus enters the bathroom, his footsteps stopping midtrack as you freeze too.

“Coryo,” you begin to speak, your hand at your side now. “I was just-” “Why were you going to take it off?” He interrupted you, his face twisted in a glare you never thought would be directed at you. You shrugged, trying to play casual, “It doesn't feel appropriate.” “Why?” He questioned his tone icy calm, spreading chills down your spine. “Because-” because you didn't feel worthy of it. “Because you're ashamed of me,” he scoffs, walking closer to you. His eyes now fully glaring at you.

You frown, “What? Coryo, no-” He tilts your chin up, as he leans in, his expression twisted in fury, “Then what? There's no other appropriate reason for you to take it off then.” In truth, something was getting lost in translation, the women you were talking to earlier were going to be accused of treason in a few days. The cause? The rumors (some truth mixed in as well) they had spread about Snow. They were invited out of courtesy and after this, they had signed their death certificate.

“It's nothing like-” “Then what?” He hissed, “Did you finally come to your senses? Did they tell you how much of a horrible monster I am? And a horrible president?” You knew some sort of major miscommunication had happened but you had no idea how to deal with it. Not when Snow pressed a harsh, hard kiss to your lips, teeth clashing and his tongue seemingly fighting with yours for dominance that you easily gave over.

“You can't escape me, doll. No matter how horrible you realize I am. Think about running away and it's your dead body that will be leaving this mansion.” he whispered against your lips, his hands on your waist, your body flushed against his as your back hit the counter.

You chuckled at his words, knowing that would never be your end. His eyebrows furrow in confusion and it makes you giggle even further. “Dove, I am not joking,” he said, looking straight in your eyes. “I know,” you smile at him, “You…” you shake your head, smiling, you were surely crazier than him. You leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Those women said something… mean and it made me realize I may not be worthy of this necklace…” you begin to explain, hoping the explanation would calm him down.

You thought wrong. “You don't think I can decide who deserves to be my property, pet. Whom I let to be my queen,” he said, his tone deeper than before. He whispered, “I decided it's you. It's been a year since that decision and I haven't regretted it once.”

He manovaroued you so you were facing the mirror. He was right behind you, his eyes hard. “The woman you're looking at right now is mine. My pet. My wife. How dare you try to take off a mark of my ownership, doll?” You opened your mouth to apologize, but a moan escaped instead as he bit into your shoulder. He begins to press you against the counter, your body bending over as he continues to press wet kisses on your nape.

“You need a reminder about whom you belong to,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin making you shiver, heat spreading to your body as his hands unzipped your dress from behind, letting the fabric fall on the floor. “I am yours,” you moan to him as his palms knead your breasts through the bra. “Then you should have known better, my stupid bird.”

“You look away from the mirror even once…,” he said, his hands squeezing your breasts roughly, his head propped up to your shoulder, his face set in a smirk, “and that group of women dies.” They were going to die either way but you didn't know that.

You gasp, “Snow- '' His hands squeeze your breasts harder, bordering on pain. “It’s Coryo for you, dove,” he said, slowly yet firmly as if talking to a child. His hands move downwards, one moves to your hip, and for the other, his fingers slip inside your panties. You whimper when his fingertip touches your clit. At any other time, he would have been slow, and gentle when he was rubbing the bud but now? His touch was fast and unconcerned, his sole goal was to inflict punishment with pleasure.

He rubbed at your clit relentlessly, making you soak your panties with your juices. His other hand squeezes your hips. You whine, your eyes closing and he pinches your clit making you moan louder than you should, your eyes opening immediately to meet his gaze.

“Only warning, pet,” he whispered, his finger now playing with the clit even more relentlessly. Back and forth, up and down with no mercy, making the bud swollen and your pussy clench around nothing. “Yes, Coryo,” you gasp.

“My dumb pet can learn after all,” he whispered to your ear and then his lips kissed the clasp of your necklace. His fingers abandon your clit to swipe at your folds to gather your wetness. He chuckles as he continues to tease you like this, his hard cock pressing against your ass.

“Coryo,” you whispered and your eyes connected with his and you knew his fingers could feel the flex of your cunt around nothing. “That's it. Look at me, doll.”

He slipped his fingers one by one into your slit, the stretch making you gasp. “It's too much,” you managed to get out, your voice shaky. “You can take it,” he tuts. His fingers begin to message your wall, hitting every crook and canny you never knew existed. He twisted his fingers thrusting right at your g-spot making you moan loudly, your body was now completely bent over in front of the mirror and your hands gripped the counter for life. Snow continues to playfully stretch you out, scissoring your pussy with his long fingers.

When he finally deemed you loose enough, he pulled his fingers out without a warning making you whimper. He pulls down your panties around your knees, and then his hand unzipped his pant to take his cock out. Something in you liked how he was composed and fully clothed while having you like this, primal and debauched. It showcased Coriolanus perfectly, no matter how prim and proper the man was outside in the end he was as much of a mess.

His impatient was clear with his clenched jaw, one of his hands traveling upwards your body to grip your breast like a handle as his free hand guides his leaking, hard cock into your entrance. “I was going to fuck you good tonight, on a bed properly like a wife deserves,” he begins to say as he pushed in with a single stroke. Your mouth lets out a small scream as your pussy adjusts to his dick. “Instead I have to treat you like a whore, bending your ass over a counter and fuck you while there are people all over the mansion.” He shakes his head disappointed, he meets your gaze, “I expected better, doll.”

“Then why keep a disappointment around,” you snapped at him, making him raise his eyebrows at your tone, his cock twitching inside your walls. “I wonder that myself too,” he grunts, his face buried in your shoulder, his tongue licking your salty skin. “You’re my everything,” he whispered, “Don't you forget that, dove.”

It was a confession that made you turn your back and made you catch his lips. He groans into your mouth as both of your tongues play with each other, expressing words the others cannot say. His free hand went to grip your necklace chain, making you gasp as he fisted the chain and pulled at it, knocking at your breath in one go.

His hips had begun to pound into you, short, hard thrusts that made his cockhead press against your g-spot while his remaining length messaged your walls perfectly. “You don't have to think, doll. I am here to think for you. You don't have to think about deserving me, or Panem. You don't have to think at all, just be my bird. My bird only,” he grunts.

Your eyes had begun to see spots from the lack of air, he hadn't seemed to care as your pussy keeps squeezing around him because of it. He lets go of the chain, making you gasp and you take the air you desperately need as his thrusts begin to get sloppier. Coryo was too impatient, too worked up, too mad at you to care about your pleasure. You were a pet getting used and you loved every second of it.

“I love you,” you whispered to him, and he groaned in response, as his thrusts got slower. He was edging himself to last longer, for this not to end. He bites your nape, not hard as he does usually to make sure the mark fades in a few seconds. His hips continue to rock into you, both of his hands now kneading at your clothed breast. He makes your round flesh spill from the bra and cups them with a groan escaping his lips.

“You’re mine,” he said as he pressed wet kisses all over your neck and shoulders, “Mine.” Your pussy clenched around him, making his pace get even slower, frustration begins to claw your mind as your body tethers to the edge. “Yours,” you agreed. “Fuck me faster,” you plead.

He lets out a laugh, “No. You'll take what I'll give.” “Coryo, my love please!” You begged. His hips stutter, making you feel confused, before realizing why he had stopped. You hadn't called him that since that night and you realized you had leverage on the man.

“My love, please! Fuck me harder,” you spill, “Baby, please!” He clenched his jaw trying so hard not to give in to the instinct of rutting into you like an animal. Knowing that he was near the edge, you continue, “Cum in me and make me walk around the gala with your cum inside, please. Please, mark me!”

That did the trick rather perfectly. His hand wraps around your throat, not choking you but staying there as a comforting presence that shouldn't have been comforting at all. “My dumb pet has ways with words. Gotta fuck that out of you, my dove,” he smirked.

His hips begin to roll into you again, making you gasp and squeeze his dick with your slick walls. The start of it was slow and cautious before Coriolanus decided to throw it all in the wind. He takes half of his length out before slamming it back to you. The sound of hips snapping echoed into the air along with his grunts and your moans. He kept fucking into you, with no care about anything.

Both of your sights were obscene in the mirror and it turned you not to end. Your body had begun to heat, your pussy aching to cum after being played with for so long. The tension in your body was close to snapping, and he knew it too. Knew it the way your cunt kept sucking his cock in so well. His head was on your shoulder, his mouth breathing out hot air onto your skin.

“Look at me,” you whispered, and his eyes snap at you and not even a second later he spills into your cunt, fucking his cum into you as he lets out a whine for the first time. You gasp, feeling your build-up fading without snapping but Snow was never to disappoint. He pulled his cock out, just to stuff you with his fingers. You whimper, your sensitive walls twitching around his fingers, so close to breaking.

Coriolanus doesn't waste a second to thrust into your sopping cunt, your folds covered in his cum, and fucking that into you with his fingers. He crooks his fingers perfectly, hitting your g-spot and making you black out for a second as his fingers keep assaulting your insides without a care.

You gasp, your body starting to give up. Snow has to wrap an arm around you to help you stay balanced. “That's it, doll. Cum on my fingers. I will make you cum on my cock later,” he promised to you. You cry out as his fingers continue their fast pace of thrusting. And finally, finally, your orgasm builds up again. A single graze from his fingertip onto your spongy spot has you not only cumming but squirting too.

Even Coriolanus eyes widen in surprise as you spill your juices onto the floor, ruining your dress and everything. You begin to feel ashamed of losing control in such a manner, but Coryo curses, “Fuck, doll. Fuck, that was…” He couldn't even finish the sentence.

You close your eyes, feeling yourself close to losing balance, only for Snow to swipe your legs from the floor and carry you to the bathtub.

“I’ll take care of you, doll,” he said, “I’ll bring in a new set of clothes, wait.” “What about the gala?” You asked. He kissed your temple before he replied, “I told everyone to leave the moment you walked away. Told everyone you were sick and as your husband, I shall be taking care of you.”

You let out a raspy chuckle, it was rather amazing how Coriolanus Snow always turned everything in his favor. Even this would help his image of being a president who took such good care of his wife and would surely take the country to great lengths.

“Snow lands on top,” you whispered to him with a smile.

Current tag list: @stelleduarte @nowitsmissing @lifeonawhim @le-lena @dollfacedalls @motley-baby @champomiel @slytherinholland @randomstuff2040 @justacaliforniandreamer @emmalinemalfoy @hyuk4s @theamuz @watercolorskyy

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 9

in which we find out how the morning after went for fem!reader. you finally share with spencer after unanticipated anxieties come up. you're continually shocked by his affection for you.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ (angst, fluff) warnings/tags: (preface none of the bad stuff is done by spencer) sexual harassment, slut shaming, non consensual voyeurism of sorts, blood + pain from losing virginity, talk of rape (nothing like that actually happens), implied nonspecific age gap (someone says he looks slightly older than you) non sexual nudity, showering together, intimacy, ewww being in love is embarrassing a/n: I honestly was not gonna post this today but I decided to bc it's just Tumblr its not that deep also you can probably tell I am just creating problems bc I don't wanna let go of them...... ik this is supposed to be a smutty series btw and trust good things come to those who wait!!!but anyways idk what I'm doing and I kinda hate this!! lolol!!!

Friday morning

The air is thick when you wake up—the angle of the sun through the window is lower than usual, and the binding weight of your limbs as you struggle to stretch in place all suggest that you’ve slept in. 

But you don’t check the time quite yet—for a moment, you simply lie there, studying the pattern on your ceiling, downloading the events of the previous night. 

Flashes of skin on skin, lips, breaths, whispers, promises. Phantom sensations. 

Was it even real?

Your apartment is deafeningly silent, you realize. And you have that sinking sense, which you can’t quite explain but know to be true—that you are alone. Spencer is gone. You can’t feel him like you’d be able to if he were simply on the couch or in the kitchen. He’s definitely not in bed with you, and the sheets have long gone cold. 

The truth of it renders about as slowly as your sluggish consciousness does, and you frown, not quite sure what to do with that information. Should you be angry? Should you cry?

Mostly you’re confused. 

As soon as you sit up, sore thighs and abs and a strange ache between your legs confirm that last night was not a dream nor a figment of your imagination. You’ll figure out what to do about your twinging body in a moment—for now you rub your eyes and blindly reach for the bedside table, knocking several things to the ground in your quest for your phone. 

It’s not there, you realize, once you actually try to use your eyes. It’s not in bed with you either as you pat the sheets, and it doesn’t materialize as you sit on your knees and shake out the comforter. 

From this venture, however, you learn two things. First, Spencer must’ve taken it upon himself to get you dressed last night, which you have no recollection of, but you doubt you sleepwalked your way into underwear and a big t-shirt; and second—you bled. 

It wasn’t something you were thinking about in the moment, but now, faced with all the evidence and none of the pleasure of last night’s activities, it’s jarring. A stark, unforgiving archipelago of red on a pristine sea of white. 

People say, at its best, sex brings couples closer. Spencer once told you it could facilitate feelings of deeper connection. But here you are, no longer a virgin, and what do you have to show for it? A stronger bond with your boyfriend? He’s not even here. 

All you have is this glaring red stain marring perfectly good sheets. It mocks you, like something you’ve dropped and can’t pick back up. You can’t think looking at it, and you need to think, and so in a fit of frustration you’re pulling the comforter onto the floor, leaning over your mattress and yanking the fitted sheet free. You ball it up in your hands, breathing heavily—and realize you bled through to the mattress. 

Wonderful. 

Spencer’s just at work, you tell yourself, grabbing the first pair of shorts you see and pulling them on before gathering the ruined sheet once more and stomping on aching legs through your apartment to the hallway, not even bothering with shoes. He can’t just play hooky because his clingy girlfriend lost her virginity and needs to be comforted like some previously celibate high school cheerleader.

But you miss him so much it’s making you angry, so much your eyes are stinging and welling with tears of frustration as you shove your bed linens down the trash chute at the end of your floor’s hallway. You’re supposed to be independent. That’s how you’ve always been. Since when does it bother you to wake up alone? It’s just sex. It’s not as big a deal for him as it is for you. Or for anyone. You’re the one overreacting, you’re the one who expects too much. He works for the FBI, for god’s sake. There are people dying, and here you are—

“What’chya got there?”

The gruff voice makes you jump, and you turn around just as the bundle is disappearing down into the hole in the wall. It’s your neighbor, Jerry—the one in the unit right next to you. You’re not happy to see him, especially like this. He’s got a blue 5 o’clock shadow despite the hour, and is clad in ill-fitting gray sweats and a pair of ratty slippers. His distended belly strains at the confines of an oil-stained white shirt, tied with a dingy checkered robe. You barely meet his drooping eyes before looking longingly back at your cracked door down the hall. 

“Just… garbage.” You shift your weight, hiding a wince as you try to find a comfortable position to stand in. Jerry notices this, and you wish his eyes wouldn’t linger on your bare legs like that. 

“Huh. Looks like someone had a late night.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s just noon and you’re still in your PJ’s.”

Disgusting. And who the fuck is he to judge? At least your pajamas are clean. 

You shrug. “Yeah.”

He scratches his bald head. 

“So that boy tired you out pretty good, huh?”

Your stomach drops. Your brain freezes. 

When you don’t reply, he takes the liberty of continuing on. 

“Saw him sneaking out of your apartment in the middle of the night. He looked a little older ’n you. You like ’em older?” His laugh is a cruel bark. “Yeah… He’s a lucky man. You know, it’s natural for a man to like a younger girl. Fresh meat, ’n all.” You try to speak and can only swallow a gag. Jerry adjusts his stance, hands in pockets like he’s telling you a local news story. “Heard some of it. Sounded like you were putting on quite the show. And sure, a young pretty thing like you? Hell, I would if I could. But I’ll tell you right now, you don’t wanna end up like my daughter. She wasn’t as pretty as you, but still—three kids with three men by the time she was 24. She should'a kept her damn legs closed. You know, she loved to cry rape, but you gotta ask yourself, if your legs are open all the damn time, what do you expect? Back in the day we all knew girls like that—” he bats the air dismissively. “Guess you can’t call ’em sluts anymore—they get what they’re asking for one way or another. See, I think everyone still knows it and they’re just too afraid to say it. So my advice: don’t let yourself get used up, you hear me? Not by men who are gonna ride you hard and put you away wet. So to speak. Men can smell a girl like that from a mile away, and they’ll take it as an open invitation. It’s just human nature.”

When he finally stops talking, the hallway fills with a vacuous silence. It makes your ears ring. Several moments pass, but you’re frozen. Your whole body feels intolerably hot but your blood is freezing. How are you supposed to react? 

“Hello?” He says, voice loud enough to hurt your ears as it echoes. 

Get out of here, your more rational self says to the rest of you, and you mumble something, you don’t even know what, excusing yourself to hurry on stiff legs back down the hall to your door. 

Once inside, you do up every lock on your door, and face your apartment, shoulders tensed practically to your ears and fists clenched so tight your arms are trembling. On autopilot you look around for something to do, but there’s nothing. More importantly, nobody.

I’ll call Spencer. He’ll know what to do. 

No, you won’t, your higher self reminds you. You lost your phone. And besides, it’s clearly not like he wanted to stick around last night. Maybe he doesn’t even like you anymore. 

So you’re stuck here. Stranded. Sharks can smell blood. 

Processing that information, you walk back to your bedroom and close the door behind you—before promptly sinking to the ground and burying your face in the duvet with a deep, silent sob.  

That goes on for a few minutes until you realize you’re too achy and you can’t breathe and you’re forced onto your side, curling up in your blanket on the floor like it’s a nest and not a burial plot. 

You shouldn’t get ahead of yourself. A relationship can’t implode twice in 24 hours.  You don’t have your phone. Maybe he’s texted you. 

But is that really all you’re worth? A text sent after the fact? He couldn’t sacrifice a few hours to sleep by your side? Couldn’t even wake you up to say goodbye? You think about the sweet things he’d said afterward—the way he held you, fingers dancing down your spine. Promises he made when you were half asleep in his arms, so sure he’d be there when you woke up. 

Even fucking Jerry the neighbor—who you think might have just sexually harassed you in the hallway—said Spencer should’ve stuck around. 

Fuck. 

No, don’t think about that. It doesn’t even matter. They were just words. 

Heard some of it. Sounded like you put on quite the show. 

Your skin crawls and your stomach turns as you hold yourself tighter. Something that was supposed to be private and special—and some random man not only had a front row seat to your deflowering but felt comfortable talking about it with you. It feels like a violation. Like he crashed a really important party. If you had known you had an audience last night, you never would’ve done it. 

The way he looked at you, tracing your legs with his eyes like he was touching you—

You scramble up from the floor and walk heavily on your knees to the dresser, digging up a pair of pajama pants and a hoodie. You should be showering, but you don’t want to deal with your body right now. You just want to hide. 

Friday evening—present

After your conversation, Spencer seems eager to make sure the car ride to his apartment is not reminiscent of the car ride to yours last night—he holds your hand, resting in your lap, bringing your knuckles to his lips at a red light. Every few moments he glances over at you, maybe to appreciate the view (though you doubt it’s especially scenic at the moment) or perhaps to gauge your mood. The further away you get from your apartment building the better you feel, and you try to focus on that. Sure—maybe you had a shit day, but Spencer’s here now, and he didn’t leave you after all. In fact, since finding your phone, you’ve seen the series of very sweet and highly concerned messages he sent over the course of a few hours. They almost make your stomach hurt. It would’ve been really nice to have those earlier. 

He doesn’t ask you any more of the hard questions, but you sense an inquisition in the works and getting closer with every curious glance he gives you. It’s like he’s unwrapping you, layer by layer, using his impressive cognitive faculties to drill through your skull into your brain and deeper still into your soul. 

Back in his apartment you sit awkwardly on the bed. Last time you’d been here, things hadn’t gone so well for you. 

The shower starts in the adjoined bathroom, and Spencer comes out a moment later, warm light seeping into the darkened bedroom. Purple and dark blue mixing with yellow, like a bruise. 

“Hey. Water’s warm.”

You hum, smoothing the material of his neatly made bed with your palm and watching the way it flattens. That had been your doing. You may have thought he was on the verge of breaking up with you last time you slept here, but you didn’t want to leave his home a mess. Didn’t want to leave any evidence of your having been here. 

A moment passes. You thumb at a thread and don’t look up. 

Spencer crosses the space without a word and crouches in front of you, hands coming up to cup the back of your legs, running knee to ankle and up again. 

“Can you tell me what’s going on? Please?” He asks softly. His voice wrings your heart out. Now that you’re in a completely different space, and you’re not so alone anymore, you’re struggling to sort out your feelings. It should be fine. You’re with Spencer. Presumably he still loves you. 

And you still feel terrible. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you whisper. 

“I know,” he says, just as quietly. 

Spencer doesn’t say anything else. I know you don’t want to—and yet. Your lips twist to the side. He’s persistent. Even in his kindness. It’s not the kind of care that falters or buckles when you try turning it away. 

“My neighbor said he c—” 

You’re forced to stop, frowning by how overcome you are. It shouldn’t be such a big deal. Worse things have happened to you. 

“He said he could hear us. Last night.”

Spencer’s hands stop on your legs. You can’t meet his eyes. You’re afraid whatever you find there won’t be the right thing. 

“He’s in the unit next to you?”

You nod. “We share a wall.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation and your stomach sinks. He doesn’t understand. 

“What did he say?”

“Just… dumb shit,” you scoff, fiercely wiping away a stray tear. “He said he listened and it sounded like I was putting on quite the show. And then he—and then he told me not to let you… use me up, whatever that means. He called me fresh meat, and said I shouldn’t let you ride me hard and put me away wet, and bad things happen to sluts who can’t keep their legs closed.”

You finish with a sharp inhale, briefly leaning down and covering your face with your hands when you realize how upset you really are. You want to hide it. 

A fraught moment passes. Spencer reaches for your hands, no doubt to try and pull them away from your face. You spare him the trouble, sitting up with a cavalier sniff before he can touch you and brushing your hair behind your ears.  

His voice is uncomfortably quiet. You can’t look at him. “Baby…”

“Don’t. It’s fine. I only told you because you asked.”

It’s not his fault, but you’re mad at him anyway, and so you avoid eye-contact like it’s the plague. Maybe it’s just safe to be mad at him. Maybe he knows that. 

