#i ended up picking these three <3 i hope u like it !

[bunnys-kisses]

hiii ! how are u? I would like to order a pastry braid and english muffin with a side of tonic water, w max verstappen

thank uu x

bakery menu!!

want to suggest your own order? then hit up the menu! there are tons of things to choose from. i am working through the suggestions after a slight break so i will be posting them more often. updates usually go up fridays to sundays at 6pm est! i hope you enjoy this little fic! this is set in the team principal au (which usually happens with a max age gap fic) but it's not connected to the rest of the tp au that i have going, just it's own little thing! <3

pastry braid: "your job is to make me cum. now get to work." + english muffin: "aw, is someone crying?" + tonic water: age gap served by max verstappen (formula one)

tags: smut/pwp, tp!max, driver!reader, age gap (20s/40s), crying (kink), rough sex, power dynamics, doggy style, max has high expectations for his driver, degrading language, possessive behavior

insatiable. that was what max would describe himself in relation to you. what he was when you were near. he was hungry for trophies, wins and most of all your sweet cunt. max had expected to leave the track years ago, but how could he? he had a re purpose, to make you a champion.

but even wills made of iron couldn't deny your appeal. how you looked in your fire proofs, the look you got when you lost of received a plenty, and the opposite look you gave when you tasted sweet victory. if max was the lion, then you were the wolf.

regardless, max still held power over you and you when he held your cheeks in one hand to face him, a domineering look in his eyes. he held you like he owned you, and with all those zeroes on your contract. he did in a way.

his arms wrapped around you and held you to his chest. in a moment of private after the grand prix, he held you the way a lover would. he couldn't help but take a quick grab of your breasts. you wined in response and max simply smiled.

"not the best," he said in your ear, "i counter five errors in your driving, on top of letting the williams' driver over take you for ten laps. i'm sorry, my price, you know what that means."

you nodded, "yes, sir. i understand." then shifted a little in his touch which only made him hold onto you tighter. you swallowed, even though you won the trophy, tonight wouldn't be about celebrating. it would be about punishment.

max's hotel room was next to yours, and you barely closed the door before he was trying to get your t-shirt off. large hands groped your breasts over your bras and he groaned into your neck.

"fuck, baby." he said, tension in his voice, "you could've been celebrating with the team, but instead you have to deal with the punishments." he pulled your bra over your head and grabbed your chest.

max liked your breasts, he loved how easy the skin bruised when he gave them too much attention. you ended up on the bed with max stripping you of your calvin klein jeans. he saw your exposed thighs, and the tattoo on your hip. lucky number thirty-three. max's old number.

he did have a claim over you, the kind of claim that not even a scandal could break. oh the media circus that would ensue if people found out about you two. if they found out you were fucking max, then max guessed he'd just have to marry you. not a big deal, he had a ring picked out and everything.

"you know what we have to do tonight. your job is to make me cum. now get to work." and soon your panties were pulled off and left on the edge of the bed. he started to strip himself down.

while your face in the pillows and your couldn't see your team principal, you could feel him. the soft of imposing power that left you feeling needy.

"i expect the best from you. you know that. i don't deal with those who aren't willing to push themselves to the best they can be. i know, you can easily be the best. but, i guess there is still a lot i have to teach you." max wasn't like this with any other driver, even if you retired tomorrow, you'd still be his favourite.

he admired your beauty with strokes of his cock. usually there would be a spanking, teasing or maybe a little bondage, but max was still running off the high of racing and he wanted you now. he sank his cock into you like it was his god given right. he was near double your age, but he still fucked you until you were an overstimulated mess.

you whined from the intrusion, you felt sharp pain. max wasn't small by any means. he was rather bulky, the kind of cock that bullied your insides. you felt a shiver of pain as you moaned into the sheets.

"aw, is someone crying?" his words were patronizing as he moved against you quickly. his stamina was still high, he fucked with the force of a bull that often left you feeling bruised inside and out. he had that ability over you. you leave you completely and utterly at his his mercy.

you swallowed, "not crying, sir." and arched your back, but max had you pressed against the bed. his pace only picked up as he rutted up against you.

the thing about max was that he was dominate. and you loved the power he had over you. he easily took you apart and let him make you feel like jelly as he fucked into you.