Regardless, you’re not in the mood for coddling. It’s borderline repulsive—like trying to mix oil and water. Anything good slides right off of you because maybe you’re not designed to be able to absorb good things.

Nothing changes for a minute—and then he’s standing, offering you a moment alone as he goes to crank the shower off. 

As soon as he’s gone all the air is vacuumed from your lungs and you crumple, heaving it back in silently as your head spins and your heart races. It’s like your mind is split in two—half is primal, overwhelming panic, and the other a cold observatory eye, full of disdain and scorn for what it deems a severe overreaction to a few nasty comments made hours ago. You’re so tangled up as you curl in on yourself on your side that you can’t even cry. You’re just trying to remember how to breathe, ignoring the crawling feeling up your spine and the tingling heat at the back of your neck. The shower stops on the downbeat of your staggered breath, and then it’s silent. He’ll come back at any minute and see what a mess you’ve become. 

You’ve ruined everything. If only you could’ve kept it to yourself. 

When Spencer reappears in the doorway, and sees you collapsed and curling like paper burnt at the edges, he’s quick to return to you. 

“I’m sorry,” you manage, trying and failing to brush away hair from your cheek, which is wet—so you were crying—and Spencer shushes you, pushing it away for you as he kneels. 

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I’m being dramatic, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Of course, at the end of that declaration, a sob wrenches its way from the depths of you, so bright and cleaving you half expect the smell of ozone to follow. You follow it with a blisteringly self-deprecating laugh.

“Don’t—don’t do that. Don’t minimize it.”

His hand is warm where it rests over your cheek, affectionate, but he sounds frustrated. You frown and sniffle. 

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Tell me his name.” 

It’s a quiet request, made as gently as his hand cards through the hair at your temple like it’s woven with fragile threads of gold.

“No, Spencer,” you beg, anxiety pooling in your gut and rising in your throat, “please, I don’t want to make it a thing, I don’t want you to talk to him. You’ll just make it worse, it’s fine.”

You look at him imploringly, eyes wide and still welling, hoping to god the gravity of your plead will sink in. His are a bed of coals—somewhere between furious and sympathetic, and you try to appeal to the sympathy. 

“It is not fine. Saying sluts get what’s coming to them is not fine, that is a threat, and I’m not going to talk to him. I’m going to have him fucking arrested.”

You scoff. 

“For talking to me? Yeah, good luck with that. Cops are really known for being helpful when it comes to sexual harassment.”

“Baby. Men who are comfortable violating your boundaries like that are exponentially more likely to commit an actual violent crime. That is not a safe person for you to be around.”

“He’s not gonna rape me, Spencer! He’s just a gross old man! This is why I didn’t want to tell you, because I knew you’d make it a bigger deal than it is! You did it last night and you’re doing it now—you think everyone is out to get me!”

To his credit, he doesn’t so much as raise his voice. 

“Of course it’s a big deal. You’re upset.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my own fault.”

Maybe it’s the wrong thing to say. Spencer goes silent for a moment. 

“It’s your fault?”

“Yes. It’s my fault because… because now everyone knows that I’m…”

His voice goes impossibly soft again. “Knows that you’re what?”

“I mean, what did I expect?” You sniffle. “It’s an apartment. If I didn’t want to deal with the consequences, I shouldn’t’ve done it.”

He says your name like it’s a ring he twists around his finger as he tries to think—to gather the right words. 

“The consequences for having sex do not involve punishment or sexual harassment.”

“It’s the result of my actions, so—”

“No, it’s the result of your neighbor being disgusting. I don’t care what he heard, he doesn’t get to talk to you like that.”

“He—”

“If you heard something you weren’t supposed to hear would you bring it up to the person the next day?”

“Stop interrupting me,” you plead. Spencer looks like he has something to say to that, too, but he swallows it. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I… understand that he shouldn’t have said those things to me. But that doesn’t change the fact that he did, and it was really, really uncomfortable and I don’t wanna—I don’t wanna go back now. Maybe that’s dramatic, but…”

You trail off, studying the ceiling as a fresh wash of tears dampen your cheeks. Spencer’s hand slides down your waist as you wipe your face. “I don’t regret the fact that we slept together. I just regret everything that’s happened since, and if I didn’t do it last night, none of this would’ve happened. I feel like he ruined everything.”

The words end on another cry and you put your hand over your eyes like you could stop it all from coming out. You sniffle. Spencer is quiet for a moment. 

“I’m sorry,” he eventually whispers, his own voice threaded with emotion. “I…”

He sighs. You push your hair back and look at him. 

“What?”

He studies you, chewing on his lip like a nervous tick you’ve never seen before. You sit up again, feet balanced on the edge of the bed frame. Spencer’s eyes remain stuck on you. Again, you ask, “What?”

“I didn’t think about it until you brought it up earlier, but—I did see someone. Him, I think, when I went out to my car to get my bag. He was smoking when I came out, and when I got back into the lobby he was waiting for the elevator. We took it up together, he—he said something to me, so I know he saw me going back to you. I don’t know why he made it sound like I left.”

You frown. “What did he say?”

Spencer hesitates. 

“He asked if I had a long night. He was obviously commenting on the fact that I was basically half-dressed and getting an overnight bag from my car at one in the morning, so he could probably gather from context what was going on, but… my point is, he knew I came back and it seems like he was almost trying to make you think I didn’t. So for whatever reason, maybe he was lying about being able to hear you, too. Maybe he just wanted to make you uncomfortable.”

“That’s a long shot, Spencer.”

“I know, but… it’s not that long. He obviously gets off on it—and besides, he said you were putting on a show, but you weren’t… you weren’t loud, last night.”

Heats blossoms in your cheeks and you look down at your lap. “Thin walls.”

“Have you ever heard your neighbors before?”

You have to seriously think about it. 

“I’ve heard them yelling…”

“Nothing else?”

Again, you consider it. The answer comes as a surprise. 

“No.”

“Okay, so… does that maybe help a little bit? I really, really don’t want you to feel like last night was a mistake in any way, or let anyone ruin it for you.”

You breathe deeply. “I know. It… it kinda helps, yeah.”

His hands come to the top of your legs. There’s so much genuine care and concern in his eyes. “Yeah?”

Only when you nod does he relax some. His hands skim your thighs, and you set yours on top of his own. For a few breaths, it’s quiet. And then you laugh. 

“What?” Spencer asks, a tentative smile curling his own lips like he doesn’t know if he should be concerned or participate in your mirth. 

“I—I don’t know how to say it without being cheesy,” you admit, sniffling the last of your tears away and smiling softly down at him. 

“I think you should say it.”

You link your fingers with his on your lap, watching the way they twine like it’s what they were meant to do. 

“I was just thinking about how I had, like, the worst day ever. And how much worse it would’ve gotten if you didn’t show up when you did—I would’ve completely spiraled. But you did show up. And how easy it is to kind of compartmentalize, because I have you, and when I’m with you… nothing feels as hard. You make the bad things feel smaller, I guess.”

By the end, it got a lot more real than you’d intended, and your face feels warm, and your stomach is sort of floaty—but you don’t look away from Spencer. You hold his gaze, though it makes you a little nervous, because you want him to know you mean it. 

He inhales, like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t—only looks at you, like you’re beautiful and impossible and a defiance of everything he thought he knew, which was almost everything. To him, you’re expansive. A gorgeous anomaly.

And then he stands, holding his hands out for you. Without question you take them, and he pulls you to your feet, absorbing the momentum that threatens to topple you, and he wraps his arms around you tightly. So tight you have to laugh. 

“I love you,” he says against your shoulder, one hand coming to cradle the back of your head. 

Your humor softens, but doesn’t become inflexible—still tinges your words with the perfect amount of euphoria and relief. “I love you.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and your laughter flares again. 

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I’m grateful. I… I feel lucky.”

Always so earnest, so vulnerable, when you’re least expecting it—which should be always, you’re learning. You pull back to look up at him. You don’t want that concession to go unrewarded. 

“Me too,” you say softly. He’s doing that fond thing with his eyes, where they’re all soft and it’s like he’s trying to take in every millimeter of your face. This time when he goes to touch your hair, you have the wherewithal to dodge it. 

“You’re really brave for trying to touch my hair right now.”

“Why?” He asks, utterly bewildered, and the softness of the moment falls away easily, but not without leaving everything smudged and fuzzy around the edges. Everything is still okay. It’s still good. 

“Because it’s dirty,” you laugh, dodging him again and eventually ducking from the circle of his arms entirely. 

“Oh, your hair is dirty? Should we breakup?”

“Hm. I don’t really like when you take on that tone with me.” You’re still half-laughing, dipping and weaving past him toward the bathroom as he tries to get you in his arms again. And then you stop, toes just short of the tile. 

“What is it?” He asks after another moment. You blink, looking at the shower head as it drips. 

“Um—would it be okay if I had a five minute headstart in the shower?”

“Sure. Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. I just… I need a minute.”

His hand skims your waist as he passes by you through the open door. “Okay. Why don’t you grab your stuff and I’ll get the water going again?”

Soon enough, you’re remembering how much better his water pressure is than yours as you stand under the torrent, eyes closed as if in prayer. You definitely could’ve stood to shower earlier in the day. But you had other concerns, earlier, and besides—you were afraid of what you might find. 

And you were right to be. The sex was nice. The aftermath isn’t quite as pretty. 

When Spencer taps on the bathroom door, you’re nervous. 

“You can come in,” you call. 

“You sure? If you want it all to yourself, that’s okay too.”

“No, no. It’s fine.”

The door creaks open, and gently clicks into place again, and fabric rustles as he undresses, and soon the shower curtain is sliding aside and he’s stepping in. Unsurprisingly, the space feels smaller with him in it—but not small in a bad way. It feels warmer. Again you’re awash in that safe feeling, which you didn’t realize you’d been missing so much today. 

“Hi,” he smiles, a teasing sliver of what you know to be the most brilliant light in the world, and stunning like the rest of him as you watch the water begin to darken his hair. 

“Hello.”

His smile flickers briefly wider like you’re his favorite thing and he just can’t contain his joy, and then it’s easing again, giving you a moment to catch your breath. 

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

In this alien context the idea has your heart pounding—you don’t really understand the concept of casual nudity yet, but you know he’ll respect your earlier wishes to keep it chaste and so you nod. 

Spencer doesn’t take you immediately in his arms like you’d expected—instead his hands find a rest at your collarbones and carefully push your wet hair back over your shoulders—but his eyes aren’t cast quite low enough to be indecent. They connect dots over your chest and neck, and he thumbs at one just over your pulse point. 

“Oh, man,” he laughs, and you think you detect a hint of self-deprecation. “That’s… wow, I didn’t realize I… sorry. They don’t hurt, do they?”

It’s your turn to smile as he’s suddenly over-concerned. 

“No, they don’t hurt.”

“Good.” He looks relieved, but it doesn’t last as his eyes trace lower—though you don’t sense any hunger in it. He’s just taking you in. “How about everywhere else?”

“Um… it’s not bad. Kind of, like… I don’t know. Sore. But it’s not bad.”

“Still?” He frowns, clearly unfazed by your evident embarrassment on the subject. You shrug and avert your eyes. 

“It’s fine. it was worse earlier, so.”

That does not have the calming effect you’d intended. 

“Worse? 1-10, how—”

“Spencer, it’s fine, I promise. It’s only when I—when I move certain ways, I notice. Honestly the… blood… was way more disconcerting to me.”

“Yeah, I saw your bed… sorry for ruining your sheets. I’ll buy you new ones.”

You shrug, watching the water run in rivulets down your arm and branch off into tributaries and waterfalls from your fingers. “You don’t have to do that. It was a collaborative effort.”

Normally this conversation would have you melting into an embarrassed puddle, but something about the tile cocoon of the shower, the humid fog, the proximity, feels safe. The white noise of water on porcelain, the warmth. You go to him at the same time as he comes to you—his arms around your waist, yours slung over his shoulders. Your eyes flutter shut. Falling asleep standing up has never seemed so plausible until now. 

He presses a kiss to your head. You sigh. 

“Ugh. I don’t want to deal with washing my hair.”

“I can do it,” Spencer immediately offers. You frown. 

“I was—you don’t have to. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was asking.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“It’s a process.”

“I understand.”

“You would have to do it exactly how I say.”

“I am willing to learn. I like taking care of you.”

You’re glad for the hot water, then, and as he washes your hair. You’re not sure if you’re crying at the tenderness of his touch, or the way he loves you like you’re easy to love. You’re too tired to explain it. 

He doesn’t push you, because he never pushes you. 

He just washes your hair. 

[lilacwants]

million dollar man.

18+ notes: my sweet, flawed english man:’). summary: billy butcher finds solace and deepens his bond with you during a tender, intimate night after a rough day. warnings: soft billy, mature content, oral (f! receiving). discretion is advised. word count: 1.7k

part 2.

You knew Butcher had a temper, a way of seeing red that could make anyone in their right mind stay clear of his path. But it was different with you. He had a soft spot, a rare vulnerability that he guarded jealously from the rest of the world. But tonight, he was late. And that wasn’t like him.

The clock on the wall ticked louder as the minutes dragged on. You tried to focus on the book in your lap, but your mind kept wandering back to Butcher. The scars that crisscrossed his back, the shadows that darkened his eyes, the rare smiles that lit up his face. He was complicated, infuriating, but he was also the man you’d come to care for more deeply than you’d ever thought possible.

The door creaked open and you snapped your head up. Butcher stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light from the hallway. He looked exhausted, his shoulders slumped and his usually sharp eyes dulled by fatigue.

“Hey,” you said softly, closing your book and standing up.

“Hey, love,” he replied, his voice rough around the edges. He stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him, and you noticed the blood staining his shirt.

“Jesus, Billy, you’re hurt,” you exclaimed, rushing over to him. He waved you off, but you could see the pain etched on his face.

“Just a scratch,” he muttered, but you weren’t convinced. You guided him to the couch, making him sit down while you went to fetch the first aid kit.

When you returned, Butcher had already started to unbutton his shirt, revealing a nasty gash on his side. You winced at the sight, but kept your expression neutral. He didn’t need pity; he needed someone who could help.

“Hold still,” you said, kneeling beside him and carefully cleaning the wound. He hissed through his teeth but didn’t flinch away.

“Bloody hell, that stings,” he grumbled.

“Well, maybe next time don’t pick fights with people twice your size,” you teased gently, trying to lighten the mood. He snorted, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Can’t help it. It’s in me nature.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah, well, your nature’s going to get you killed one of these days.”

“Not if you keep patchin’ me up,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. There was a sincerity in his gaze that took you by surprise. You finished bandaging him up and sat back, feeling the weight of his stare.

“Why do you do it?” he asked suddenly. “Why do you stay?”

The question caught you off guard. You’d asked yourself the same thing many times, especially on nights like these when the danger seemed too close. But the answer was always the same.

“Because I care about you,” you said simply. “And because I know there’s more to you than what everyone else sees.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening. “I’m not a good man, love. I’ve done things…”

“We’ve all done things,” you interrupted gently. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve a chance to be better.”

He didn’t respond, but you could see the internal struggle playing out on his face. You reached out, taking his hand in yours, and squeezed it gently.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Billy. Let me help.”

He looked down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’m scared,” he admitted in a whisper, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

“Of what?” you asked softly.

“Of losing you. Of letting you in and then watching you walk away.”

Your heart ached at his words. You knew he’d been hurt before, that he carried more scars on the inside than the ones that marred his skin. But you also knew that he was worth the risk.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised. “Not as long as you want me here.”

He looked up, his eyes searching yours for any sign of deceit. Finding none, he nodded slowly. “I want you here. More than anything.”

You smiled, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He kissed you back, his grip on your hand tightening as if afraid you might slip away.

The apartment was quiet, the only sound the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the distant traffic outside. Butcher and you had spent the evening wrapped up in each other, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten as you enjoyed a rare moment of peace. The bandage on his side was a stark reminder of the dangers he faced daily, but tonight, you wanted to focus on the here and now.

Butcher's hands roamed your back, his touch firm yet tender as he pulled you closer on the couch. You could feel the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. His lips brushed against your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and intoxicating.

You smiled, threading your fingers through his dark hair. "You're not so bad yourself, Butcher."

He chuckled, the sound low and gravelly, vibrating against your throat. "Not sure what I did to deserve you, love."

"You're not getting rid of me that easily," you teased, tilting your head to capture his lips in a soft kiss. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent as he pressed you back against the cushions. His hands slipped under your shirt, caressing your sides with a possessive tenderness that made your heart race.

"Let me show you how much I need you," he whispered, his voice rough with desire.

Before you could respond, he was lifting your shirt over your head, his eyes darkening with hunger as he took in the sight of you.

"Billy," you breathed, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as he trailed kisses down your chest, his stubble grazing your sensitive skin. He paused at the waistband of your pants, his gaze locking with yours.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice softer now, laced with an unexpected vulnerability.

"Yes," you replied, your voice trembling with anticipation. "Please."

With a growl of approval, he undid your pants, pulling them down along with your underwear in one swift motion. You were left exposed before him, your skin tingling with the cool air and the intensity of his gaze.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he murmured, his hands gripping your thighs as he spread them apart. He lowered himself between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh.

You gasped at the sensation, your fingers tangling in his hair as he trailed kisses closer to your core. The first touch of his tongue against your folds sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your back arching off the couch.

"Billy," you moaned, your voice barely more than a whisper. He groaned in response, his hands holding your hips steady as he delved deeper, his tongue swirling around your clit with a skill that left you breathless.

He took his time, alternating between gentle licks and firm sucks, his eyes watching your every reaction. You could feel the tension building inside you, the pleasure mounting with every flick of his tongue. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

"Please, don't stop," you begged, your fingers tightening in his hair as you teetered on the brink of release. He growled against you, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure through you that pushed you over the edge.

Your orgasm crashed over you, your body convulsing with the intensity of it. Butcher didn't stop, his tongue continuing its relentless assault as he milked every last drop of pleasure from you. You cried out his name, your vision blurring as waves of ecstasy washed over you.

Finally, when you could take no more, he pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal. He crawled up your body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that left you breathless all over again.

"You taste fucking amazing," he growled against your mouth, his hands cradling your face as he kissed you deeply. You could taste yourself on his lips, the intimate act only heightening your desire for him.

"I need you, Billy," you whispered, your voice raw with need. "I need all of you."

He didn't need any more encouragement. In one fluid motion, he was shedding his clothes, his body pressing against yours as he settled between your legs. You could feel the heat of him, the hard length of his cock pressing against your entrance.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough with restraint. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm sure," you replied, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. "I want you. All of you."

With a groan, he entered you, the sensation overwhelming as he filled you completely.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as he began to move, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

He set a steady rhythm, his movements growing more urgent as he lost himself in you. You met him thrust for thrust, your bodies moving together in harmony.

The world outside ceased to exist, the only thing that mattered was the connection between you, the unspoken promises and the love that bound you together.

As you neared the edge once more, you felt him falter, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered your name. With a final, shuddering thrust, you both tumbled over the edge together, your cries of pleasure mingling in the stillness of the night.

Afterward, you lay tangled in each other's arms, the sweat cooling on your skin as you caught your breath. Butcher pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hold on you gentle but unyielding.

"I love you," he murmured, the words carrying a weight that made your heart swell.

"I love you too," you replied, your voice filled with a certainty that left no room for doubt.

In that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would always be his side. He was your million dollar man after all.

[verstarppen]

omfg i love your fics they’re so funny 😭😭 i had an idea for a max fic that i think you would do so well 🫶 so like she’s his teammate and she has a bf (no idea who but prob another athlete or something since they tend to kinda be fboys 👀 but not another driver please because those dynamics make me cringe in second hand embarrassment 🙏) then he like cheats on her publicly, but she decides to live in idgafistan and max helps her make her ex jealous 😝 but he’s like actually been into her for a really long time and everyone ships them and stuff and then he bags her with his irresistible chronically offline awkward white boy rizz 💋

summary; cheaters deserve to get cheated out of their career, or at least that's how max justifies destroying your ex's life

pairing; max verstappen x fem! red bull driver! reader [ no faceclaim ]

warnings; suggestive language, swearing

a/n; DISCLAIMER the boyfriend is made up and also a sims 2 reference, if by chance there is a real tennis player by the name of Dominic Lothario im so sorry sir this was not written with you in mind ALSO this is my VERY sneaky way of telling everyone my favorite song is trophäe by paula carolina so naturally i had to shove the word trophy everywhere to justify using lyrics as the title I HOPE I DID YOUR PROMPT JUSTICE also i skipped over singapore because we don't talk about singapore

liked by ynln7, charles_leclerc, pierregasly and 2,104,962 others

maxverstappen1 The only time I've cheated.

view all 798,301 comments

feeltheorange WHAT DID HE SAYYYY

meepshoemaker the double take i just did cracked my neck

yukinator22 NAHHHHHHHHH

albogeant BRO DIDN'T EVEN GIVE HER TIME TO RECOVER LMAOOOOOOOO

ynln7 everyone has permission to laugh i came up with the caption

pierregasly Thank god charles_leclerc I'm going to hell I laughed before I saw your comment pierregasly Me too ynln7 assholes (affectionately)

liked by christianhorner, maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 4,592,577 others

ynln7 anyway

view all 909,289 comments

christianhorner This is not the team bonding I was talking about

charles_leclerc Shut up, some of us have waited years for this pierregasly Seconded danielricciardo Third...ed?

simplyclerc LET HIM COOK

lionkingseb max verstapprizz

mcmango he saw an opportunity and he took it

redbullpapaya i manifested this with magic beyond the human comprehension

liked by maxverstappen1, ynln7, christianhorner and 2,102,094 others

redbullracing An immaculate performance today from @ maxvestappen1 and @ ynln7 that’s a 6th Constructors’ Championship for the team!! 🏆 CONGRATULATIONS, WORLD CHAMPIONS!!

view all 869,291 comments

super_max they know they ate

staraikkonen the blueprint for all powercouples

shadownorris LET'S FUCKING GOOOOO

angelricciardo talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before, unafraid to reference or not reference

dominic_lothario 👎

redbullracing Shouldn't you be looking for a job? What are you doing in our comments.

kirbyvettel MAXY/N SWEEP

maxverstappen1 The trophy is not my only win this week @ ynln7

ynln7 ok now let me pass you maxverstappen1 No 🧡 You're pretty in p2

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, christianhorner and 693,420 others

ynln7 celebrating the win the RIGHT way (playing f1 2023)

view all 108,003 comments

easportsf1 Amen

ynln7 LMAO

maxverstappen1 I let you win

ynln7 bruised ego alert

christianhorner Such a RESPONSIBLE team, aren't we?

orangleclerc THE T-SHIRT

strawberryrosberg Did they turn down the afterparty invite for this because mad respect

charles_leclerc Tell me your record, I'll beat it

ynln7 in your dreams, leclerc maxverstappen1 Beat us in real life first charles_leclerc First of all.

pic credits: instagram and pinterest

[fangirl-dot-com]

🛏 Too Many Beds

*part of the reverse tropes series*

Pairing: Lando Norris x Engineer!Reader Genre: Fluff/Humor Summary: Lando had a master plan to get you in his bed. Too bad everyone seems to mess it up. And who knew you were terrified of bed bugs?

this was so much fun to write and I'm so excited for this mini series! New upload schedule will probably be Reputations on Friday and Reverse Tropes on Saturday!

TAG LIST CLOSED

Your hand gripped your suitcase as you stood in the lobby of the hotel. Of course, McLaren thought that it would be a good idea for some more team bonding before the season started and book an entire hotel. However, they forgot to mention that some of the people had to share rooms. 

How you got placed with Lando, you didn’t know. You had seen Oscar snickering earlier when Zac had read the list of who shared what room. Your face was beat red as you tried to hide in your team zip up. Your eyes flickered to Lando, only to find him fast asleep against the window of the bus. There was some drool on his lip, and anyone else would have found that semi-disgusting. 

But not you. 

It was kind of…endearing. 

But now that you were getting your key card and were in the elevator with a very sleepy Lando, your heartrate increased. You had tried to get your own room when you had gotten there, but Zac was intent with you sharing. 

Something about driver and engineer comradery. 

The floor before when Oscar got off, he had leaned over and whispered, “Have fun with the one bed.”

That statement made your face even redder. Of course that would happen to you. It was straight out of Tumblr or Wattpad. The one trope that you seemed to hate over everything. One bed normally meant that it was a single or a queen. And you were known for flopping everywhere.

Poor Lando probably wouldn’t get to sleep before the first rounds of development. 

Although he was sleepy, Lando, on the other hand, was vibrating with excitement. 

He had the whole thing planned out. He had requested to be put in a room with you. And then he swapped rooms with Oscar, because the Aussie had a girlfriend, ergo he had a single bed room. It was going to be perfect. Oscar would get the room with two beds, and Lando would just have to share a bed with you. 

The Briton had had heart eyes for you ever since you joined his rookie season in 2019. And when you had been promoted to his race engineer, the crush he had grew tenfold. He could see your face getting more red the longer it took to get to the room. 

“You ready?” he asked you before he used his card to unlock the door. 

“Let’s get this over with,” you muttered, just wanting to sleep. At this point, you were planning to go to bed right away so that you didn’t have to deal with Lando crawling into bed behind you. You’d be asleep at that point, giving yourself no time to ogle at his chest (if he slept with a shirt off as most guys did.) 

The click of the lock indicated that the door could be opened and Lando took the initiative. This was it. 

Lando was going to live his dream. 

Except, his heart dropped when he noticed that there wasn’t one bed. 

There wasn’t even two beds. 

The room had three beds.

What. the. actual. fu....

Lando was going to kill whoever messed this up. His heart dropped farther when he saw your eyes kind of light up at the sight of beds to choose from. The McLaren driver bit his lip as he assessed the problem. 

You missed Lando’s agitation and put your things on the bed by the window. You turned to Lando, now confused at his pinched eyebrows. 

“Did you want the one by the window?” you asked, suddenly mad at yourself for just going ahead without asking the driver his preference. 

Lando immediately shook his head. “I like sleeping by the bathroom.” 

You gave him a smile. “Ok. Can I shower real fast? I go to sleep a little early.” 

That was a lie. You just didn’t want to be awake when Lando went to bed. Who knows what you’d be staring at. Your mind immediately went to the abs and v-line. You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of the unholy thoughts. 

You quickly opened your suitcase, grabbed your pajamas, and disappeared behind the bathroom door. 

Once Lando was sure that you wouldn’t come out, he quickly pulled out his phone and texted Oscar. It was to his horror that Oscar had sent a picture of the singular king that was supposed to hold you and Lando in tonight. 

Except that now it would be for Oscar and Oscar only. 

The Briton wanted to rip his hair out. He started pacing before he knew it.

How could he fix this?

He could lie and say he had separation anxiety and needed to sleep with someone. But you’d see right through and ask who else he’d shared a bed with. 

He could spill a drink on your bed? That also wouldn’t work because then you’d question why he had a drink around your things while you were in the shower. Lando didn’t want to come off as a giant creep. 

He was still pacing when he heard the door open up. 

His body turned to face you, but he immediately averted his eyes. Not because you were undressed, but because your pajamas were the cutest thing on you. You were wearing one of those silk tank tops with the smallest shorts possible. 

Lando watched as your feet got closer to your bed. His thoughts were flying around at 100 miles an hour. He had to do something quickly. Your hand pulled back the bedding when Lando yelled. 

“Hold on. I think I saw some bugs on my bed and yours.” 

The screech that you let out made Lando wince. You reeled back as though the duvet had burnt you. You quickly made your way closer to Lando. 

“Where are the bed bugs?” 

Lando couldn’t really tell, but he thinks he can hear your teeth chattering. You were getting antsy.

“Are you that scared of some small bugs?” 

You crept closer to Lando. 

“My childhood house got infected and we had to move. I also got such a bad infection from bites.” 

Lando immediately felt terrible. He didn’t know. If he had, he wouldn’t have said anything and just sucked it up and slept in his own bed. He looked at you. He could see that you were close to tears. His arm immediately went around your shoulders and brought you closer. 

You huffed. “Can we go down to see if they have any other rooms on our floor?” 

The brunet nodded. He looked you up and down before he turned around and dug through his suitcase. You wondered what he was doing before a hoodie hit your chest. It was the dark green one that you absolutely loved on him. You gave him a confused look. 

“Ah, your pajamas.” 

Oh. 

You looked down and realized that you were just in a very thin tank.

Without a bra.

And the room was cold. 

Your face flushed as you quickly pulled the hoodie over your head. The ends of the hoodie landed mid-thigh. You knew Lando was taller than you, but you didn’t expect his hoodie to fall that far down. 

Lando couldn’t take his eyes off you and you giggled and did a little spin, showing off how the green material looked on you. 

You were so worried that you’d have a staring problem, that you completely missed Lando’s staring problems. 

Once you were done, you headed to the doorway, Lando hot on your feet. He should have felt guilty about lying, but you were in his clothes and that made every feeling go away. The elevator ride was quiet, but comforting instead of awkward. The ding of the machine signaled that you two made it to the ground floor. 

Lando stepped out first, followed by you. Before you got to the front desk, Lando pulled the back of the hoodie, making you halt. You gave him a confused look. He dug his wallet out of his back pocket and handed you his card. 

“I know you’re a bit scared of the bugs, so I’ll handle it. You want to get us some snacks?” 

Lando melted at your eyes lighting up as you nodded. You wordlessly took his card and spun around, now walking in the direction of the little shop. He knew that you were always picky with snacks, so he’d have a bit of time. 

He exhaled heavily as he walked up to the front desk. The receptionist cocked an eyebrow, probably not expecting anyone at this late hour. 

His hands rested on the counter. 

“So, me and a friend are staying in room 444, and I might have seen a few bed bugs on one of the beds.” 

Lando winced as he lied. The lady’s eyes widened and she started typing. 

“Ok, we’ll have someone come up and inspect it with one of our bug-dogs.” 

Another wince. “Is that really necessary? Can we just move rooms?” 

Some more typing. “I don’t think that’s possible sir. We have to inspect the room just in case. If it’s all clear, then the room will still be able to be slept in.” 

Lando looked around before leaning in slightly. 

“Ok, here’s the deal. I’m in love with the friend that I’m staying with. We were supposed to have a room with a single bed so I could make a move. But something happened and we got placed in a room with three beds instead of one. I panicked and lied about the bugs. Is there any way I can just switch rooms? I'll pay extra.” 

Lando had hope in his eyes as he heard more typing. 

“I’m sorry sir, but there aren’t any more rooms available for tonight. You’ll have to stay in the room you have.” 

He hung his head as he nodded. 

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” he muttered. When he turned around, he was met with you holding multiple snacks and some drinks. He hoped that you hadn’t heard anything. Thankfully, you didn’t mention his conversation. 

As you walked into the elevator you asked, “So do we get to move rooms?” 

Lando sighed. “There aren’t any available.” 

You chewed on your lip. “Maybe, we can look at the middle bed and see if there are any there?” 

He could kiss you right then and there. Lando went quiet for a minute. 

“Only if that’s ok with you?” 

You immediately nodded. 

“I just don’t want any bugs on me. I think you’ll be able to keep me safe.” 

The attempt at the wink that followed made Lando laugh as he got off the elevator. You couldn’t help but giggle as you followed him. Lando thought it was the cutest thing he ever heard. When you stepped into the room, you first headed to your luggage to pull it off the “bug infested” bed. 

You placed it high on one of the dressers. Lando followed in suit. 

Before you knew it, you and Lando were both under the covers of the middle bed after a full inspection that it was safe. 

Lando was a bit skeptical that you hadn’t pushed to inspect the bed you were supposed to sleep in. Part of him wanted to believe that you also wanted to share a bed. But he wouldn’t dwell on the thought. 

The snacks that you bought were quickly consumed, laughter shared between the two of you as you watched videos on Lando’s phone. You didn’t know exactly when it happened, but your head had started to rest on his shoulder. Lando took this opportunity to put his arm around the back of your neck. 

Lando remained oblivious and was sure that this plan was working. You were scared and found sanctuary in his arms. 

Except for the fact that you had overheard everything. Your phone was currently buzzing with messages from Oscar but you’d never let Lando know that. 

Well. 

You sighed as you unattached yourself from Lando’s side. You turned your face so that you could look into his eyes. 

Half the time, you didn’t even know what color they were. Some days they were the brightest blue, others they looked more green, and the in the shade they were brown. 

You smirked as you got closer. 

“So, what did you tell the lady about getting me into your bed hm?” 

You watched as a blush invaded Lando’s face before he put his hands over his face. Tik Tok was abandoned on the bedsheets below. 

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered. You brought your hands up and peeled his own away from his face. Lando’s eyes flickered as he looked for some type of malice on your face. However, he only saw a smirk and a fiery look. He inhaled sharply. 

“I have had a major crush on you since 2019. And when Zac said he’d be pairing people up, I begged him to get a room with one bed for us. We were supposed to switch with Oscar and this room was supposed to only have one bed. But, I guess Zac took it upon himself to already do it so I wouldn’t have to switch, but we did anyway.” 

“Lando, I know. You think Oscar could keep a secret for that long?” 

The brunet paused, blinked, stared at you, and blinked again. 

“I’m going to kill Oscar.” 

You giggled, making Lando melt once again. 

“You’re not going to kill Oscar.” 

A grumble escaped his lips as they turned into a pout. You took this moment to lean down and lightly peck them. 

Once again, Lando froze. 

“So, should we actually get some sleep?” 

He could only nod his head, still not comprehending that you had actually kissed him and his plan worked semi-well. 

You turned around and rested your head on the pillow. Just a few moments later, Lando’s arm found a home in the crook of your waist. He gently pulled, bringing your back closer to his chest. 

So maybe he didn’t actually sleep shirtless, but that was fine because his head dug into your neck, just at your hairline. Lando breathed in deeply, getting situated.

Maybe the one bed trope did work.

You felt him smirk against your neck, but you thought he was close to sleep. 

Until he spoke up. 

“Sleep tight Y/n. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” 

“I’m going to murder you instead.”  

y/n_l/n has posted

y/n_l/n I let the love bug bite 🐞 🌲

liked by mclaren, lando_norizz, papayaduo, oscarpiastri, and 104,948 others

y/nxlando UHHH HARD LAUNCH??

papaya.nation I knew that sweatshirt looked familiar when they walked in the paddock today!

landonorris4 the fact that he had a back up hoodie as well

formulala_delulu the couple who matches together - stays together 💚

oscarpiastri good to see that it all worked out in the end 😌

y/n_l/n let's not do that again, ok?

landonorris I thought you liked it tho 😙

y/n_l/n let it be know, you don't possess any rizz

oscarpiastri 🫵😂

loscar I need to know the lore behind this

norris4ever maybe he'll get a win now that he doesn't have to pine after y/n

mclaren814 my parents!

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[utterlyazriel]

an eternity, my love

eep! this is a bit longer than the last at just over 6k forgive me... but thank so much for all love on the first piece 🥹 and thank u for all your lovely ideas! i hope this does sum justice to the nonnie who asked for further miscommuncation... <3 part one here but u don’t need to read it to read this :)

How does one even begin to decide what to wear to dinner with a person, the person, who matched your soul perfectly?

When your friend had hunted her way through clothing stores of Velaris and stashed away a custom dress — far fancier than anything you owned — for the first date with her mate, you had laughed at her.

Now, staring at your closet in only your undergarments, you were beginning to envy her preparation.

Seriously, how are you supposed to choose?

You pick up your latest addition to your closet, a glossy dress the colour of red wine that reveals the length of your legs and planes of your collarbones— perfect for a night out dancing.

With a grimace, you place it back on the hanger. It was far more scandalous than you would want to be on a first date, even though — well, you’re sure that, being mates, Azriel would like anything you wore.

You heave a sigh. An uneasy prickle beneath your skin has you crossing your arms; it was almost alarming how badly you wanted to impress him. But… mating bonds were rare and powerful.

Almost as if you had summoned it — in fact, maybe you had — there’s a soft shimmer in your chest. Your beautiful glow, the bridge between you and Azriel humming to life. In a way you can’t explain, it’s as though you can feel him soothe across your mind, his soft touch full of assurances.

He’s comforting you. All your emotions must be shooting down the bond without your permission. Gods, that would take some getting used to. You wonder if he can feel your resounding pang of embarrassment as well.

You do your best to push back something less nervous, more of your excitement for the night to come — and you know, without even seeing him, he’s smiling.

After another moment of fussing, you decide on something simpler than your glossy night dress.

Comfortable black slacks with plenty of flow to them and a shirt you thought was one of your nicer ones. With the slightest touch ups to your makeup, you rush yourself out the door before you convince yourself to change all over again.

The Sidra keeps you company, a rush of water beside you as you wind through the streets of Velaris, eyes flicking up to take in the darkening sky. The sun was sinking below the mountain tops, rays tickling across the ridges.

And while you could admit that Velaris was very beautiful in the daytime, you were a true Night court citizen— and believed its true beauty came out at night.

Somehow, despite the lack of concrete plans made as you had ushered the male out of your office, you knew resolutely that you would be able to find him. You weren’t even worried about the timing of it all. It was… what was the word? Absurd. Insane. Utterly, breathtakingly incredible.

Sure enough, as you exit the alley and round the corner, your eyes falling on the sage green building you reside in for work, there he is; waiting for you.

You inhale a sharp breath. A thousand cells in your body fizz, hum, and glow, at the mere sight of him.

It's easy to understand just how he had garnered his dark reputation, the image of him every bit of the Spymaster of the Night Court — a title like Shadowsinger has never been so fitting for him.

He’s blurred at the edges, a thousand tiny wisps that blend him into the shadows of the nighttime. His wings stretch up behind, towering over his already tall frame, black as ink, and beneath his darkened attire, you can spot his tan skin. Your eyes drag up his neck, tracing his adam's apple, along the scruff of his sharp jaw until you reach his hazel eyes.

Your heart burns.

In the depth of it, you know, if he doesn't love you, he will undo you completely.

It's wholly terrifying to come face to face with — the intensity of the mating bond scorching through your mind like a fierce wind, burning embers left in its wake.

It's enough to make you pause, the definitive thought that doing this, offering him your heart and trusting him, could very well lead to your ruin.

Your chest squeezes tightly. You let your eyes drink in the Illyrian, the Male who waited so patiently for all those years and was prepared to wait years more, if you had asked.

Focusing, you pluck up that golden thread in your chest and hold it tightly. It heats and melts, hotter and hotter, and you know that any fear you have, you can conquer to be with him.

Ruination be damned.

—

Azriel notices you the moment your frame exits the alley, notices the moment you pause — has been able to feel you drawing nearer to him this whole time. Your every emotion is transparent to him through the bond between you, whether you’re aware of it or not.

You must not have the tightened mental shields he had come to be so familiar with over all his years. It makes sense; you are no warrior. Mental walls over your mind are not something you have ever had to concern yourself with.

Azriel vows it to be one of the things he teaches you. You deserved the privacy of your emotions, at the very least.

But... for now, Azriel can feel them all. It's why, as you round the corner, Azriel can feel your eyes on him and then, then he feels it.

The wash of fear that spills over your bond like icy water.

An old enemy rises within him. He grits his teeth, even as he feels the fear from you slide away and he tries to ignore the sting from an unhealed wound. But self-deprecation never seems to drown, no matter how much he tries to suffocate it within him.

He shifts his hands, relieved suddenly to have them covered up beneath gloves. His wings tuck in tighter, if possible, and he wills his shadows sternly to contain themselves. Something in the slightest baring of his teeth has them obeying. They shoot to his sides and make themselves scarce.

All this in time to greet you pleasantly as you bounce into view, sidling up before him with a shy grin. It's only been a few hours since he got his proper look at you and yet, you're every bit as breathtaking as you were earlier. More so, in fact.

It feels as though Azriel has never seen the sky before and you before him, are the first sunset of his life. You look so pretty that Azriel could probably gaze at you all evening if you so allowed him to.

And then, he remembers the pang of fear.

He doesn't waste time mulling over which detail of him had made you afraid — only that he would dim or change or hide any part of himself to stop it from happening again.

"Hello, again," You say, your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You have to tilt your head back to look up at his handsome face. His shadows swirl around him and despite his strict instructions, one still slips away to touch you.

You don't notice it circling your ankle, tentative and shy.

"Hello, again." Azriel echoes your words, unable to help his own glimmer of joy.

He wants to offer you his arm, his hand. Can feel it within him, down to the very marrow of his bones, the craving to be closer to you, to touch you, however he can.

Azriel swallows heavily and does what he has done over decades, over centuries; he takes the wanting and pushes it down, down, down.

The two of you begin to walk, side by side, with no destination in mind. Aimless and content at the same time.

Azriel doesn't need the bond to see the flittering of nerves hidden in your expression. The shadow still circulating around your ankle climbs higher, like it wants to comfort you too.

Azriel wills it to still, desperate to not scare you again. He drops his shoulders from his usual warrior posture in hopes of making himself a little smaller.

“You don’t need to be nervous.” He says reassuringly.

You steal a glimpse at him, your smile breaking into a grin. Your nerves are still potent but less so.

“Who says I’m nervous?”

Azriel smiles gently, his eyes dancing across your face as he reads your lie easily. “I do."

There's a scrunch between your eyebrows then, like he had seen during his time in your office earlier. Azriel places a hand on his chest, over the place where the glowing tug is strongest.

"I can feel it.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you stare at his gloved hand, the cogs in your brain spinning and turning at a rapid rate. Still strolling, your hand rises slowly and touches to the same spot on your own chest. Azriel can feel his heart stutter at the sight, you holding the spot that connected you to him undeniably.

"You can?" Your gaze lifts to his face, puzzlement adorning your features. You frown and focus for a moment, staring hard into the distance — and Azriel feels a sudden twinge of disgust through the thread.

"Did you feel that?" You ask, eyes wide and curious.

Azriel nods wordlessly and he can't help but ask. "What is it you were thinking of?"

You look embarrassed for a moment, eyes averting to the ground. You chuckle awkwardly and tuck your hair behind your ears, glancing back up at the Male with a sheepish smile.

"Brussels sprouts."

Azriel blinks once, twice, and then has to turn to hide his smile. He tries to cover his laugh with a cough. It doesn't work, given how you make a small noise of indignation. He turns back, his politest expression on.

"Don't laugh at me!" You whine, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder. Your touch radiates through his body like a drop of golden sun, blazing warm.

"You're right," Azriel hums, his lips twitching as he presses back his smile. "My apologies, my lady. This is important knowledge I should be filing away. I swear on my life I will feed you no brussels sprouts this evening, or any in the future."

He wants to nudge your shoulder with his own, just to touch you, wants to reach out as easily as you had. But his shadows slip before his self-control does, skittering out along onto your shoulder and giving you a small shock and Azriel remembers himself. His fists clench tightly at his sides.

You walk side by side all evening, like two planets in orbit — close, oh so close, but never quite touching.

—

The first date you share is nothing short of… wonderful.

Resolutely and overwhelming good, the entire date you can't help but feel as though your very soul is singing, a thousand particles blithesome at the nearness you get to share with Azriel. He's surprising in a manner of ways.

Firstly, he's terribly quiet.

Next to him, you look quite the blabber-mouth, no matter how much he insists he enjoys it. His dark eyes are intense as they watch you closely, soaking in every word that passes your lips, and yet, beneath it, his dry sense of humour comes out to play. There's the occasional tease, almost as if just to see if he could make you flustered. (He could, easily).

With a Male as beautiful as him, suited to your very being in every way, it's nearly unbearable how much you ache for him. How much his very attention creeps down your neck and makes every nerve along your spine tingle.

You know it will take some time to get used to his unwavering and devoted attention.

There’s… just one small, itty-bitty, tiny problem.

He doesn’t touch you.

Throughout that whole first evening, you had noticed it somewhat— a flex in his gloved hands, a moment where his wing strayed too close only to be pulled back in a flash, even his shadows, darting out to be near you but never quite touching you as they had on that first meeting.

His hands reach out but they do not find you.

At first, you believed it was a first date thing. Azriel was, first and foremost, a gentleman, and you thought perhaps, his skirting touch, like his hand lingering over the small of your back but not touching it, was to be polite. Courteous and gracious.

Then, you had seen him just two days after that date, all bundled up in your giddiness that it had managed to slip your mind.

The two of you had spent the day together, traversing through the market — before you quickly found a quieter space for your mate as it became clear that large bustling areas, such as the Palace of Threads and Jewels, were not so suited to his tastes.