"you look better on my cock than in a car." he remarked, "better on your knees than the podium." he added as pleasure clouded his head. his thoughts were about how good you felt. how you clenched around him when he hit your g-spot.

you whined and sniffled a little from the ache. you weren't crying. rather whining from the intense feeling. the ache and the pleasure left your nerves feeling tense. you gasped when he hit a particular spot.

max loved when you whined, especially when there were sweet little tears in your ears. his little wolf all teary-eyed because he made you feel too good.

he pace continued and you felt on cloud nine, you sniffles continued and you were left needy for more. it was always more, you always needed more of him. something that max was more than happy to deliver on. how could he deny his driver. even when he thought you did poorly, he still had a soft spot for you.

"mmm, see you're good like this. i could just eat you alive. take you piece by piece. all mind." he chuckled with warmth in his gut, "next time you'll listen to me over the radio and in the garage." he arched your back further and made you feel the zap of pleasure up your spine and in your core.

having your team principal's support meant the world to you, even when you were panting and near crying under him. the pleasure climbed through your body and you felt the surge of want through you.

"please, sir." you arched your back further and your pulse picked up. face buried in the soft pillows while you let your boss fuck you with a heated drive.

he grasped the back of your head and pulled your head further into the pillows and his pace quickened, "you're forgiven. let this not be a lesson you forget." and continued to move against you, fucking you right into the mattress with heavy thrusts of his hips.

he yanked your hair a little and it amde you moan. only he could get away with something like that. yank, bite, slip, no other man could get away with that. but you gave max everything.

the movements continued and you felt amazing. the type of amazing that allowed you to feel to close to orgasm. you tensed up and felt the sweet release as you came. you needed max, you needed him in a way you could never need another.

your boss, your lover, your everything.

his movements left you needy and it wasn't long before you moaned loudly once more around his cock. the pleasure continued to wash through you like heavy waves. and it only made your lover fuck you quicker. max moved against you, near bounced you up and down on his cock. his noises were tense before he slammed every inch into you and finished.

"oh fuck." he groaned.

you gasped and weakly held onto the covers. you couldn't think of anything else besides max. max, max, max, he was the only thought in your head as he slowed to a stop. and then laid on top of you. he rutted his still hard cock into you which made you groan.

"i think there are a few more lessons i could teach you tonight before i really wear you out." those words were said like a promise <3

[tetzoro]

herrwo aimsie, babie (ᐡɞ̴̶̷ ·̮ ɞ̴̶̷ᐡ) ! ! dropping m’ favie ‘moji -> 🎀 in ur inbox for u, sweetie, 'nd telling chu abt wat made me smiwle . . -> i recently paid a visit to m’ home country ‘n had da opportunity to reconnect wif family i haven't seen in years . . it was a truly wondrous experience 🥺 da memories of da trip will forever b stored 'nd treasured in m' heart . . ++ i saw a recent art of yūta of him noot being abl to tie a tie ‘n . . rllie, ૮ ᵒ̴̶̷ ᵕ ก̀ ྀིა wat cld make mi smile more than him ? !

[sorikkung]

people interacting w wgoin in my notes... this would be a rly bad time to say all my writing will probably be on hiatus for the indefinite future huh

[forlix]

𝐝𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞・b.c.

— incurable playboy turned doting boyfriend was a character development arc nobody saw coming for christopher bang, including (especially) his frat brothers.

words・2.8k pairing・frat president!chris x gn!reader genres・fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, college!au, fuckboy!chris, boys being boys, kissing, implied sex so mdni warnings・substance use, talk of past heartbreak

a/n・here is "nobody believes you're dating" w/chan, requested by none other than my @rachalixie for my 2k event !! anny, i hope u love this fic as much as i love u; thank you for allowing me to write something so self-indulgent <3

In the deafening throes of one of Phi Mu Alpha’s spring kickbacks, Minho finds Jeongin and Seungmin standing in motionless silence by the kitchen counter. Both boys are gaping at something with an intensity that dips egregiously into the realm of creepy. He moves to pour himself a shot.

“What the fuck are you people looking at?”