As you had tugged him out of the crowd, laughing over your shoulder at how he fought to keep his broad wings from knocking into anyone else, the thought suddenly snapped back into you.

Though you yearned to link his arm with your own, to interlace your fingers with his, you remembered his hesitance. Remembered the hover of his gloved hand.

And so, you dropped his arm the moment you cleared the crowd.

A hurt warbled deep within you to so do and knowing you were not the deftest at schooling your expressions, you hid your face so you could contain your childish reactions. You huffed at your own upset. What matter is it if your mate has no affinity to touch?

Truly, it was a miracle to have found a mate at all, you tried to scold yourself. You would not take him for granted for a moment, not even if it was not quite the picture of perfection you had envisioned.

Rooted deep in you was a truth; you could abide by this, abstain to his level of comfort for years, for millennia, if it made him happier.

The fabric of the mating bond, connecting the two of you intrinsically, made it so you would not want it any other way.

It's a decidedly Azriel thing.

He always wears the gloves, he never touches you more than he has to, and he's got... this really specific look when you're doing a terrible job of hiding your emotions.

As he had vowed, Azriel had set about teaching you how to build the mental walls up within your mind, brick by brick by brick. While it would help you hold against daemati if that loathsome situation should ever arise, it would also shield you from your mate.

It would protect you from having your emotions ripped out for him to see, no matter how much you held back — if it was in your mind, it would travel down the bond.

So, the wall had to be built. It had been tedious, tricky, and tiring work. Yet every time you would feel yourself ready to throw in the towel, Azriel would lean in closer, his hazel eyes softened, and his hand resting upon your arm, thumb swatching up and down, to encourage you.

"I know it is tiresome," He had mused, that faint smile twitching at his lips as you scowled at the ground. His thumb was still moving, still drawing light circles on your bicep. The skin beneath it blazed with warmth. "But it is worth it, that I can promise. You deserve this privacy, my dear. I would never wish to take it from you."

My dear, my dear, my dear— the words had sunk into your sternum and bloomed, bright and golden.

It's enough to hold onto, his kind affections. The sweet shape of his mouth when it says your name. The way his lashes kiss in the corner when he can't hold back his smile.

It's enough to soothe yourself over. To take the lack of touch on the chin and swallow down your desire for more.

It's why— why you can't help yourself— why you couldn't tear your eyes away from Azriel's hand where it touches Cassian's arm.

You're meeting his family today, which you've quickly realised doesn't mean his mother or father but instead means... the literal Highlord of the Night Court.

There are several warriors crowded around the cramped entrance room to the River House. Each of them is taller than you, and two of them with the very same huge wingspans that you've come to revere on your own mate.

Your usual talkativeness has been dimmed in your shock, though, really, it shouldn't be such a surprise. Azriel is a force to be reckoned with, honed over decades, and the Spymaster of the Night Court. You know these things. The company he keeps makes sense.

Somehow... still, seeing them all together leaves you strikingly speechless. The legion that protects your home — a family.

Rhysand greets you first, dapper in his dark attire, his violet eyes equal parts calculating and welcoming as he steps forward and offers his hand.

Despite the fact you have never bowed to him before, you still have to repress the urge. His power is overwhelming, the very night lapping at his edges and you're suddenly very grateful to be meeting him as a friend and not as a foe.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rhysand's voice purrs out, soft as silk. When you place your hand in his, he brings it to his lips and presses a polite kiss to the back of your hand.

"Any friend of Azriel's is a friend of mine."

You can feel your own heart thundering in your chest. Azriel hovers behind you, his presence soothing in itself. You can't see it but his wings are outstretched towards you, cocooning around you ever so slightly. A shadow hovers behind your shoulder, just out of sight.

"I— the pleasure is mine, my Highlord." You manage to make yourself speak.

You almost wish you hadn't when your words inspire a burst of laughter from one of the others behind Rhysand, the other Illyrian. He's tall, his hair dark but longer than your mate's own.

As your hand is dropped, Rhysand turns to scowl at the Male laughing, and you only grow further perplexed when he gives a whack against the other's shoulder. They begin to squabble for a moment — and you don't even hear Azriel move until he's speaking, his lips right by your ear.

"You'll have to forgive Cassian." His voice is low, raspy in a way that sends a zing down your spine. You shiver lightly. "He can be well-mannered at the best of times. But I promise he isn't laughing at you."

The two Males seem to tune back into Azriel's words, even though they had been whispered for you specifically.

"It's true!" The Illyrian, Cassian you now know, pipes up. He brandishes a devilishly handsome grin at you, with his hands held up in defense. "I apologise. It just still makes me laugh to see someone address this one so formally."

You blink. "But... he is the Highlord."

Azriel speaks again, bent over still to talk in your ear, but much less of a whisper this time. "Rhys is our Highlord but he does not bother with such formalities."

"And," Cassian interjects, lugging a punch into Rhy's shoulder, much like the other had done to him not a moment before. "Before he was the o'mighty Highlord, he was our friend."

Cassian says the word o'mighty with such an air of sarcasm that you can't help but glance at Rhys, sure he wouldn't take such disrespect. But around you, there are only easy grins.

"Might we move to somewhere more comfortable than the doorway," Azriel speaks up from behind you, his voice dry. "Unless that is, you're all hoping to do one-on-one greetings with her?"

There it is, the dry sense of humour you've come to adore. The group before you seems to grumble, as if they were quite keen on the one-on-one meetings but begin to move through the house.

One of the group dips back to walk beside you and you do your best not to repeat your past mistakes, even as your eyes widen almost comically. Azriel chuckles silently to himself, feeling your polite astonishment down the bond.

"It's so great to finally meet you.” Feyre, your Highlady greets you, her pretty face rife with glee. She seems genuinely very happy to make your acquaintance. "Azriel has told me all about you."

You stumble in surprise, your eyes casting back to Azriel behind the pair of you. His eyes are fixed on Feyre, narrowed at her blatant betrayal, his shadows swirling around him. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and you smother a laugh.

When his eyes shift over to you, you're positively delighted at how his cheeks have turned the lightest shade of ruby.

"Feyre is very persuasive when she wants to be." He murmurs, almost grumbling. You turn back to the Highlady and she grins at you, devious and captivating all at once.

It’s a whirlwind once you reach one of the many living rooms, each member of Azriel’s family all very eager to shake your hand.

Cassian grips it firm, his grin still on the side of wicked as he tells you he’s been waiting years to find the woman who could contain Azriel. Nesta, his mate as you find out, is a fierce kind of pretty with a grip as strong as Cassian’s. She tells you welcome to the family with the smile of a shark.

Morrigon is next, breathtakingly gorgeous, and every bit as charismatic as Azriel had described. You don't catch the glimpse between Mor and Cassian, not the beat of relief they both feel at your arrival in their lives— in Azriel's life.

It's swallowed up in her words, going a mile a minute. She jumps about, like popcorn in a pan, overly keen to finally speak to the one whom the Mother deemed worthy of Azriel’s heart. Where are you from? What do you do? How did you meet?

“Mor,” Azriel warns, after her twelfth consecutive question about your life. He hasn’t moved from his protective position behind you, close enough you can feel the heat of his body. His wings had brushed your shoulder just once.

“Yeah, Mor,” Rhys jeers. He nudges his cousin in the side playfully and Cassian snickers behind the group. “Give the girl some time to breathe.”

Even with all of Azriel's masterclass on who you would be meeting, it's still terribly overwhelming just trying to keep track of them all. They're each such strong spirits, each with seemingly a thousand battles in their past and far more years with Azriel.

On top of this is the fact you met both your Highlord and Highlady so casually in one single afternoon. It's difficult to not be daunted by the group that is so clearly intertwined with each other on a deeper level altogether— bonded by devastation and choosing each other through love.

Try as you might, you can feel the seed of doubt, of insecurity, make a home between your ribs.

You clamp down the shields you've spent the last few weeks learning, building the wall up and holding it tight. It's silly to feel dismayed because these Fae, these friends, know your mate better than you do.

Azriel had told you he had been waiting for you for five hundred years. For the first time since you've met him, you wonder if he was ever disappointed.

And then— then, you see it.

Azriel's hand on Cassian's arm. Then the half embrace they share, a hand on each other's neck as Cassian grins, wild and fierce, and presses his forehead against Azriel's own; brothers, sharing a moment of euphoria at the other finding his long-deserved happiness.

You should be soaking in the smile Azriel hides from you too often, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes. But instead, you can't see past it, can't stop the loop in your own mind as it prints a fact over and over and over.

It isn't an Azriel thing; it's a you thing.

He doesn't touch you.

The mental walls in your mind feel paper-thin as a fresh kind of agony ripples through your chest. The soft rejection of a mate stings, a papercut on your very heart. You can feel it warble through you and know, terribly, the exact moment that Azriel feels it too.

His head whips around, his dark shadows that surround him suddenly spinning and flitting faster than before— a couple dive across the room to you.

You stand up and the chair scrapes noisily beneath you.

"I—" You say before you realise you haven't planned an exit or an excuse in the slightest. Azriel's gaze burns into you. You turn to Feyre instead, who had been talking across from you when you rudely stood up.

"I'm so sorry, I just—" Some excuse, any excuse! "I think I— left the stove on."

It's a lie. A complete utter lie that fools no one in the room as you retreat from it hastily. None of them try to stop you though, which you're thankful for. Each of them watches, every expression slightly concerned as you hurry out of the room, your feet walking backward rapidly until you bump into the door frame.

You pass through it with your eyes on the floor, knowing that all of the eyes are on you. You know the ones you can feel searing into your soul are Azriel's.

You leave the River House. You walk along the Sidra, your steps hurried and your chin tucked low. It hurts. It hurts the feeling inside you. A tear streaks down your cheek, unbidden, and collects on your jaw. You wipe it away meanly.

The sight of your apartment door is an overwhelming comfort, one that has you sighing aloud as you rush up to it, your fingers already digging around in your pockets for your key.

And like always, you never hear him coming.

"What happened?" Azriel asks, his voice almost pained.

You give a little yelp of surprise and whip around, remembering half a second later that there's still evidence on your face of your tears. Azriel grows characteristically still, his hazel eyes fixed on yours as you sniffle for a moment, aggravation beginning to creep in.

He could feel everything from you and you got... what? Whatever he deemed fit to offer? How is that fair?

His usually wispy shadows are inkier than usual, almost tornado-ing around his shoulders. They keep leaping out towards you before being caught in an invisible net, a barrier between you and them.

Even as Azriel remains motionless, his eyes are the opposite—they jump around, searching, hunting, begging to find the cause of your pain. Had it been one of his friends?

"Please," He tries his words again.

His heart throbs painfully when you finally find your key and turn your back on him without a word, unlocking your door and pressing your way inside. He follows quickly, wings tucked in tight, unable to keep his shadows at his side this time. They whiz to you, circling your ankles protectively.

"Please," Azriel says, an anguished growl to his words. "What hurt you? I will— my friends, if they said something— if it was someone, I hunt them down and make it right for you."

You inhale sharply and when you speak, your tone is cold in a way you have never used before with Azriel. You say the words without thinking.

"It would be impossible to hunt yourself, Azriel."

Regret howls through you like a hurricane the moment you say the words. You don't mean to be mean, jealous, or whatever unseemly emotion you can't stop from sprouting in your chest, growing in size, tangling into your heartstrings like twisted gnarled vines. It hurts.

You turn back to him, mouth open. No words come out.

Hurt is slashed across his face, his eyebrows furrowed tightly, his shadows tucked in tight. It's as though he's blended into the very air, the wispy edge of him threatening to retreat into his own shadows.

All his emotions on display just for a moment, before they're schooled away. Tucked away, hidden, not for you to see.

Inside, your hurricane howls again, this time in pain.

You can tell he feels it, even as you mentally gather your bricks. It isn't fair. How can he have every bit of you and you get what he pleases to return?

You want to know him completely, want to see every part of his rugged, weathered soul, and love him anyway. It's an untold type of agony to have him deny you.

"My love," His feet finally move, his wings almost dragging on the floor as he steps forward, slowly, as though he was afraid he might spook you.

"Tell me how to fix this pain." He pleads. His gloved hands are held out, palms up and suddenly, he looks nothing like a warrior. Just a Male, afraid of losing what is most dear to him. You shake your head, like a child, and keep building your brick wall.

"Please don’t keep this from me," He takes another step forward, his shadows sent awry as they dart across to you. You can feel them on your calves, on your arms, feel the tiny kisses they leave. Azriel speaks again, voice low. "My love, I can feel your pain.”

You can't help how you screw your eyes closed, the ache in your chest unbearable— made worse when you know he can feel it too.

"That is my problem." You utter the words quietly, eyes still clenched shut, knowing he can hear you. He takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat of his enormous frame, his wings bracketing around you. "I cannot hide anything from you."

Azriel makes a noise, a punched-out wounded sound that reverberates down the bond.

"My love," He murmurs for the third time. Down the bond, you can feel his sweet love, his golden gentle feelings travelling along to assure you. "I would not wish for you to hide anything from me."

“But you hide everything from me." You whine, eyes finally crinkling open. Azriel stares down at you, his eyes softer than they've ever been. You can see the hurt swimming in them, the hurt you've caused. Still, you speak.

"You hide your emotions. You hide your touch, yet you give it willingly to your friends." You share each ugly thought with him, whispered as you gaze into his face to search for your answers.

Lifting your hands, you curl your fingers around his wrists tentatively. Azriel swallows heavily, his eyes dancing down to where you're touching him. You slide your hands forward, dragging the pads of your fingers over his pulse, along his palm, til your hands are holding his gloved ones.

"Is there some test I don't know about?" You ask, your focus on your intertwined hands. "Is there— do I have to earn this?"

"No," Azriel chokes out the word suddenly. You look up at him. He clears his throat and you feel his hands grip yours back, surer and stronger than you had. "No, I'm sorry. There is no test, nothing to prove you deserving of this. I just..."

His words trail off and you watch as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if gathering his courage. His hands slide from yours, pulled backward and you nearly feel the urge to cry once more— before you realise he's removing his gloves.

The skin of them is warped, you realise acutely with horror. The skin of his hands is swirled and mottled, an injury long healed but scarred for eternity. Azriel is watching your face closely, holding his hands close to his chest as though he was prepared to hide them away at the first flicker of fear.

You're grateful for the link between and all your shoddy attempts at blocking him out. Your love and your unwavering devotion drifts along the bond.

Azriel shudders, his wings giving the tiniest shiver. Slowly, gently, he reaches out towards you. You feel his hands, the unruly scarred feel of his skin sliding along your jaw to hold it tenderly. He has never held you like this before.

He cradles your face gently — like his hands have never held weapons of war, like they aren't twisted and marred with a memory he can't forget, like they're worthy of holding something so precious.

Azriel holds you as if you're holy — and he's come to kneel at your altar.

"I was afraid of what you would think." He admits. His voice is hoarse, gravelly as he fights off the lump in his throat. "I— on the first day we met, I felt your fear along the bond and—"

"It was not of you." You interrupt him, your hands jumping up to cover his own where they hold you. Azriel inhales sharply, eyes darting to watch.

But you pay him no heed, the palm of your hand covering his like a lover would. You let your thumb soothe up at down the ridges of his skin. You let your love ripple along the bond.

"It was not fear of you, Azriel." You repeat, your voice soft. His eyes are still fixed on your joined hands. His wings have begun to pick up, no longer drooping behind his back— you're not sure if he even notices.

"It was fear for how strongly I already felt for you." You lean into his hand and Azriel lets you, lets the length of your nose nuzzle into the touch of his hands — something no one in all his years of living had ever done before.

"It was fear that you already could ruin me," The words are murmured. "And that I would let you."

You whisper his name to pull his wide-eyed gaze from where his hands touch you and his hazel eyes burn into yours. Every whitened scar on his skin, every eyelash, the adorable pinch between his eyebrows; you drink it all in and smile at him. Azriel, your mate.

"Azriel, I chose this despite that fear. I choose you.”

Azriel quivers at the words, at your unflinching tone and suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, time moving around you, untouching, with such a perfect grace.

“I choose you too,” He murmurs, an emotion so strong a fire of possessiveness streaks down the bond. This time, you can feel his wall melt away, allowing you access to all he feels — his mountain of fear and his melting relief.

“Forgive me—” He begins and you laugh without meaning to, cutting him off.

“Stop,” you say, the word light and as pretty as your grin. “We keep doing this to ourselves, tying ourselves in knots over and over.”

Azriel laughs, his lips twitching into a smile as he allows himself to stroke his thumb lovingly over your cheek. The way you melt beneath it, your lashes fluttering and heart burning so brightly he can feel it in his own chest too— Azriel knows this longing will long outlive his body.

“We do,” He agrees. He dips his head a little lower, probably the only apology you’ll let him have, and inhales shakily. His hands shift across your face, down to hold your chin, his fingers pressed together tightly to hide the way they quiver.

“Then let me apologise in another way,” He murmurs, his voice closer to playful. “In a way I’ve been selfishly depriving you of.”

And when he kisses you, it’s with a reverence that softens all your corners.

His lips are plush and sweet, and with the way he dedicates himself to your bottom lip, you can’t help how you sigh into his mouth. He finds home in the curve of your mouth.

It’s delirious the way he kisses once, twice, three times like he’s hungry for something found only in your lips.

Your hands stagger forward, leaving his own to wind over around his neck. Your fingers curl up, raking through the hair on the nape of his neck — feeling the shiver that travels up his spine, his wings giving a little flare out.

He kisses you breathless, one hand abandoning your jaw to wrap snugly around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

When he pulls back, something within you glows molten gold at the panting that leaves his lips. He’s gazing at you, his hazel eyes alight in a way you haven’t quite seen before. His wings shift behind his shoulders, curling forward to wrap the two of you together, not quite touching.

Your heart thrills. You grin, your lips still just an inch apart as Azriel nudges forward, his own twitching in that way when he fights his smile. His lips brush yours, his smile barely held back.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” He says, sweet and low, allowing the smile to finally pull his pretty mouth up at the corners.

“Or should I make it up to you a little more?”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, chaste and gentle.

“Mmm,” your eyes are bright as they peer up at him, full of playful mirth and adoring affection. “You're forgiven but... I think you should make it up to me, just a little more.”

Azriel willingly obliges, his smile as sweet as the moonlight.

—

some people i thought might want to be tagged :)

@strangerstilinski @astoriaviviane @lana08 @florence-end @lportes-22 @torrick17 @florencemtrash @sidthedollface2 @seafrost-fangirl @goldenmagnolias @jeweline16 @meshellexplosionmurder @michellexgriffey @susiekern @toobsessedsstuff @fxckmiup @littlebookbengal @elenapril0502 @glitterypirateduck @hnyclover @technoelfie @itsapunklife @coffeecares

[riverofrainbows]

Eliot Spencer. Listen to me i am obsessed with the man. He is so incredibly stereotypically masculine, and hardcore so, yet at the same time really isn't in ways that would be damning for the 2000s and early 2010s. Long hair, not unusually tall, the most emotionally aware one and most in tune with his emotions on the whole team. (Not that the others don't also have points in that area, but they're all terrible at it in some way and Eliot scores by far the most points.) He has a hobby that's not James Bond like (cooking), and he gets to be goofy while being unquestioned as the most badass guy in the room. And yes he makes inappropriate jokes about lesbians and goes all no homo at physical affection from other men, and younger people probably don't find him quite as monumental as i do in terms of masculinity. But his behaviour never reflects those jokes or the no homo, and he was the red blooded american former military guy character on a big network tv show in the year 2009. For which he was a severely mild case. He treats the other characters as people and not stereotypes, in the way the whole show does, and he has long hair he puts up in ponytails and half buns that have his side bangs falling out (you need to understand what big of a deal the manbun was in like 2013, so much so that they had to invent a word). He's emotional and doesn't actually mean his gruffness most of the time, and doesn't thinks himself above certain tasks or people. He wears ridiculous little outfits without putting up a show about his threatened masculinity, and he's the most emotionally intelligent one outside of cons. He wears little jewellery in his hair sometimes, and little braids even (yes braided hair was a no go), he plays guitar and sings earnest love songs not just to try to get laid (love songs would only be permissible in the immediate context of romance), and whenever they have a young woman as a client, that reminds him of home i presume, he works with so much effort and respect for them as the one he's in service to, and respects their opinion strongly. He wears glasses, and reads books and is way too nerdy for an action hero type of the 2010s. He is great with kids, and unironically so (there were multiple big shows and movies about the topic of "men needing to deal with children on their own" with the entire premise of that being ridiculous and them being naturally bad at it). He's the most stereotypically action hero type masculine guy on the show, and he does get strive or posture for power or dominance in their team, is content with a contributing role and trusting on the expertise of the others, and he is not portrayed as the most valuable one or as that behaviour being beneath him. He undresses so he and the woman he's fighting with are on equal ground reading undress. He is shorter than the others and continuously portrayed as the most dangerous one in any room, and height differences afe never deemphasised via cinematography (seriously, to be regarded as sufficiently masculine in western films they either get really tall actors or employ a variety of camera angles and boxes to give that impression. But just think of Eliot in the pilot when rescuing Hardison in the first break in, standing behind the group of security guys who all look way taller than him and more physically impressive with weapons and all. And then Eliot just in a t-shirt with no weapon but himself.) He has long hair (again, mainstream sufficiently masculine guys didn't do that back then, or now if we think of it (not that long at least)).

The show and all it's characters were a goddamn marvel back in 2009, and sadly in many ways still are today, 15 years later.

And he heals my little broken heart regarding gender stereotypes and masculinity, my heart that grew up in the 2000s and has so much difficulty accepting that my gender is valid. Bless him for it.

[chleem]

Is it casual now? /extra

One shot; college students drew x reader

Summary: “Baby, no attachments.” yet, you’re at his childhood home, laughing with his parents, bonding with his siblings. 

Genre: situation-ship, smut, fluff

Warnings: swearing, sex, light read, drew's a player :(

⋆.˚ official one shot here | extra2

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

♡⸝⸝ "it's hard being casual when my favorite bra lives in your dresser"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Whose bra is this?”

Drew’s eyes dart to the source, feeling wary. Who else could be in his room right now?

Oh right. The girl he met last night. She’s wearing his t-shirt like it’s his, rummaging through his dresser. She turns around holding a red bra. Your red bra. 

Drew raises an eyebrow, looking at the girl skeptically. What’s her name again? He honestly has no idea, and isn’t planning on remembering. “I..I thought you left.”

“Let’s grab breakfast together,” she happily chirps, before returning to the bra in her hands, holding it as if it contained some deadly disease. “Now, who’s bra is this?”

Drew doesn’t reply; and the girl adds on, “is it the girl you moaned out last night?” 

Drew cocks his head to the side. What is this bitch on, he thinks. He sends her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, walks over, and snatches the bra out of her hands. He tugs it back in his dresser, pushing it close. “You should leave.”

He turns around and sees the graphic design that's on the shirt the girl's currently wearing. That’s the shirt you got him. One of his favorite. “Um, leave the shirt here.” 

It’s the girl’s turn to look at him skeptically. “What?”

“Yeah, uh, leave the shirt here, and forget this ever happened, alright?” 

Drew throws his towel over his gaming chair, and grabs his sweatpants. He puts it on, ignoring the shocked expression on her face. He lays down on his bed, picks up his phone, and starts scrolling through his messages. 

When she realizes that he doesn’t give a shit, she angrily takes the t-shirt off, throwing it into his face. “Thanks,” Drew says rather sourly, putting it to the side. She puts on her dress from last night, grabbing any remaining clothing around the place. 

“We have class together, you dick!” She yells, as if that would make Drew care. 

He hums, obviously too focused on his phone. Only the slam of his room door makes him slightly flinch, but even so, his eyes go back to his phone.

Now, what was he so focused on? Well, texting you. 

——

I’m at the soccer field

This simple text was enough to get Drew out of his dorm, walking as fast as he could to go see you. 

A smile on his lips that appear on its own, just from seeing you sit on the bleachers, watching the soccer team practice. Or more, get yelled at by their coach. 

You don’t even notice him sit down beside you; too engrossed in the music coming from your AirPods. 

It’s when he takes one AirPod out of your ear, when you finally notice him. “Hey,” he breathes out, putting the AirPod into his own ear.

“Hi,” you smile, your eyes landing on his shirt. Oh. He’s wearing the shirt you got him as a gift a few months ago, for Christmas. He wears it quite often, but every time you see it on him, warmth still fills your stomach. “Nice shirt, handsome.”

“Really?” He nudges your knee with his. “An amazing girl got me this.”

He says stuff like this; that makes you wonder if it’s still casual. 

“Interesting,” you lean in closer to him, your eyes glancing down at his lips and then at his eyes. You haven’t seen him in almost two weeks; due to spring break. Mentally, you were glad to be away from Drew, to clear your mind a bit. Physically? Well, let’s just say sexting was not as satisfying as the real thing. 

“What song is this again?” He suddenly asks, smiling fondly at you. You get ready to answer, but Drew beats you to it, replying to his own question. “The Smiths, right?” 

You mimic the ding noise, making him chuckle under his breath. “You know me so well,” you say, bit of sarcasm in your voice. Duh, he knows a lot about you; casual for more than five months at this point.

“Of course.” he’s smiling ear to ear. 

You roll your eyes at his response, but feel your own smile growing. You lean down against his shoulder, looking out onto the field. The weight of looking into his eyes was getting heavy. 

It’s quiet for a few seconds, until you speak up. 

“That guy has been yelled at by the coach ten times already.”

You feel Drew’s chest vibrate against you, his laughter erupting softly. “Ten times? What a retard.”

You chuckle softly, only because Drew finds it funny. “But the coach was being a meanie.”

The said guy has the ball now, and when he attempts to score it in, he misses and falls onto the ground. That causes the coach to yell at him again. “Well, eleventh time,” Drew adds on. 

“Next Fifa champion,” you add on. Drew laughs again, as if that joke was the funniest thing he’s ever heard. You pull away from leaning on his shoulder, and stare at his smile. “Was it that funny?” You ask. 

He turns his head over to you, the smile still there. Or more like, ever since he sat down, his lips were always curled up. “You should be a comedian.”

That makes you laugh, and you push his shoulder, “nonsense.”

Your laughter dies down when you see how smitten his stare on you is. 

His eyes glance down at your lips, then back to your eyes, “I missed you.”

Casual, casual, casual.

“You did?” You cock your head to the side flirtatiously. Part of you thought it was fun to flirt with Drew; to hear the nice things he has to say about you. The other part of you hated how sweet Drew was with you; when the two of you were just ‘casually’ sleeping together. 

“Think I’ve already said that over text though,” his voice drops low, and he starts to lean close to you. The look on his face says it all; he wants to kiss you.

“Flatter me and tell me in person too, won’t you?” You continue to say, a smirk on your lips. 

He leans forward and kisses your cheek gently, “how ‘bout I show you instead?”

Oh. Oh. The butterflies are throwing up in your stomach right now, because of this man’s sly mouth. How he just casually brings up wanting to have sex with you, within minutes of seeing each other. 

Seems like he really does miss you. 

Casual, casual, casual. 

“How is one suppose to refuse to that?”

“Hmm,” he hums, and his eyes glued to your lips tell you everything; his mind is already elsewhere, imagining the most dirty things to do with you. Or, what he’s going to do with you. 

He leans in, this time, kissing you on the lips. His tongue meets yours hungrily and lustfully, exploring every corner. He kisses you as if it’s the only way for him to breathe, only way for him to live on. 

You hate that; yet you kiss him back with the same eagerness. 

Make-out session at the bleachers? How romantic. How sweet. How casual. 

You pull away, feeling breathless from how good his kisses are. And you too realize that you missed him too, something you don’t want to admit. Because, who misses someone you only see casually? That’s weird.

His eyes are still glued to your lips, and you see a small trail of saliva near the corner of it. You chuckle softly, wiping it off with your thumb. “You know…”

He hums yet again, even though you haven’t even gotten to the main point of your sentence. “…I got a gift for you….in my room,” you manage to breathe out, and he kisses your jaw. 

Aka, let’s go have sex in my room, right now. 

“How lovely,” he smiles against your neck, planting a kiss there. 

“You wanna see it?” You run your hands through his hair, down his nape, fingertips scratching it lightly. That makes him bury himself deeper into your neck, his arms wrapping around you.

“Yes please.”

——

The moment you unlocked your room, Drew rushes you inside, until you land on the soft cushions of your couch. 

You giggle, watching him take his top off, his legs on either side of you, caging you onto the couch. “Should I continue my story or no?”

“Mmm, lemme guess,” Drew remains eye contact with you, but his hands focus on undoing the zipper of your shorts. “Everyone got food poisoning, just because of you.”

You lift your hips, him pulling your shorts down, “everyone was rushed into the ER.”

Drew laughs, ushering you to sit up. He pulls your top over your head, leaving you only in your bra and underwear. “And still you insist on cooking for me.”

“Only because you always ask to stay in,” you reply, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Making me improvise on dinner.”

“Mmhm,” he stares down at your lips, distracted like always. He kisses you sloppily, his hands running along your back. You moan into his mouth, as he pushes you down onto the pillows. 

“I miss you,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck, sucking gently on the area around there;

The angel on your shoulder likes the sweet things he says; the devil on the other side likes to doubt his every word, repeating the phrase in your ear:

Casual, casual, casual. 

One hand kneads your thigh, the other pinning your waist to the couch. His lips move onto your breasts, where they skillfully move around the bra. He wraps his lips around your nipples, making you gasp in pleasure. 

But the bra starts to feel itchy, which you breathe out, “just take it off.”

He smirks against your nipples, pulling away just to unclip your bra. You help him, pushing the bra off, discarding it on the floor. He leans down again, this time, sucking on the other breast. 

“Fuck..” You moan, as he stops, trailing his lips down your stomach. He leaves soft kisses along your belly button, his fingers working with pulling your underwear down. 

“Missed you.” 

This time, he says it while looking down at your pussy. 

The air hits your wet pussy, soon cut off by Drew’s warm palm. 

“Wet already,” he chuckles, his fingers playing with your folds. Too consumed with lust, you don’t even reply to that comment. 

He sticks two fingers into you, thrusting in a slow pace. “You’re tight,” he breathes out, kissing your neck. 

You wrap your arms around his neck lazily, “haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Forever, huh?”

“C’mon, don’t act like its not the same for you-“ he adds the third finger, cutting off your sentence. You moan loudly, as he starts to move in a faster pace. Swear, you can cum just on his fingers alone. 

He smiles against your face, and kisses your ear. Occasionally, he grunts, trying to stretch you out as much as he can. 

Okay. Maybe you could cum on his fingers alone, but it wouldn’t be as good as the real thing. “I want you,” you manage to say between moans, his fingers working hard on your pussy. 

He kisses your forehead, “good to know.”

What a teasing prick. You squeeze his bicep, hoping he gets the message. It’s not easy to talk when he’s got his fingers deep in you. You give him a lazy glare; and he just laughs, “I’know.”

He pulls out of you, and you immediately clench around nothing, your folds missing Drew. He gets entirely off of you, and walks into your bedroom.

Drew knew where you kept the condoms; since, well, he’s constantly fucking you. 

You stare at the ceiling while waiting for him. 

A few seconds of silence passes.

“Y/n!” He yells, before walking out a few seconds later. You turn your gaze to him, who’s holding the entire box of condoms in his hands. He smiles wryly, “it’s expired.”

You furrow your eyebrows, sitting up slightly. He walks over to you, showing you the date on the box. Yeah, it is expired. But you bought this a few weeks ago. Wait…

“No wonder it was so cheap,” you groan, throwing your head back on the couch pillow. 

“This shit…won’t break that easily, right?”

You glance at Drew. He looks at you, hoping you would agree to his thought. His eyes shine in anticipation, the curl of his lips upwards. “…I guess?”

“I’ll…even pull out before I cum,” he shrugs, also hoping you would agree. 

“I… I take pills,” you add on, ignoring the calls of ‘bad idea!’ going on in your mind. Lust was in charge now, and it’s commanding you to get fucked by Drew, even with the huge amount of risks it comes with. 

He breaks into a smile, leaning down and kissing you. “Hey…so it’s okay?” He murmurs against your lips, an adoring look painted all over his face. 

“Have I ever said no though?” You say, which makes him chuckle. 

“True,” he replies, before taking a condom out of the box. You help him, by pulling his sweatpants off. He steps out of them, and you see his fully erected dick, screaming to be released from his boxers. 

“All fours,” his voice drops deeper, commanding you into the position he wants. 

You obey; shrugging your underwear off your knees, getting on your knees and elbows. You arch your back, to make your ass higher. You feel him dip on the couch behind you. 

He stays behind you, the noises of him preparing the only sound in the room. It feels like minutes have passed, and he still hasn't stick it in. “You done?” You ask, unable to mask the impatience in it. 

Drew replies with a hard slap to your ass, making you groan. He then asks, “did you buy this for someone else?”

“What?”

“Not only is it expired…but you got a smaller size,” he plants a kiss on your lower back. 

“What?” You say again, turning your head to look behind you. He holds the packaging in his hands; an M written on it. Oh. “That isn’t your size?”

He snickers, “you serious?” You must have just grabbed the first pack on the shelf, not checking anything. Drew delivers another rough slap to your asscheek when he doesn’t get a reply from you. It hurt, but in a good way. “Babe, you serious?”

“Dead serious,” you sarcastically reply, before laying your head onto the couch pillow in front of you. At this point, you’re pretty sure your pussy isn’t even wet anymore. 

But another hard slap to your other asscheek makes you jolt up, your brain betraying you by making you moan out. “Barely fits me.”

Can’t believe you’re attracted to this whiny man. “I’ll pay more attention next time,” you try to hide your annoyance, “just fuck me already.”

His hands grab the side of your hips, moving your ass to the right position. “Might slip off.”

What’s up with him right now? Is he seriously offended? You just bought the wrong size by accident, was it that big of a deal? “It won’t,” you assure him, “my fault, okay? Just put it in.”

“Fine. Fine, sorry,” he murmurs. 

You feel the tip of him against your hole, as he aligns his dick. And then, he sticks his entire dick inside of you. You moan out in pleasure, clenching around it. Fuck. He was right; you were tight, and you needed a few seconds to adjust to him. 

But Drew doesn’t let you; starting to slam his lower body into you, in a rather rough manner. 

Clearly, he’s not sorry for being whiny. 

“Shit,” you grip on the pillow harshly. “Slow the fuck down-“

He ignores your comment, continuing his pace. Drew rarely fucked you liked this, only if he’s putting his frustration or anger towards you. “Does this feel like an M?” You hear him grunt out, between thrusts. 

Who knew wrong sized and expired condoms could frustrate Drew this much?

You're forced to adjust to his size and pace, ignoring how each thrust that directly hits your core hurts a bit. “Fuck,” you breathe out, the pleasure inside of you building. His hands grip on your waist tightly; soft bruises might form later. 

His grunts and your soft moans fill the room, as well as loud, aggressive skin-slapping. 

He leaves sloppy kisses along your spine, causing your goosebumps to rise. You weren't going to lie; it felt good to be roughly handled by Drew.

You’re close; feeling the orgasm building inside of you. He knows it too; you clench around his dick. “Someone likes getting fucked roughly,” the tease in his voice is evident, “fucked like a slut, huh?”

Yeah. When Drew was mad or angry, he degrades you in bed. 

But you liked it, a moan you fail to repress escaping your lips. He slaps your ass again, a chuckle heard. “Cum then.”

He slams himself into you, his pace never slowing. The knot in your stomach eventually goes undone, your cum coating his dick. “Fuck..” He groans, as you relax yourself. He holds your ass up, continuing to thrust to help his own orgasm. 

He twitches inside of you; he’s close. 

Drew slows down after a few more, and you fell him pull out of you rather urgently. You completely fall on your stomach on the couch, your body giving up. 

But you force yourself to turn around, laying on your back. Drew sits back on the couch, his head leaned back as his cum fills the condom. He’s right; the M size condom covers 2/3 of his dick, probably not even half when he was erected. 

“I’m sorry,” you coo, a lazily smile on your lips. 

His expression softens; “Come here,” he takes the condom off, wrapping it and throwing it in the garbage can nearby. You force yourself up with the little energy left inside of you, snuggling yourself in Drew’s arms. You trace your fingertips along the lines of his lower stomach, laying your head on his chest. You and Drew’s legs tangled together, due to the small couch. 

The two of you stay silent, just enjoying the feeling of simply being in each other’s arms. 

This was casual, apparently. Cuddling after sex. Something people who have no attachments with each other usually do. 

Then, you suddenly joint up, causing Drew to look at you amusingly. “Wait, I actually do have a gift for you.”

“Really? You didn’t have to,” he murmurs, but the look on his face betrays him. He likes how you think of him when you’re away. You hum, getting off him and walking to your room. 

You come back with a small box, straddling yourself around his waist. You bite down on your lips in anticipation, hoping he likes it. He takes it; opening the box to reveal a men’s chained bracelet. 

It wasn’t from a luxurious brand, but you found it while shopping in your hometown, and thought it would look good on Drew.

He smiles ear-to-ear, “I love it.”

“No you don’t,” you chuckle, helping him put it on on his wrist. 

“I do; I love it, thank you,” he kisses your cheek, raising his hand and wrapping it around your nape. He pulls you down, and kisses you, almost in a loving way. Besides from seeing the smile Drew has whenever you get him something, the way he kisses you after also drives you insane. 

Casual, casual, casual.  

“Round two,” you murmur with a smirk on your lips, pulling away. He chuckles, before his eyes look down to your breasts. 

He bites down on his lip, obviously liking what he's seeing. Then, he shares the same look as you from earlier, remembering something. “Oh, your favorite bra, the red one?”

“...Yeah?” You cock your head to the side, wondering where this was going.

“It was in my dresser this entire time.”

“I knew it!”

“Found it the other day.”

“And… are you going to return it to me?”

“No.”

You slap his chest playfully, him sending you a cocky grin. “You got a bunch of other bras anyways.”

“Doesn’t compare to that one,” you pout, leaning down on his chest, hugging him. You lay your ear close to his heart, hearing the soft rhythm of it. 

It’s moments like this; that doesn’t feel casual at all. 

And maybe, it never will feel casual. At least for you. You weren’t the chill, flirtatious girl Drew knew, no, deep down, you were constantly doubting this situation-ship with him. Letting it drag so long, so long that it didn’t feel real anymore. 

Your stupid mind, constantly dreaming of the future with him. A shared apartment, shared furniture, shared everything. Him showing you off to his friends, admitting you’re someone special to him. 

You loser, he doesn’t even refer to you as a friend in front of others. Simply, a classmate. Fuck, you even visited his parents! Yet, he still denies. Everyone knows you two have something going on, except for Drew. Was he doing this on purpose? 

You don’t know; and honestly, too scared ask.

Because somehow, staying casual with him was better than not having him at all. 

The soft rhythm of his heartbeat helps you to slowly drift off into sleep, the thoughts disappearing. Hopefully, you don’t dream of Drew again, in a nice shared apartment, him showing you off to everyone, as his girlfriend. 

Was this dumb love? Maybe. Possibly. Most definitely. 

-------------------------------

word count: 3.5k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: hope you enjoyed reading this! and this isnt an official part two, but rather, another 'pov' into being in a situationship with kinda-toxic drew. for better context, you can read the actual oneshot here. i don't think there is going to be an official part two, bc i like this the way it is (sry!) and yes, inspired by chappell roan.

ngl...i dont like this writing as much....but i love the fluff parts! also, the smut scenes might feel wayyy too fast but swear they lasted longer than that (just got lazy to write🥲) anyways, thx for reading and pls ignore any mistakes <3

[mrsfancyferrari]

Love Sick

Summary: You and Max have been together for a while and you knew he loved you but you didn't know to what extent.

Song: Infrunami - Steve Lacy

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! <3

Word count: 6.8k

You and Max had been in a loving relationship for quite some time, a bond that everyone around you could see.

Friends and family often remarked on the chemistry you shared, but there was a depth to Max's feelings that you had yet to fully grasp.

It was during a particularly chilly race weekend that everything changed.

You had been feeling under the weather, but your determination to support him pushed you to follow him into the paddock on Thursday, despite his insistence that you should rest at home.

"You should really take it easy," he had said, concern etched on his face. "I can’t race without you cheering me on, Max," you replied, a smile masking your discomfort.

As you stepped into the paddock, the cold air nipped at your skin, and you shivered slightly in your light dress while Max was comfortably clad in his team shirt. He noticed your discomfort almost immediately, his eyes softening with concern.

"You’re freezing!" he exclaimed, taking your hands in his.

The warmth of his palms enveloped your fingers as he rubbed them together, blowing gentle breaths of warm air onto them. The fans around you caught the tender moment on their cameras, and you could feel the flutter of butterflies in your chest.

"You always know how to make me feel better," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in your words was unmistakable.

As you made your way to Red Bull's garage, Max was already thinking ahead. "Wait here," he instructed, darting off to find a blanket.

You watched him go, your heart swelling with affection. Moments later, he returned, a thick, cozy blanket in his arms. "Here, this should help," he said, wrapping it around you tightly.

You felt the warmth envelop you, and it was as if he was shielding you from the cold and the world outside.

"I can’t believe you came out here when you’re not feeling well," he said, his brow furrowing with concern. "I wouldn’t miss it for the world," you replied, looking into his eyes and realizing just how much he truly cared.

As he left for the press conference, you felt a surge of love for him, knowing that this moment was just a glimpse into the depths of his affection.

You settled into a nearby chair, the blanket cocooning you in warmth. You watched him walk away, his confident stride and focused demeanor a stark contrast to the tenderness he had just shown you.

It was moments like these that made you appreciate the layers of his personality—the fierce competitor on the track and the caring partner off it.

Time seemed to slip away as you drifted into a peaceful nap, the blanket enveloping you like a gentle hug. When Max returned, he paused at the sight of you sleeping soundly on the sofa. A smile crept across his face, but he hesitated, not wanting to disturb your rest.

“You look so peaceful,” he murmured to himself, deciding instead to join you. He settled down beside you, wrapping his arms around you, feeling the warmth radiate between you.

“I’ll just stay here until you wake up,” he whispered softly, his fingers gently brushing through your hair as he closed his eyes, content to simply be near you.

Eventually, you stirred, blinking against the soft light and feeling the comforting weight of Max beside you.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” he greeted, his eyes sparkling with affection. “I didn’t want to wake you, but I missed you.”

You smiled, still a bit groggy, and he helped you sit up. “Let’s get you home,” he said, his tone shifting to one of care.

Once you arrived, he guided you to the bathroom. “A warm shower will do wonders,” he insisted.

The moment the warm water hit your skin, you felt an immediate sense of relief and relaxation. The heat seeped into your muscles, easing the tension and washing away the remnants of the cold you had braved earlier.

As the steam enveloped you, it was as if every drop was rejuvenating your spirit, leaving you feeling refreshed and comforted.

You closed your eyes, letting the water cascade over you, and your mind wandered back to the tender moments shared with Max. The warmth of the shower mirrored the warmth of his embrace, and you couldn't help but smile, feeling grateful for his unwavering support and love.

The day's worries seemed to melt away, replaced by a deep sense of contentment and appreciation for the life you were building together.

Meanwhile, Max busied himself in the kitchen, preparing a simple yet hearty meal to further soothe you after your long day. He set the table with care, ensuring everything was perfect for when you rejoined him.

As he heard the water turn off, he quickly finished up, eager to see the relaxed expression on your face.

“Max! You didn’t have to!” you exclaimed, stepping into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around your shoulders.

The delicious aroma wafting through the air made your stomach rumble, and you couldn't help but smile at the sight of his thoughtful preparation.

He turned to face you, a playful grin on his lips. “Nonsense, I wanted to,” he replied, pulling out a chair for you.

“You’ve had a long day, and it’s my turn to take care of you. Besides, I enjoy cooking for you.”

You sat down, touched by his gesture. “Thank you, Max. You always know how to make everything better,” you said sincerely, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

He leaned in and kissed your forehead, his eyes filled with affection. “That’s because you mean the world to me,” he whispered, making your heart swell with love as you both settled in to enjoy the meal together.

After you both settled into bed, you watched as he prepared for his sim training. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Get some more rest; I’ll join you soon.”

As he left, you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you, knowing that no matter how busy life got, he always made time for you. . . .

As Friday dawned, a sense of relief washed over you, a welcome change from the heaviness of the previous days. You felt a spark of energy that was enough to persuade Max that you were fit to join him at the paddock.

With a playful grin, you rummaged through your wardrobe, finally settling on a chic yet comfortable outfit. You chose a fitted black tank top that accentuated your figure, paired with high-waisted denim shorts that offered both style and ease of movement.

To complete the look, you slipped on a pair of white sneakers, perfect for a day filled with excitement and activity. A light denim jacket hung loosely over your shoulders, ready to fend off any unexpected chill.

The atmosphere at the paddock was electric, buzzing with the anticipation of the day’s events. You knew it was going to be a whirlwind, but your heart swelled with pride knowing that Max would need your support as the day progressed.

As the engines roared to life and the cars zoomed past, you found yourself surrounded by the girls—Alex, Lily, and Rebecca—who were all too eager to share in the excitement.

They exchanged knowing glances and playful nudges, their laughter ringing out as they began to tease you about your relationship with Max. “You know he’s head over heels for you, right?” Alex chimed in, a mischievous glint in her eye.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes playfully at their antics. “Oh, come on! It’s not like that,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but the warmth creeping into your cheeks betrayed your true feelings.

Lily leaned in closer, a smirk plastered on her face.

“Please, we all see the way he looks at you. It’s like you’re the only one in the room!” Rebecca added, her voice teasing yet sincere.

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a mix of embarrassment and joy at their words. “Alright, alright! Maybe he does care a little,” you admitted, your heart fluttering at the thought.

The camaraderie among you and the girls made the day even more special, and as you cheered for Max from the sidelines, you felt a sense of belonging that made every moment worthwhile.

As Max stepped out of the car, the tension in the air was palpable. You were standing nearby, ready to offer him a comforting embrace, knowing all too well the challenges he faced with the troublesome vehicle.

The frustration of dealing with a poorly performing car weighed heavily on him, and you could see it etched on his face.

Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

"You did everything you could," you whispered softly into his shoulder, hoping to ease some of the burden he carried.

Max pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes with a mixture of gratitude and exhaustion. "Thanks, schatje," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with sincerity.

The bond between you two was undeniable, forged through shared experiences and the ups and downs of racing life.

He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the disappointment, but you could sense that he was still grappling with the weight of the day.

"I need to go check on my performance before the second practice," he said, his brow furrowing as he turned to head towards the paddock.

As he walked away, you felt a familiar ache beginning to throb at your temples, a headache creeping in as the stress of the day settled over you. You leaned against the wall, watching him disappear into the chaos of the pit area, where engineers and mechanics buzzed around like bees.

The noise of the crowd and the whir of machinery filled the air, but your mind was elsewhere, replaying the moments of the day.

You knew that racing was a relentless pursuit, filled with highs and lows, and you wished you could shield him from the pressures that came with it.

With a sigh, you closed your eyes for a moment, hoping that the next practice would bring better results for Max, and that the headache would soon fade away.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm golden hue over the practice field, Max stood by the sidelines, his eyes scanning the area for you.

The second practice of the day was about to commence, and the excitement in the air was palpable. Just as the engineers were perfecting his car, Max waved you over with an eager grin.

You could see the determination in his eyes, but there was something else there too—a hint of mischief that made your heart flutter.

"Hey, can you give me a kiss before I head out?" he asked, his voice playful yet sincere.

You felt a pang of hesitation as you remembered the cold that had settled in your chest. "Max, I'm really not feeling well. I could pass this on to you, and I wouldn’t want to ruin your day," you replied, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

But Max just shook his head, his expression unwavering. "I’d rather get sick than miss out on your kiss. Besides, that’s not how your good luck charm works," he insisted, a teasing lilt in his voice that made it hard to resist.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his stubbornness, even as you felt a wave of affection wash over you. "You know, you’re going to regret this if you end up with a sore throat," you warned, crossing your arms playfully.

Max stepped closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I’ll take my chances. Just one kiss, and I promise I’ll be back to my usual self in no time," he said, leaning in slightly, his confidence infectious.

With a resigned smile, you gave in, your resolve crumbling under Max's unwavering gaze.

Leaning forward, you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, feeling the warmth and familiarity that always seemed to erase your worries, if only for a moment.

His lips lingered on yours, and as you pulled away, you noticed the sparkle in his eyes had intensified, a mix of determination and pure joy.

"See? I feel better already," Max said with a wink, his grin broadening. You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head at his boundless optimism.

"Now go out there and show them what you're made of," you encouraged, giving him a playful shove towards the car.

As he jogged off, you watched him with a renewed sense of hope, the cold in your chest momentarily forgotten, replaced by the warmth of his love and the promise of better times ahead.

The familiar sound of his vehicle echoed in your ears, but instead of feeling a sense of relief, a dull ache began to throb at your temples. You rubbed your forehead gently, hoping to ease the discomfort, but the tension only seemed to intensify.

You glanced around, noticing the bustling crowd around you, but the thought of sharing your discomfort with anyone felt unnecessary.

After all, everyone seemed preoccupied with their own lives, and you didn’t want to burden them with your headache.

Max had a knack for turning moments into memories, and today was no exception. After securing P1 in the second practice, he bounded out of the car with an infectious energy that made your heart race.

As he approached you, a playful grin spread across his face, and without hesitation, he leaned in to plant a kiss on your lips. "See? I told you it works," he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a warmth that momentarily chased away the headache that had been nagging at you all day.

"Okay, Max," you replied, your voice light despite the discomfort. The thrill of his victory was palpable, and you wanted to share in that joy, even if it meant masking your own growing unease.

However, the celebration was short-lived as Max was soon swept away by a flurry of media obligations.

You watched him engage with reporters, his charisma shining through as he answered questions and posed for photos. Each laugh and smile he shared with the cameras felt like a reminder of the energy you were lacking.

As the minutes ticked by, your headache intensified, a dull throb that seemed to echo the excitement around you. You tried to focus on the moment, but the growing discomfort made it increasingly difficult.

Finally, once the media duties were done, you both headed home, the car ride filled with a comfortable silence that allowed you to gather your thoughts, even as you felt the weight of your fatigue pressing down on you.

Once you arrived home, the first thing you did was rush to the bathroom to grab the thermometer. You needed to know just how bad it was. As you waited for the reading, you felt a mix of anxiety and relief when it showed a high temperature, but thankfully, it wasn’t high enough to warrant a trip to the hospital.

You decided to keep this information to yourself, not wanting to distract Max from his focus on the qualifying race tomorrow.

Just as you were trying to shake off the worry, you heard his voice call out from the kitchen, "Schatje! I made you some food!" The smell wafting through the air was enticing, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to eat.

"Umm, Max, I don’t feel hungry," you replied, hoping he wouldn’t press the issue.

He appeared in the doorway, concern etched on his face. "But you hardly ate anything today. Are you okay?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

"I’m fine, really," you insisted, forcing a smile. "Just a bit tired from all the excitement today. I think I just need some rest."

You hoped he would accept your answer and let it go, but the worry in his eyes told you he wasn’t convinced.

"Are you sure?" he pressed, stepping closer and reaching out to touch your forehead. "You’re a bit warm. Maybe you should see a doctor."

You shook your head gently, trying to reassure him. "It’s nothing serious, Max. Probably just a minor bug. I’ll be alright after a good night’s sleep. You need to focus on tomorrow’s race; I’ll be cheering you on from bed if I have to."

Max sighed but didn’t push further. "Alright, but promise me you'll let me know if it gets worse," he said, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded, appreciating his worry but not wanting to add to his stress. "I promise," you replied softly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

He lingered for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge your honesty. Finally, he seemed to accept your words and gave a small nod.

"I'll leave the food here in case you change your mind," he said, placing the plate on the table next to you. "And if you need anything, just call for me, okay?"

You watched him return to the kitchen, feeling a pang of guilt for not being entirely truthful about your condition. As much as you wanted to be strong for him, the fatigue was overwhelming.

You settled into bed, pulling the covers around you tightly, hoping that sleep would come quickly and wash away the day's worries. . . .

Saturday dawned with an unwelcome chill that seeped into your bones, leaving you shivering under the covers. As you reluctantly peeled back the sheets, a wave of discomfort washed over you, manifesting as a relentless headache and muscle aches that felt like a freight train had run over you.

The loss of appetite was particularly disheartening; the thought of food made your stomach churn, and irritability simmered just beneath the surface.

You could feel the weight of the day pressing down on you, and it took every ounce of persuasion to convince Max that you should accompany him to the paddock.

“I promise I’ll be fine,” you insisted, forcing a smile as you pushed through the nausea that threatened to overwhelm you.

Even the breakfast he prepared, which usually brought you joy, felt like a monumental task, but you managed to eat a few bites without revealing the turmoil inside.

After a long internal debate, you settled on a cozy outfit that would keep you warm despite the chill in the air. You slipped into a thick, oversized sweater that enveloped you like a comforting hug, its soft fabric soothing against your skin.

Paired with snug leggings and your favorite pair of fuzzy socks, you felt a little more at ease, even if the discomfort lingered. To top it off, you wrapped a stylish scarf around your neck, its vibrant colors a stark contrast to your pallor.

As you walked into the paddock alongside Max, you made a conscious effort to maintain a cheerful demeanor, your smile brightening your face even as your body protested.

“You look great today,” Max said, glancing at you with a mix of concern and admiration. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” You nodded, determined to keep the façade intact.

Just before Max climbed into his car for qualifying, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, a moment of warmth that momentarily distracted you from your discomfort.

“Good luck out there! I know you’ll do amazing,” you encouraged, your voice steady despite the turmoil brewing inside.

As he smiled back, a flicker of pride in his eyes, you felt a rush of affection for him. But as soon as he drove off, the reality of your condition hit hard.

You rushed to the nearest bathroom, the world around you blurring as you barely made it in time to throw up.

“Why today of all days?” you muttered to yourself, feeling defeated. The vibrant atmosphere of the paddock faded into the background.

The thought of Max finding out gnawed at you as you leaned against the cool tile wall for support. You knew he would be worried sick, probably insisting you see a doctor immediately and potentially even jeopardizing his focus for the race.

The last thing you wanted was to be the cause of any distraction or stress for him on such an important day.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to regain composure. "I can handle this," you whispered, splashing cold water on your face and rinsing your mouth.

You stared at your reflection, determined not to let this moment define the day. After tidying yourself up, you smoothed down your sweater and adjusted your scarf, hoping to erase any signs of your recent struggle.

With a final, resolute nod, you stepped out of the bathroom, the bustling noise of the paddock washing over you once more.

As you made your way to meet the girls, you plastered a smile on your face, determined to keep the mood light and positive.

They greeted you with enthusiasm, their energy a welcome distraction from your internal battle. You joined their lively conversation, laughing at their jokes and sharing in their excitement for the event.

Though the discomfort lingered, you felt a renewed sense of resolve; you were determined to be strong for Max and for yourself, no matter what.

You kept yourself busy and distracted until Max was finished with his racing duties by immersing yourself in the various activities around the paddock.

You visited the merchandise stalls, chatted with other fans, and even took some time to explore the behind-the-scenes areas.

Every now and then, you would check your phone for updates on Max's progress, your heart racing with each notification.

When the race finally ended, you made your way to the team's garage, your nerves a mix of excitement and lingering unease.

Max emerged, covered in sweat but grinning from ear to ear, his performance clearly a success. You rushed to congratulate him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace.

"You were incredible out there!" you exclaimed, pushing aside your own discomfort for the moment.

Max, full of adrenaline and joy, kissed you deeply and whispered, "Couldn't have done it without you."

His words melted your heart, and for a moment, the world around you faded away. "I was so worried," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But seeing you out there, giving it your all, it reminded me why we do this. It’s all worth it."

Max pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes with a seriousness that belied his earlier joy.

"I know it’s tough, but having you here means everything to me. You’re my rock, and knowing you’re cheering me on gives me the strength to push harder."

"Thanks, Max," you smiled, kissing him again. "But promise me you'll always be careful out there. I worry about you more than you know."

Max nodded, his expression softening. "I promise. Your support means the world to me, and I don’t want to ever let you down. Just knowing you're here, it keeps me grounded and focused."

Max finished quickly enough with his media duties, and soon the two of you were heading home. The drive was quiet but comfortable, each of you lost in your thoughts.

The adrenaline from the race still buzzed in Max's veins, while you reflected on the whirlwind of emotions you had experienced throughout the day.

As the city lights blurred past the car windows, you reached over and squeezed Max’s hand, silently conveying your support and love.

Once you arrived home, the exhaustion from the day's events began to set in. Max headed for a quick shower while you prepared a light dinner, the comforting routine of home life easing the lingering tension.

Sitting down to eat, you both shared the highlights of the day, laughing about the little moments that stood out.

Despite the challenges, you felt a sense of contentment, knowing that you could face anything as long as you were together.

But amidst the laughter and conversation, you couldn't ignore the dull, persistent pain in your head. It had been creeping up on you throughout the day, but you'd pushed it aside, focusing on Max and his triumph.

Now, in the quiet of your home, it was harder to ignore. You rubbed your temples, trying to alleviate the discomfort without drawing attention to it.

Max noticed your subtle wince and reached across the table, concern etched on his face. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

You forced a smile and nodded, not wanting to dampen his spirits. "Just a headache," you replied, hoping it would pass soon. Max squeezed your hand reassuringly.

"Why don't you rest? I'll take care of everything tonight," he suggested.

Grateful for his understanding, you agreed, hoping that a good night's sleep would finally chase away the pain. . . .

Sunday dawned with a heavy sense of malaise, the worst of the four days you had been feeling under the weather. Despite the fatigue weighing down your limbs and the persistent ache in your head, the allure of the Grand Prix was too strong to resist.

You were determined to be there, to stand by Max’s side as he raced, cheering him on with every ounce of energy you could muster.

The sun peeked through the clouds, casting a warm glow that made you feel slightly better, prompting you to choose a light outfit that would keep you comfortable throughout the day.

You slipped into a breezy white sundress that danced around your knees, paired with a denim jacket that added a touch of casual flair. The outfit was completed with your favorite sneakers, perfect for navigating the bustling paddock.

As you and Max prepared for the day ahead, you could sense his concern. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked, his brow furrowed with worry.

You flashed him a reassuring smile, determined to mask your discomfort. “I’m fine, really! Just a little tired. I think I’ll grab something to eat in the hospitality room later,” you replied, hoping to deflect his attention.

The truth was, you had no intention of eating; the thought of food made your stomach churn. You just wanted to be there for him, to soak in the atmosphere and support him as he took on the challenges of the race.

Max nodded, though you could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Alright, but if you need anything, just let me know,” he said, his voice laced with concern.

With a quick kiss on his cheek, you left Max to focus on the data and the car, knowing he needed to concentrate.

As you wandered through the paddock, the excitement of the day began to lift your spirits. The sounds of engines revving and the chatter of the team filled the air, creating an electric atmosphere that was hard to resist.

You spotted a few familiar faces and exchanged greetings, all while keeping your energy up with the adrenaline of the event.

Even though you were battling your own discomfort, the thrill of the Grand Prix and the chance to support Max made it all worthwhile. You were determined to be his biggest cheerleader, no matter how you felt inside.

You leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips, wishing him all the luck in the world before he sped off to the starting line. The roar of engines and the cheers of the crowd filled the air, but your mind was elsewhere, tangled in a web of anxiety and pain.

You decided to immerse yourself in the excitement of the race, hoping that the adrenaline of the event would distract you from the turmoil brewing inside.

"Just focus on the race," you whispered to yourself, trying to drown out the nagging thoughts that threatened to overwhelm you.

As the laps dwindled down and the finish line approached, you could feel the weight of your discomfort intensifying. The vibrant atmosphere that once thrilled you now felt suffocating, and the cheers of the crowd morphed into a cacophony that only heightened your unease.

"I can't do this," you muttered under your breath, glancing around at the sea of faces, all caught up in the excitement.

With a heavy heart, you made the decision to escape the throng of spectators and seek solace in Max's driver’s room. The thought of being alone with your thoughts was daunting, but the idea of staying in the crowd felt unbearable.

As you navigated through the bustling crowd, a wave of dizziness washed over you, and the world around you began to spin.

You stumbled slightly, clutching your head as you fought to maintain your balance. "I need to sit down," you gasped, feeling lightheaded and weak.

In a moment of desperation, you pulled out your phone and quickly typed a message to a friend who could help.

Help me please

You sent, your fingers trembling as you pressed send.

Just as you turned to make your way to safety, the room tilted dangerously, and you felt yourself slipping into darkness, the last thing you heard was the distant roar of the crowd fading away. . . .

Alexandra was caught up in the excitement of the race, her heart swelling with pride as she cheered for her boyfriend, who had just crossed the finish line in a commendable second place.

The crowd erupted in applause, but amidst the celebration, she finally glanced at her phone, her heart dropping as she read your urgent message.

"Oh no, what happened?" she muttered under her breath, her eyes darting through the throng of spectators. She quickly navigated her way through the sea of bodies, her heart racing not just from the thrill of the race but from the growing concern for you.

As she checked the map on her phone, she cursed herself for not being more attentive. "Ten minutes ago? Why didn’t I check sooner?" she thought, panic rising in her chest.

The message had been clear, a cry for help that she had missed in the excitement of the moment.

She also knew that your boyfriend wasn't going to take the news lightly, winning today's grand prix or not. He had always been fiercely protective of you, and knowing that you were in distress would undoubtedly overshadow his hard-earned victory.

Alexandra quickened her pace, anxiety gnawing at her as she hoped to find you safe and sound. The celebration, the cheers, and the victory now seemed like distant echoes compared to the urgency of locating you.

Racing through the crowd, she could almost feel the weight of your boyfriend’s impending reaction.

She knew he’d drop everything to be by your side, and the thought of seeing his worried face spurred her on even more.

As she approached the driver's room, her heart pounded in her chest, both from the exertion and the fear of what she might find. "Please be okay," she whispered to herself, pushing open the door and scanning the room frantically. . . .

Max, meanwhile, was reveling in his recent triumph, completing laps around the track with a sense of elation that only victory could bring. The cheers of the crowd echoed in his ears, but that joy was abruptly interrupted by a crackling voice over the radio.

"Max, I hate to break your celebration, but we have a situation with Y/N," the voice said, laced with concern. Max's heart raced as he slowed his pace, his mind racing with worry.

"What’s going on?" he asked, his brow furrowing as he made his way toward the podium, where the top three racers were set to be honored.

The thought of anything happening to you sent a chill down his spine, and he could feel the adrenaline shifting from the thrill of victory to a deep-seated anxiety.

"Someone will be waiting to take you to the infirmary as soon as you get out of the car," the voice continued, and Max's stomach dropped.

"Infirmary? What do you mean? Is Y/N okay?" he pressed, urgency lacing his tone.

The radio crackled again, but all he could think about was you, hoping you were alright. As he reached the podium, the cheers of the crowd faded into the background, replaced by a singular focus on getting to you as quickly as possible.

The celebration felt distant now; all that mattered was ensuring your safety.

He could barely hear the announcer calling his name, the accolades and applause blurring into a haze as he focused solely on getting to you as quickly as possible.

The moment he brought the car to a halt, a sense of urgency surged through him. He dashed toward the infirmary, his familiarity with the winding corridors and the scent of antiseptic guiding his hurried steps.

Today was supposed to be a day of celebration, a podium ceremony that he had anticipated for days but instead, his heart raced with concern for you.

He never imagined that he would find himself rushing to the infirmary under such distressing circumstances, especially not because of you.

As he pushed open the door, the sight that greeted him was both alarming and heart-wrenching. There you were, sitting on the edge of a hospital bed, looking pale and disoriented, an ice pack pressed against your forehead.

Alexandra was by your side, her grip firm around your hand, her expression a mix of worry and relief. The moment their eyes met, Alexandra's face lit up with a glimmer of hope.

"Thank goodness you're here!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling slightly.

"Has the podium ceremony ended?" she asked, her concern for you momentarily overshadowing the event they had both been looking forward to.

He shook his head, his focus solely on you. "That doesn't matter right now. What happened?" he pressed, his voice steady but laced with urgency.

Alexandra took a deep breath, her eyes darting between him and you. "She was unconscious when I found her in your driver's room," she explained, her voice barely above a whisper.

The weight of her words hung in the air, and he felt a knot tighten in his stomach. "Unconscious? How long was she out?" he asked, his heart racing as he moved closer to you, desperate to see you recover.

Alexandra's eyes filled with concern as she replied, "Around 15 minutes, but it felt like an eternity."

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, determined to be there for you in this moment of vulnerability.

The doctor leaned against the doorframe, his expression serious as he relayed the news.

"She collapsed earlier today, and the primary reason appears to be a high fever. Did you notice any symptoms before this happened?" he inquired, his gaze shifting to him with an intensity that made him squirm.

"No, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. The weight of guilt settled heavily on his shoulders, a suffocating reminder of the moments he had overlooked.

He replayed the last few days in his mind, recalling how you had seemed a bit off during their meals together. He should have insisted you see a doctor, should have been more vigilant, but instead, he had brushed it off, thinking it was just fatigue.

"Max?" The soft voice broke through his thoughts, and he looked up to see your eyes fluttering open.

Relief washed over him, but it was quickly overshadowed by the nagging feeling of regret. "I didn’t realize you were awake," he admitted, his heart racing as he took in your pale complexion.

You offered a weak smile, but it did little to ease the turmoil inside him.

Just then, Alexandra stood up from her seat, her presence a welcome distraction. "I’ll go inform the team about your condition," she said, her tone warm.

"Thanks, Alex," he replied, his eyes still fixed on you, unwilling to look away even for a moment. He wanted to be there for you, to make sure you knew you weren't alone in this.

As Alexandra stepped out, the silence in the room felt heavy, punctuated only by the soft beeping of the machines around them. He leaned closer, his voice low and filled with concern.

"You scared me back there. I should have noticed something was wrong," he confessed, his heart aching with the weight of his unspoken fears.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand, a small gesture that spoke volumes.

"It’s okay, Max. I didn’t realize it either," you reassured him, your voice soft but steady.

He could see the strength in your eyes, a flicker of resilience that made him admire you even more.

In that moment, he vowed to never let his guard down again, to always be attentive to the signs, no matter how subtle they might be.

"Did you win?" you inquired, your curiosity evident in your tone.

Max's face lit up with a grin as he replied, "Absolutely, schatje, I won just for you."

Your gaze drifted down to his chest, where you noticed the absence of a medal that should have been proudly displayed.

A sense of unease crept in as you asked, "You didn’t attend the medal ceremony, did you?" The moment the words left your lips, you could see the color drain from his face, and beads of sweat began to form on his brow.

"You were far too important to me! I had to find out why you were in the infirmary," Max stammered, his voice tinged with a mix of anxiety and determination. You could tell he was trying to justify his decision, but the weight of his choice hung heavily in the air.

"Max, you realize you could face a fine for skipping out on the ceremony, right?" you pressed, your concern for him mingling with frustration.

He shook his head defiantly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "I don’t care about that! Knowing you’re okay is worth more than any medal or ceremony," he declared, his stubbornness shining through.

You let out a sigh, a blend of exasperation and affection swirling within you. "You really need to take care of yourself too, you know," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max stepped closer, his expression softening as he reached out to take your hand.

"I promise, I’ll make it up to you. Just seeing you here, safe and sound, is the only victory I need," he replied earnestly.

The warmth of his grip enveloped you, and in that moment, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you and the unspoken bond that tied your hearts together.

"You mean everything to me; I’d choose you every time," he murmured, and at that moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the bond forged through both sacrifice and a shared understanding.

As the tension in the room began to ease, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his. The connection sparked something deeper, and without thinking, you leaned in and shared a soft kiss.

It was a moment that transcended the worries of the world outside, a promise that you were both in this together.

"I am kind of glad you came," you whispered against his lips, feeling the warmth of his presence envelop you.

Max smiled, his expression softening as he replied, "I’ll always be here for you, no matter what."

As the moment hung in the air, you felt the warmth of Max's lips against yours, a spark igniting between you. He leaned in closer, his hands exploring the contours of your body, sending shivers down your spine.

The kiss deepened, becoming more passionate, as if the world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you in this intimate bubble.

It was a moment that felt both exhilarating and electric, a perfect blend of desire and connection that made your heart race.

Suddenly, the reality of the situation broke through the haze of your emotions. You pulled back slightly, a playful smile dancing on your lips as you looked into Max's eyes.

"Alright, enough of that! You need to go get your trophy, or else you might end up starting something you can't stop!" you teased, giving him a gentle push away.

The playful banter was a familiar rhythm between you, a dance of flirtation that always left you both wanting more.

Max chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he took a step back, clearly reluctant to leave the moment behind.

"See you after, schatje!" he called out, a wide grin spreading across his face as he made his way to the door. The way he said your name sent a thrill through you, and you couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement at the thought of what was to come.

As he opened the door, you watched him go, your heart still racing from the kiss.

You knew that this was just the beginning of an adventure that would unfold in the hours to come, filled with laughter, challenges, and perhaps even more stolen moments like the one you just shared. . . .

[daycourtofficial]

All’s well that ends well to end up with you

Pairing: Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader | WC: 1.5k | warnings: none

Summary: fears and doubts cause you and Eris to do your first irrational act together: a secret mating bond ceremony

Author’s note: happy Eris Week to all who celebrate and to @erisweekofficial for all their work!! I gotta start with my roots and my first post has to be gingerfucker!! I have to give the people what they know me for!! This can be read as a stand alone tho 🫶🏻

You breathed deeply, the chimes of the clock tower drowning out any other noise. Eris stood before you, an immaculate jacket of deep red adorning his chest. He wore a black dress shirt beneath, embroidered with the phases of the moon around the collar. His jacket was a rich velvet, gold thread woven throughout.

It was the perfect way to symbolize your unity. You were not sure who made such a garment, unsure if black fabric was even allowed in the Autumn Court.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to care when his soft amber eyes look down at you as he held out his arm for you.

The two of you were in the Day Court under the cover of darkness, a secret mating ceremony. It was truly quite romantic, a tale you hoped to share whenever it’s safe for you to do so.

You had come to visit Helion a month prior for negotiations on behalf of Rhysand. You had asked to come in Rhys’s stead because 1) you also had wanted to peruse the libraries and 2) you were hoping to negotiate a pegasus from Helion.

At least, those were the reasons you gave your brother.

The end of Amarantha’s reign had allowed you to finally see your mate for the first time in five decades, having slipped away to a spot in the woods after Rhys’s return to wait in hopes of just a glimpse of him.

You had waited impatiently, certain that the nerves and anxiety were rolling off you in waves for any nearby wildlife to intercept. It felt incredible to see him again, your face tucked beneath his chin as he held you close to him, his scent burning itself into your memory once more.

His first words to you following your separation were a desperate plea for a ceremony, his pleas soft as he clutched you tightly to his chest.

You knew it was too risky to do it in either of your home courts. Spring was an obvious no, Winter and Dawn were quite risky, leaving Summer and Day as your only real options.

You were quite fond of Helion, and you were sure you could convince him to allow the two of you passage into his court for a few hours.

After he listened to your pleas, he agreed to allow the two of you access to one of his temples for a few hours.

“Not all of us can see so well in the moonlight,” he had told you, letting you know the location of the most beautiful temple in his court. “Only one priestess roams the halls on Tuesday nights. She is quite fond of performing such ceremonies.”

His words were no embellishment. The temple before you was massive and stunningly beautiful. The high arched ceilings with suns painted everywhere almost glowed against the blue backdrop behind them.

You wondered how it looked during the day.

Eris looked down as you hooked your arm into his. You had accepted the bond decades ago, but the two of you wanted to go through with the ceremony. To ensure that no matter what happened to two of you moving forward, whatever happened to your courts, your people, your homes, there was some record with this date and your names on it. Some written record for future generations to find eons later, when the lands look nothing like they do now and the people live lives that resemble nothing like your own.

When the common tongue is gone, replaced with some newer language you couldn’t begin to understand. Your names would live forever within the pages of this temple, tucked away in their recorded archives: the prince of the Autumn Court and the princess of the Night Court, bound together by fate and by their own wishes.

The flickering light from the candles made Eris’s freckles dance across his face.

The lord led you down the long aisle, your arm nestled into his elbow. The two of you moved in tandem, your long skirts kissing the ground as you went, the black fabric turning red as it moved down your body until it looked as if you walked in the flames.

The priestess nodded at the two of you as you approached the altar, your dress’s slight train cascading down the steps behind you. You turned to Eris, his hands outstretched in invitation, pleading for yours to rest atop them. His hands were warm against yours, the familiar heat calming your nerves.

The priestess before you wore all white, a long flowing gown cinched at the waist. It looked nothing like what Helion wore - instead of long, flowing fabrics, the priestess wore a long, tight-fitted dress, long bell shaped sleeves adorning her arms. A white hood covered her dark black hair, and dark hands adorned with gold rings peaked out from her sleeves.

The priestess lit the candles around the altar as you two looked into each other’s eyes, every emotion strumming through the bond between you two, a song you swore you could hear humming through the air and your chest.

She approached the two of you, a golden silk ribbon in her hands. You moved your right hand into his right hand, and he gently scraped his index finger against his palm. She began chanting, wrapping the soft silk around your forearms. She connected the two joined hands, and you squeezed Eris’s palm, offering a soft smile that he returned.

He was captivating in the night, a fire that kept you warm long through a treacherous night.

Her chanting paused as she looked at you, her low voice telling you, “if you wish to exchange any personal vows, now is the time.”

You took a deep breath, turning back to Eris.

Your mate looked back at you, and any nerves you had dissipated as you started speaking, the words coming from your lips as you gazed into his amber eyes.

“I’m not sure if we were ever two separate things, but if we were, if we are, the edges of you and I have been blurring since I met you, our definitions becoming hazier. I am officially laying claim that there is no longer any part of me that hasn’t been invaded by you.

“I have prayed for you in bonfires, in the dying hearths of my childhood. I always viewed fire as a sacred thing, always offering it something so it can continue to burn before me. Perhaps I was just learning how to stoke the flames, or maybe I knew that worshiping the flame would lead me to you.”

His hand squeezed your own, the ribbon not feeling tight enough to truly blend the two of you together.

His eyes shone in the candlelight, his beauty intensified in the flame as if it knew he was kin.

“I have gone by many names. Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn throne, prick, eldest, …. All of those names pale in comparison to the first time you called me ‘mate’.

“That awful playwright who you adore so much put into one of his plays, “What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.” And yet, he never knew what it felt like to be called ‘yours’, what it feels like when you gaze at me so softly, to see the words ‘mine, mine, mine’ swimming in your irises.

“I do not know where my promises can lie, what I am truly capable of. I do not wish to commit to false promises. Our foundation has always been on feeble ground, and I do not wish to build a mateship on such poor foundations.

“I promise to do my very best for you, every day, every minute, for the rest of my life. I promise that every decision I will make will include you as a factor. As the factor. My life is complicated, as you are aware, but you are not complicated. You never have been. My chest yearns for you, at all times. You have always offered me the peace of familiarity.“

You surged forward, capturing his lips in a kiss before pulling back quickly.

“Er, I don’t care about my name, or my title. None of it compares to being called your mate.”

The priestess looked at you two, probably waiting to see if you would pounce on him right here. Maybe that was how they held these ceremonies in Day. You were sure Helion wouldn’t mind.

“You are bound together, from here for eternity, in perfect union. May the Mother bless you both with endless love and patience for each other.”

The air had a certain crispness to it at her words, the bond humming in your chest with satisfaction, satisfying a yearning that hadn’t let up for centuries.

Nobody could deny either of you the sanctity of your bond anymore.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Eris taglist: @magicstrengthandcourage @panther-girl-124

Thanks for reading ❣️

[pucksandpower]

Never Have I Ever

Charles Leclerc x Sainz!Reader

Summary: a game of Never Have I Ever leads to revelations your brother wishes he could forget (and half the grid running for their lives)

“Alright Y/N, it’s your turn!” Lando says, turning to you with an impish grin. “Give us a good one!”

You bite your lip, looking around the circle of F1 drivers sitting cross-legged on the floor of Charles’ palatial hotel suite. It’s a rare night off for everyone during the season, and Charles had suggested a casual get-together for some bonding time. That, of course, led to drinking games, and now here you all are, a few rounds into Never Have I Ever.

“Hmm...” you say slowly, tapping your chin as you think. Your brother, sitting to your left, playfully shoves your shoulder.

“Come on, hermanita! Don’t go easy on us,” he says with a laugh. You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling.

“Okay, okay! Never have I ever … raced in Formula 1,” you declare. A chorus of groans goes up around the circle as everyone except you drinks.

“That was just mean, Y/N!” Lance protests, though his eyes are twinkling with amusement. You grin and give a nonchalant shrug.

“All’s fair in Never Have I Ever!”

The game continues, the questions getting more and more outrageous and personal. Though you’re the only non-driver here, you feel completely comfortable around these guys. You’ve known most of them for years now through your brother, and they welcomed you into the F1 family immediately. It’s fun to sit back and observe their antics and camaraderie.

“Alright, I’ve got one,” Daniel says, leaning forward with an devilish smirk. “Never have I ever … slept with someone on the grid.”

You feel your eyes widen slightly at the implication, but force yourself not to react. Still, you can’t help but notice Fernando slyly taking a sip of his drink out of the corner of your eye. The rest of the drivers turn to look at him in surprise.

“What?” Fernando says with an innocent look. “Have you seen Mark Webber?”

The others burst into laughter at this excuse, the tension effectively diffused. As all eyes stay focused on Fernando, you slowly lift your own glass to your lips and take a subtle sip.

Just as you’re lowering it though, you feel Carlos stiffen next to you. Uh oh. You chance a glance at your brother and immediately regret it at the sight of the shock and anger flashing in his eyes. Before you can say anything, Carlos is on his feet.

“Alright, which one of you was stupid enough to touch my sister?” He demands heatedly.

Instantly, almost comically, Charles, Max, Lando, Pierre, Alex, Oscar, and Logan scramble to their feet and take off running in different directions.

Carlos’ eyes nearly bug out of his head before he takes off after them, yelling Spanish profanities. You sit there stunned for a second before dissolving into laughter. Only Fernando and Daniel remain seated beside you, chuckling and shaking their heads.

“Carlos! Hermano, calm down!” You call after your brother fruitlessly. Still giggling, you turn to Fernando. “I should probably go deal with him before he actually hurts someone, huh?”

“Probably wise,” Fernando says with an amused smile. “Good luck, chica.”

You give him a grateful smile before jumping to your feet and hurrying after Carlos. You find him in the next room, gripping a cowering Lando by the front of his shirt.

“Please don’t kill me!” Lando squeaks out. “It was one time!”

“Carlos, stop!” You cry, rushing over and grabbing your brother’s arm. “Let him go!”

Carlos drops Lando immediately, who scurries away like a frightened mouse. Your brother whirls on you, face still red with anger.

“Y/N, what the hell? You never told me you’ve been with these pendejos!”

You hold up your hands in a calming gesture. “I know, I’m sorry! It just sort of … happened. With everything going on in the paddock, it’s hard to avoid getting close to people. A girl has needs!”

Carlos drags a hand down his face, looking positively murderous. You place a gentle hand on his arm.

“Carlos, listen to me. I’m a grown woman, I can make my own choices. I know you want to protect me, but I’m okay, I promise.”

Your brother’s expression softens slightly as he looks down at you. He pulls you into a tight hug.

“Lo siento, hermanita. I just worry about you, that’s all. The grid is like a family, but still ...”

You hug him back reassuringly. “I know. But you don’t need to go all Spanish Inquisition on them, okay? I can handle myself.”

Carlos sighs but finally relents with a small smile. “Okay, okay. I’ll try to restrain myself from beating them all senseless.”

You laugh. “Much appreciated. Now come on, let’s get back out there and pretend this never happened, yeah?”

Carlos winces slightly but agrees, allowing you to lead him back out to the others. Most have returned to the circle now, shooting your brother wary glances. You give them a reassuring smile as you sit back down, Carlos settling tensely beside you.

“Right!” You say brightly. “Whose turn was it?”

There’s a beat of uncertain silence before Logan clears his throat.

“Uh, I believe it was mine,” he says. “Never have I ever … had a podium finish.”

There’s a communal exhale of relief as the game gets back underway. You catch Carlos’ eye and give him a pointed look, reminding him of his promise. He sighs but gives you a subtle nod and an apologetic smile.

The questions continue on, ranging from silly to risqué, though nothing quite as explosive as before. You’re relieved to see your brother laughing and back to his normal self.

As the night winds down, you’re struck by a feeling of gratitude and affection for this group. Despite the drama and tensions of the season, at the end of the day, you’re all a family.

These guys welcomed you with open arms, and you know Carlos is just looking out for you. You lean against your brother with a contented sigh, smiling around at the drivers joking and chatting happily. No matter what happens on and off the track, you know you’ll always have each other.

***

“Alright everyone, glasses up! We’re doing this again!”

You grin around at the drivers gathered once more, this time to celebrate the one year anniversary of your first Never Have I Ever night together.

“Who’s starting us off this time?” Lando asks, bouncing excitedly in his seat.

“Ooh me, me!” Alex volunteers, raising his hand eagerly. Everyone chuckles.

“Alright Albon, give us a good one,” Lewis encourages.

Alex strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, never have I ever … raced in F1 before 2019.”

A majority of the group drinks at that one. “Trying to knock out us old farts, eh?” Fernando jokes, elbowing Alex.

The questions continue on, each one prompting laughs and cheers among the group. You’re filled with the same warm contentment as last year, smiling around at your dear friends.

About halfway through, you clear your throat. “I’ve got one! Never have I ever … been an uncle.”

Most of the drivers take a drink between smiles and coos about nieces and nephews. You notice Carlos doesn’t drink and turn to him with a playful grin.

“Uh, hermano, I think you forgot to drink for that one,” you say pointedly.

Carlos looks at you in confusion. “What? None of my sisters have kids.”

You simply keep staring at him meaningfully until realization dawns on his face. His eyes go wide, flicking down to your still-full glass of untouched alcohol.

“Y/N … are you ...” he breathes in disbelief.

You nod again. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment Carlos just stares at you in shock. Then his face starts turning red, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“You’re pregnant?” He repeats through gritted teeth. The other drivers fall silent, exchanging uneasy glances.

“Who did this to you? Who’s the cabrón who touched my sister again?” Carlos demands, voice rising.

You shrink back slightly, smile fading. Maybe you should have told him privately.

“I … Carlos, please, just calm down,” you say weakly.

But your brother is beyond calming down now. He whips his head around the circle, glaring daggers at each driver.

“Who was it? Who permanently defiled my innocent baby sister?”

You open your mouth uncertainly, not quite sure how to answer. Before you can though, Charles abruptly jumps to his feet.

“WellwouldyalookatthetimeIgottagonowbye!” He blurts out hurriedly before turning and sprinting from the room.

“LECLERC!” Carlos bellows, tearing off after him. You can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of you at the sight. Some things never change.

The other drivers are cracking up too. “Think we should go make sure Carlos doesn’t actually kill him?” Lando asks with a grin.

You wave a hand dismissively. “Nah, let them work it out. Charles will tire him out eventually.”

Still chuckling, you lean back against the couch next to Fernando, who has an arm draped casually around your shoulders.

“Those two, I swear. Will Carlos ever stop seeing me as his baby sister?” You muse with a smile.

Fernando grins and shakes his head. “Doubtful, chica. But that’s how brothers are. He’s just watching out for you.”

From the other room, you hear a crash followed by yelling in multiple languages. You and Fernando share an amused look.

“At least he didn’t try to fight the whole grid again,” you point out. Fernando barks out a laugh at the memory.

“Give him time. The night is still young,” he says with a playful wink.

You laugh again, cuddling into Fernando’s side. Even with your brother’s antics, you truly feel so lucky to have this group in your life. Friends turned family.

As you hear Carlos’ angry shouts getting closer, followed by Charles’ panicked apologizing, you think to yourself that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Have you considered Danny going to Gotham for some reason or other (maybe after a reveal his parents decide to take a family vacation to bond with him), and meeting Duke.

They end up becoming friends/ crush, but Jason being undead senses something is off about him and ominous stalks them every time they do something together.

It's like that one image of the dude proposing and the dad with the sign that says SAY NO

Duke grins when Danny comes racing into the cafe, nearly tumbling into an old lady who is exiting. He does the same panic look around that he always does when he is tardy before spotting the table Duke put aside for them.

He scrambles to their table, looking frazzled and dripping wet from the rain. Duke feels his heart flutter as Danny slumps into his seat. "Duke, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be late,"

"It's alright, Danny. You know I don't mind, how late you are. In fact you were only ten minutes late this time. It's your best time yet." Duke tells him while pushing a large Chai latte and a chocolate croissant.

Danny winces, shaking the water out of his hair. He unknowingly resembles a wet dog, but it's terribly endaring to him. "I'm so sorry. I swear it won't happen again."

"It's okay. I really don't mind" Duke assures, leaning on his hand as the other starts to nibble on his treat. He can feel his smile soften at the way Danny hums in satisfaction. "Rain caught you by suprise again?"

"Yes! I checked the weather four times this time, but it still rained!" Danny harps, pulling at his white shirt that clung to him due to the water. Duke glances down, feeling his ears burn at the slight see-through effect the water is having. "What's the point of a weather app if it never works?!"

Coughing, he hastily removes his jacket. offering it. Duke is glad he's wearing his signature yellow leather jacket, as it would be the perfect size for his friend.

He is taller and broader than Danny, but that didn't mean the other was small. He has personally seen Danny's muscular runners built, and that wasn't a night of discovery, then nothing was.

Before then, Danny had hidden his impressive physic with baggy clothes that belied the strength hidden underneath. He hadn't even meant to show it off.

Duke had been the fool who invited his new school friend to use the Wayne indoor pool and had ended up having his whole life changed. Thank goodness Danny had been so preoccupied with his siblings to notice Duke's gay panic in the deep end of the pool.

The only down side to that night- besides having a gay panic while Danny slept in the guest room- was Jason immediately clocking Danny as "bad vibe".

The Second eldest Wayne couldn't explain why Danny made him uneasy, just that he did, and he wanted Duke to stay far away from him.

As if he had any control over what Duke did.

Duke smiles, trying to keep his eyes on his friends face. He would not gawk at Danny abs. He wouldn't. "Yeah, everyone knows not to trust the weather forcast in Gotham. We figure it out by the feeling in our knees"

"Of course you do." Danny sighs, accepting the offered jacket with a crocked smile. His accent slips through his words, causing shivers to run down his spine. "I swear every day I question why I came to this city."

"Cheap rent?" Duke offers, watching Danny zip up and another flutter of his heart tells him how good Danny looks in his jacket.

"Oh yeah, it totally balances out the mugging attempts, insane villains, and sunless sky," Danny harps. He takes a sip of his coffee with a small hum. "Just the way I like it. Thanks, Duke. How much do I owe you"

"Nothing." Duke says, flushing red at Danny's raised brow. He has to swing his gaze away from those ocean eyes before he does something stupid like try to hold Danny's hand "It's on me"

Danny makes a noise in the back fo his throat. "I can't possibly let you pay for me again. How much?"

Duke opens his mouth to answer when he catches movement in the large window right behind Danny. It's Jason, dressed in a black leather jacket next to his motorcycle and holding a sign above his head.

On it, reads the message: Don't date him Duke. He has bad vibes.

The meta feels his fingers curl up on the table, scrapping the wood. He grinds his teeth as Jason very obviously waves the sign. Around him, people are throwing glances, but his brother doesn't seem to care.

Danny is saying something, but he's too busy glaring at Jason to pay attention to what it is. That's until Danny notices he isn't listening, and tries to glance over his shoulder.

"What is it?"

Duke flings himself across the table, grabbing Danny's hand and yanking him forward. He can't let his friend know he has feelings for him!

He panics when he realizes how crazy he must seem, so he blurts out. "My ex just walked in. Please don't look!"

"Oh" Danny nods settling back down. "Hate when that happens. Do you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?"

What.

"Um, why?"

"Make her jealous....or him?" Danny says casually. So casual that Duke suspects he is not as nonchalant as he attempting to be.

His heart soars "Yeah um if you would"

Danny smiles, a red hue appearing on his face, and Duke feels his stomach drop down to his feet. It's not an unpleasant feeling.

Danny laces their fingers together on the table top, and Jason snaps the sign on his knee. Duke discreetly shoots him the finger as he stares into Danny eyes adoringly.

Maybe Jason's meddling paid off after all.

[mcondance]

come close; hobie brown

getting high and talking about anarchy with some old 90's shit playing is a crazy way to fall for someone. but it happens.

pairing hobie brown x Black!afab!fem! reader

contents lots of weed, different terms for weed (mary jane, cess), talks of killing politicians (y’all r both anarchists so.), masturbation (both you and hobie), making out, fingering, riding, missionary, mating press, creampie, unprotected sex (they're horny man dwbi), dirty talk, cervix kissing, lotsssss of praise, porn with plot (sorry i love plot 🙏🏾)

words 4.7k.. back on my longer fic shit!

warnings reader wears lipgloss, barely proofread so if you see any mistakes pls shoot me an ask!, umm i use the n word once!, i’m also,, not that great at writing his voice yet so.. hope it’s at least sorta accurate :3

extras the form i wrote this in is kinda,, unique igs but it flows rlly well i feel.

song shoutouts special thanks to lipstick lover by janelle monae, come close by common and mary j. blige, and green eyes by erykah badu!

signing off happy father’s day to hobie 🫶🏾

—

not quite plug!hobie, but hobie who always has weed, who you smoke with the first time you buy from him.

you usually don’t smoke with randoms, but you hear some old 90's rap playing from inside his car, and he invites you in when you comment on it.

"what you know bout this?" you ask with a smile.

"a lot, actually. you wanna smoke and listen?"

not quite plug!hobie who's fine as fuck as he sits opposite you in his ride, tall and darkskin with cool ass hair. wild ass accent and even wilder style, but he makes it work. his music taste adds on to his overall allure.

but his political views? god. the charm in the shape of a little 'a' surrounded by a circle hanging from his mirror lets you know that he ain't like these other niggas.

he's an anarchist. so far, you're the only anarchist you know. it's so rare to find someone who has the same values as you.

not quite plug!hobie who's car you leave with music recs clumsily typed into your notes, and someone to talk about politics with, though you're too shy to text the pretty boy with the good weed, so you're sure it'll never happen.

not quite plug!hobie who texts you when you get home to make sure you arrived safely.

"driving while high ain't safe, ya know? you at home?"

"i've done it before. i made it home."

not quite plug!hobie who's so nice to you, complimenting your outfits and hair, even noticing when you meet him the 3rd time with a new style.

not quite plug! hobie who you find out has been giving you discounts when your friends ask if you ever bought from him after their recommendation, and you run them in on the details. you think it’s just cause y’all smoked the first time you ever bought from him and you bonded over political views and music. you don’t think nothing else of it.

not quite plug!hobie who you find yourself thinking about more and more often, ever since that first time y'all smoked together.

not quite plug!hobie who finds himself in the same predicament.

not quite plug!hobie who answers the door on your 6th buy in a pair of red sweats and a tight white t-shirt that hugs his lanky frame, hair tied up with a blue shoe string. he invites you into his crib, citing reasons of having no one else to talk to about his views with. after all, it's the first time you both have time to sit and talk and listen to music instead of a quick deal since that first time.

not quite plug!hobie who you get faded as fuck with, this time sharing a joint on his janky couch, heavy hands brushing against each other with each pass. he tries to ignore the aching in his very core every time you speak your mind, your aligning politics driving him crazy.

you mirror him, shaking off the.. arousal?.. no, it can't be. you can't be getting all heated just cause a man is an anarchist. whatever. just ignore it.

not quite plug!hobie who laughs when you tell him straight up, “people aren’t killing politicians anymore. that’s our fuckin’ problem.”

"really? you're wild. but i get it."

"course you do." you nod, taking another drag of the joint. erykah badu's "green eyes" is playing quietly in the background of your convo. hobie starts laughing.

"what?" you smile.

"song's called green eyes, right? well we got red eyes." it's corny and wouldn't be funny if you two weren't high as shit, but you are high as shit, so it's fucking hilarious.

not quite plug!hobie who's eyes linger on you as he pulls laugh after laugh out of your chest with his snarky little jokes.

not quite plug!hobie who walks you to your car after your smoke session, telling you to get home safely. he passes out after his head hits the bed, that after smoke sleep being some of the best he's ever had. he tries to chase you out of his mind as he succumbs to the cess.

not quite plug!hobie who lights a joint and then pulls his dick out the next day, hard and heavy, and strokes it thinking about his pretty little client— friend? whatever — hips stuttering as he wraps his hand around his thick base. he's tried to shake you off, went all day distracting himself with this and that, but it's not working.

not quite plug!hobie who cums in white spurts splattering on his chest to the thought of making you cum in a room filled with smoke, some old r&b playin as he dicks you down the way he's been wanting to since the first time your pretty ass came to him asking for some weed. he wants you bent over on the end of his bed, eyes low and red while he fills you up and fucks you good, gives you his dick like he feels you so rightfully deserve.

not quite plug!hobie who you seriously can't stop thinking of. last night's smoke session has you on edge, so you light another joint, but weed always gets you horny, so when you slip your fingers into your panties and touch yourself to the thought of the pretty darkskin boy with the piercings and cool hair pushing his fat cock into your pretty hole, you blame it on the mary jane sitting pretty in your veins.

the fault lies in the mary jane for making you think about him laid on top of you, talking you through it as he damn near kisses your cervix, his wiry hands roaming your body. the fault lies in the mary jane for having your legs shaking, imagining your pretty plug folding you in half and ruining you, leaving you and your cunt sore and satisfied and dripping his cum.

not quite plug!hobie who cleans up while telling himself that he can't do this again, that you're not interested in him.

not quite plug!hobie who you block out of your mind as you shower. what you did wasn't right. it won't happen again.

not quite plug!hobie who you don’t buy from for a minute, cause you’re trying to stop smoking so much, for a while. you still keep in contact with him, though. daily texts, funny memes, and of course talks of anarchy. one day, you call him “bee” instead of hobie, and it sticks. he likes it.

not quite plug!hobie… who you fuck yourself to again, this time slipping three fingers inside your greedy cunt to satiate the need for him. it’s almost every night, and it’s a different fantasy every time. 

in the backseat of his car, bent over on his counter, pressed into his couch cushions. your head pressing into your pillows while visions of hobie’s lips pressed to your ear praising you endlessly for being his good girl and taking him so well torment you. you’re insatiable, but when you text you have to pretend like you don’t want his piercing scraping against your clit as he eats you like a man starved.

not quite plug!hobie who has the same dilemma as you.. he can’t even go a couple of hours without growing hard in his sweats, glimpses of you spread out on his bed with your thighs thrown over his shoulders, or you face down ass up, sobbing in pure ecstasy. it’s not made better by y’all’s constant texting, more and more of your personality being revealed to him each day.

you both share one brain, really. and that one brain finds each other attractive, of course, but it’s not just that. it’s not just pure lust. you two have more in common than anyone you’ve ever met, and that sinks ache and want so deep into you that every night and day is spent trying to rid yourselves of it.

not quite plug!hobie who you buy from again almost two weeks later, two weeks that were filled with funny conversations and deep discussions of politics through text. two weeks that solidify the growing feelings you have for each other. this time, he’s wearing a pair of blue sweats and a tight black tee, and his hair is tied up just like the first time you came to his house. this time, brandy’s playing throughout his crib.

you’ve only known each other for about two months, but it feels like longer, for the both of you. you take your seat on the couch as he grabs his stash and his papers, pulling out one paper to roll up.

not quite plug!hobie who sits a little bit closer than he did last time. he smells good. your head is swimming already. 

not quite plug!hobie who lights up and then lets you take the first hit, watching you wrap your glossy lips around the joint like he doesn’t wish they were wrapped around his dick instead. you pass the joint to him and settle onto the couch, raking your eyes over his lanky frame, and what you swear is a hard-on. no way. it has to be the weed. 

he settles back onto the couch too, extending his long arms on the back. his arm comes up behind your head, and you rest your head on it, smiling dopily when he directs his hazy gaze your way. his playlist must have ended. you're left with him and your thoughts.

“you’re funny, you know?” he says through a breath of smoke, passing the joint to you.

“yeah?” you reply, hitting it again. “everyone tells me i’m just corny.”

“you’re not corny. you’re pretty hilarious, if i’m bein’ honest.” 

and there it is again.

not quite plug!hobie whose words light that fire in you again, the fire that you’ve been dousing every night for the past two fucking weeks. fuck, not here. not now. you grab the joint from him in an attempt to push more weed into your system to flush him out, but you meet his pretty fuckin’ brown eyes and they’re low and his lips looks so good and he smells so good and suddenly you’re asking not quite plug who you’re two seconds away from fucking!hobie why he’s been charging you less than everyone else who buys from him and why he invited you into his car and into his house, twice.

and not quite plug who really wants to kiss you right now!hobie can’t even joke and twist his way out of this one. he’s tired of cumming alone to the thought of you. the worst you can do is leave. but the best? god, so many things.

“'s cause i think you’re pretty. n' i really wanna kiss you right now.”

“then do it.”

not quite plug!hobie who tastes like weed and chocolate. the hand that was resting on the back of the couch finds it’s way to the small of your back, fingers drawing nonsensical shapes into it. your hands find his knee and his neck as you press your lips into his. you slide closer to him, and then he’s using the hand resting on your back to push you into his lap, hands settling on your hips as you settle above him, your hands circling around his neck.

“how long?” you ask between kisses.

“since the day you walked up to my car.” he responds quietly, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. he’s quick to trap your lips again.

god, he is hard. and he’s big, you can feel him pressing against the inside of your thigh. you hold your tongue, figuring you could deal with that later. right now, you just need to get out what you’ve been keeping in since the day you two met and you spotted the little ‘a’ hanging from his mirror.

the kiss grows deeper and he grows a little less shy, starting to use his hands gripping your waist to grind you against him. heat floods you when you realize that he's pulling you onto his cock, pressing your cunt against him, separated by the fabric of his sweats and your shorts.

you find his rhythm, falling into the pattern of his soft pushes and presses, a gentle lull of bodies moving against each other that makes you even more comfortable than you already are. soft little groans escaping the both of you, mixing with the smoke and infatuation in the air.

he lets you move the way you want, lithe fingers tracing up your back, hovering over where your hair falls onto your neck. he keeps kissing you for a minute, seemingly frozen. but then he's pulling away to speak, "can i- can i touch your hair?"

you stop moving with a smile. you nod. "yeah. thanks for asking." you kiss him again.

"course, love." he nods, and then he kisses you again. his long fingers snake into your hair, gently and softly. he strokes his hands through your locks, in time with your kisses and the movements of your hips that have started again. hands migrating from his neck, sliding down his chest, laying flat-palmed. your fingers slide under his tee, curling and gripping to pull him ever closer to you.

not quite plug!hobie who could kiss you forever. you could too, but you want more. you need him. so you pull away just a little, murmur "can feel you against me." chills rack through him at your words.

"i know. 'm so hard, darlin'." he pushes his hips up just a little, drawing a muffled whine from you.

"been wantin' you so bad.." you trail off. hobie takes it upon himself to move his hands from your hair to the waistband of your shorts, eyes fixed on yours, watching your every move. you nod, giving him permission to snake his fingers into your shorts, fingers that are met with no resistance.

"no panties? did'ya plan this, doll?" he smiles, slim fingers exploring your wetness, doing what he can with the limited space.

"mhm." you shake your head. "'s more comfortable." he hums in agreement. he circles your clit with his middle finger, dipping towards your entrance to collect more slick. you push down against his fingers, causing him to have to crane his wrist to reach you.

"can we take these off? can't touch you the way i wanna." you blush, averting your eyes to focus on the hand that disappears into your shorts.

"yeah." you breathe shakily, standing up and letting hobie pull them down your legs, hands on his shoulders as balance. your shirt is long, and it falls down to give you some modesty. hobie throws your shorts somewhere behind you before he leans back, giving you space to sit back down.

he looks so fucking good, brown eyes staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky. he reaches out for you, pulling you back into his lap by your hips. his hand disappears under your shirt while his lips find yours again, exploring you more freely this time.

"so wet, doll." he murmurs between one kiss and another, smiling when you whine. his fingers move at different speeds, pressing in different areas and circling at different speeds until he finds a combination that makes you jolt against him, whining "bee."

"thaaaaat's it, love." this time, you don't return your lips to his, instead tucking your head into his neck as you hump shamelessly against his hand, his cock pressing hard and heavy against your thigh. "keep going, baby," he urges, "show me how it feels."

and you do. you shiver and shake and whine and groan in pleasure, pressing kisses in his brown skin as he touches you the way he touched himself thinking about.

not quite plug!hobie who presses his thumb into your clit, sliding his hand farther down to tease your drooling hole. "'s wet, love. g'na feel so good 'round me." you moan loudly at that, at the thought of your fantasies coming true. you cant your hips down, sliding down his fingers until they're seated inside you, stroking gently at your sensitive walls.

pulling them out softly, he curls his fingers, twisting his wrist as you whine and mouth at his neck. "'s okay. you can bite." he nods, catching onto what you were holding yourself back from. you still don't, resign to licking and sucking instead.

until his fingers catch the spongy spot inside you, and your teeth are sinking into the column. "fuck," you damn near shout, pushing yourself onto his hand. he groans in response, pleased to be pleasing you and indulging in the pain you inflict on him. thumb on your clit and fingers playing with that spot, he brings his other hand from your hip to your hair to soothe you, to ground you.

it's sweet, really, his hand in your hair while the other one touches you the way you've been dreaming of. coos and hums meet your ears, soft sounds of affirmation egging you on to let yourself get lost in the pleasure he delivers you. arousal steadily dripping out of your hole, hobie's fingers sliding easier and easier inside you until he can pull out and slip right back in.

"you're so pretty, dove, fuckin' dreamgirl." he murmurs, staring down at your pretty face, arched eyebrows turned down in ecstasy, lips parted. the praise takes you closer and closer to the edge, his deep voice reverberating throughout your entire being, the pangs of arousal in your clit growing harder and faster. you're close.

you're so goddamn close to cumming for a boy you just wanted to buy from. his long fingers reach deep, deeper than you could ever even dream of. “hobie- i- i’m g’na-” you stutter against his neck, hips stuttering against his fingers.

“‘s okay, love, cum. i’m right here.” the rubber band snaps, and you're tightening your thighs around his hand while you shake and shiver, eyes closed tight with soft whines of "hobie, god it feels so good" tumbling from your lips. you tighten around his fingers, too, squeeze him so tight he winces, cause he just knows you're gonna feel so good wrapped around him. he pushes that thought away, though, focused on helping you ride out your orgasm.

fingers pressing into your clit and that spot inside you, he makes sure to milk every last second of your climax, eyes fixed on your ethereal features. aftershocks still racking through you, you finally open your eyes, and he takes it as a sign to gently pull his fingers out of you and wipe them on his sweats, and you shudder at the feeling.

"that was. . so much better than i imagined. n' i imagined it being pretty good." you smile and giggle, placing a kiss on his neck. he laughs in response, raising his eyebrows at your confession.

"bet i'm a better fuck than you imagined, too." the air in the room shifts again, and suddenly you're aware of his cock pressed against your thigh through his sweats again.

"bet you are."

you raise up, kissing him again as your hands find the waistband of his sweats and invite themselves in, meeting his dick that's been hard since you first sat down on his couch. "and i'm the one who planned this? you're free-balling." you murmur against his lips, and he mirrors your words from earlier.

"'s more comfortable, 's all— fuck." he's cut off when you pull his cock out of his sweats and run your finger over his pretty brown tip, dipping into his slit. his hips thrust up, chasing your soft hand. "g'na drive me crazy." he almost whines, jerking against you when you swipe your thumb against his aching tip again.

"just returnin' the favor." you shoot back, raising up to hover over him, swiping his leaking dick through your wetness. he wraps his hand around his thick base, moving in time with your teasing strokes. "you're big." you groan, hesitating to seat yourself on him.

"i know, doll, you can take it though. we'll make you take it." he speaks into your clothed chest, muffled and horny, and you’re sure he means what he says. you drip even more at his words, sticky slick wetting his fat tip.

not quite plug!hobie whose hands are on your hips as you sink down onto his pretty dick, whining into his neck as he encourages you. “you got it, baby, you’re takin’ me so well. god, she’s so wet.”

"she— fuck that's so hot," you moan, eyes rolling back at his words.

"mhm?" he hums.

you don't respond, too busy focusing on his fat cock pushing into you, focusing on the way you both make it fit, exactly like he said you would. finally, he bottoms out, your thighs resting against his sweats.

"g' job, babe. knew you could take me." you jolt against him, his heady words sending another pang of arousal straight to where you two meet.

not quite!plug hobie who you tell to move, raising your hips up as he pulls out, meeting him in the middle as he fills you back up. his hips slot against yours again, and his big chocolate eyes are fixed on yours, gazing upon you in adoration, while your eyes are fixed on where he disappears into you.

"so big, feels s'good. ." you whisper, meeting his gaze. the look in his eyes has chills running down your spine as you raise your hips again, choosing to connect your lips with his again. hobie starts to find a rhythm, now, wrapping his long arms around your waist. you swap spit with him as his hips meet your ass, taking over.

body bouncing with each of his thrusts into your pussy, arms wrapped around his neck. his lips slipping against yours, plump and wet. you both take it slow, basking in the feeling of finally being like this with someone you've wanted since you first saw them.

he fills you up so nicely, thick cock nestled in your achy walls, leaking tip just barely kissing your cervix as he thrusts just a bit harder and you push down a little more.

"y'feel me, darlin? 'm all the way in, at the end of you, god, 'm g'na make you mine." he babbles in pleasure, pushing his hips up even harder. still soft, but firm, and deliberate.

you nod against his lips, hand resting on his cheek. "feel you, bee, feel you in my fuckin' stomach, i swear." you feed off of him and he feeds off of you, kissing and slapping your hips against the others, wild and wanting. "fuckin' me so good, bee, makin' me yours."

"makin' me yours, doll, pussy's squeezin' me like she don't w'na let go."

"don't wanna let go, wan' you so bad." you confess, bringing your ass down onto his cock again. "i— fuck," you sob. his cock curves just right, and with his tip pressing against your spot now, hobie's found new determination.

"that it?" he asks, making sure to keep hitting that spongy patch of skin with every thrust, sheathing his cock in your wet heat.

"'s it, hobie, feels so good, shit." the high has worn off by now, leaving pure emotions and desire driving you two. you get tight around him again, cunt pulsing with every slam of his hips against yours. you feel so good around him, so tight and wet.

"'m g'na—, you're gonna make me cum, bee."

he moves one hand from around your waist at that, sliding between you two to toy with your clit, thumb rubbing wild shapes against the throbbing bud.

"fuck," you cry, grinding against his thumb and down onto his dick.

"you close again, doll? wan' you to wet me up, ma'me a mess," he encourages, big brown eyes fixed on yours like they've been the whole night.

"'m so close, bee, wanna cum for you, wanna wet you up."

"then do it." he mirrors your words from earlier, and the pleasure pulsing through your veins and infatuation swirling around in your blood gets to be too much, and you cum on his cock, still slamming your hips down onto him, meeting his thrusts in the middle. "thaaaat's it, doll." you hear hobie praise through the fog in your mind, bounces turned to messy grinds as you get all tight around him, cumming hard.

"y'alright, love?" he asks, moving your hair out of your face.

"mhm. w'na go again, you haven't come yet." he chuckles at your words, wrapping both hands around your waist and kissing you again.

"lay back, love." he murmurs against your lips, flipping you onto the couch. your back meets the smooth fabric as he lays you down, pulling his tee and his sweats off. you follow suit, stripping your shirt off and throwing it somewhere behind his couch. his watchful eyes fall on your face, then your tits, then your cunt, taking your body in for the first time.

he finds his place on top of you, balancing himself on his elbows as he kisses you again. he reaches down, but you stop him. "lemme do it," you urge, replacing his hand. you line him up with your sopping entrance, nodding twice to tell him to push in.

the stretch is so fucking good, his cock bullying it's way into your tight cunt again.

"fuck, that's it," he curses, watching your face as he seats himself in your once again.

"so deep. ." you trail off, looking down at your stomach, and oh fuck, no way.

"hobie, hobes, look," you urge, and he points his gaze to where you're looking.

"oh, love, look at that. can see myself, right there," he presses down on the bulge he creates, ripping a broken moan straight from your throat.

"fuck me, please," you sob, squirming under him. he nods, understanding, and finds his rhythm easier this time, lean hips slapping against you. your body jolts up the couch with every thrust, choppy whines of nonsensical sentences leaving your mouth.

not quite plug who's absolutely pussydrunk!hobie can't get enough of your cunt, the way you squeeze him oh so tight, the wet squelches of your heat drawing him further into madness. he needs to go deeper, needs to fuck you harder, so he raises up, throwing your legs over his shoulders, leaning back down to bury his cock deep inside you.

"baby, fuck." it's a gritted groan, head rolling back onto the couch as he mouths at your neck, licking and biting at your heated skin. his thrusts are slow and firm, dick kissing your cervix, the slaps sounding out through his living room.

you're both quiet this time around, too blissed out to do anything but fuck, allowing yourselves to succumb to pleasure. every inch of his cock fills you, driving you crazy, driving him crazy too. it's intimate, his lips on your neck, your fingers palming at his back, limbs tangled together. and you can feel it building up in you again.

"'m g'na cum, hobes." he moves one of his arms, bringing his thumb down to rub at your clit, still mouthing at your neck. he lets it happen this time, doesn't urge you or change anything he's doing, and you coast into your climax so gratifyingly that you almost cry, squeezing him tight once again. now, your focus is on making him cum.

"wan' you to cum, hobes."

"gotta pull out, love. we ain' even put a rubber on." he realizes.

"no you don't. 'm clean. jus' fill me up, please." in your right mind, you wouldn't let him, but you're not in your right mind, and neither is he. so he cums with a groan, shaking as he spills pressed against your cervix.

the air's.. different now, satisfied and calm. you both lay there for a while, until hobie's picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up.

after, he lights another joint that you two share tucked under his covers, hugged up like a couple.

not quite plug!hobie holds you as you both fall asleep.