Seungmin prods a pointer finger in the relevant direction. It takes a few seconds of scanning the scene for Minho to find what he’s referring to. He digs a knuckle into his eye, instantly confused by what he’s seeing. Maybe the gaping is justified.

The windows and doors have all been thrown open to invite the balmy April weather into the foyer of the frathouse. There’s a large crowd of people huddled around a long, foldable table stationed before the stairs; Jaehyun clutches a ping-pong ball between his fingers, singular eye squinted shut as he takes aim. The number of remaining solo cups dwindles rapidly, as does the players’ sobriety.

Something—someone—is missing.

Not to say “beer pong virtuoso” was one of the reasons Chris was elected frat president, but you’d think the guy had a career path in basketball with how he’s given the entire Greek life community alcohol poisoning by courtesy of two or three plastic balls alone. Minho has never known him to miss a shot, let alone miss out on a game.

Today, however, the reigning champion is only spectating, seated above the ongoing match on one of the steps of the main staircase.

A beautiful stranger is sitting beside him, cheek pressed to his shoulder as you peer at the match through the bannister.

You say something inaudible. The laugh it earns from Chris is bright enough to pick up from a few streets down. He leans in to murmur something in return, and you slide your hand over his nape to pull his mouth onto yours, light blush crawling up and over your ears. The way Chris melts into you can only be described as familiar, his eyes slowly fluttering shut, finger hooking delicately beneath your chin, grin going lopsided as your lips part—

“That’s enough,” Minho hisses, tearing his eyes away with considerable effort. “Aren’t you ashamed? Just fucking ogling.”

Jeongin shakes his head, grinning. “It’s dinner and a show. We’d be idiots not to.”

By dinner, he must mean the gallon of chocolate milk he’s been drinking from for the last hour. He now holds out said gallon with the intent to cheers. Seungmin picks up the entire handle and does the same.

Minho sighs, clinks his glass against theirs, and they throw back their respective refreshments in unison.

“Anywho.” Jeongin swipes the back of his hand over his mouth before going on. “You guys know who that is?”

Minho resurfaces with a wince, relishing in the bitter aftermath, then motions for Seungmin to give the bottle back straightaway. He arrived to the function late and he’s not nearly as drunk as he’d like to be.

Seungmin obliges Minho only after another heady swig. “No clue. Probably just another fling, no?”

“Mmm,” Jeongin hums in assent. “It’s Chris we’re talking about, after all.”

"Agreed. Case closed.”

There’s an air of finality in Seungmin’s voice—but Minho isn’t so sure.

Perhaps because he has never noticed that Chris had dimples until now; or because you fold so naturally into Chris' side after your kiss ends, head nuzzling against the crook of his neck and hand seeking out his to hold in your lap; or, most likely, because Chris' eyes seem to return to you when he looks at you, as if his gaze drifting anywhere else is but a momentary departure from where it really belongs. As if he comes home every time you come into his line of vision.

Whatever the reason, the idea coalesces in Minho’s mind, even as inebriation begins to fall over his cognitive faculties like a curtain, that the boys have got it wrong.

Jeongin utters his name, jolting him out of his trance. There’s another shot lifted halfway to Minho’s lips that hasn’t budged in minutes. “Whatcha thinking about?”

Minho looks at Jeongin first, Seungmin next, then back at Chris and his stunning companion. He’s not inclined to answer the question in full, but he can in truth. A coy smile crosses his face.

“Threesome?”

Jeongin laughs hard enough to collapse onto the kitchen island. Seungmin drags a hand down his face. “Come on, man.”

In the corner of his eye, you’ve gone back to kissing again, slow and sweet and secretive. Chris' gentle hold on your jaw shields you from view but fails to hide his lovesick smile. Dimly, Minho thinks that maybe his friend has met his match.

Then, he takes four shots in rapid succession—and stops thinking altogether.

Christopher Bang’s love life is like a horror movie and romcom spliced together: a fiasco of a film to which his housemates have front row seats.

The frat’s upperclassmen live in sets of four-bed, two-bath suites comprising a small common space with a kitchen and a sitting area, sandwiched by bedrooms on either side. It is in that common space that Changbin, Hyunjin, and Jisung often see or hear Chris stumbling home after a night out, entangled with a different attractive stranger every time—so often, in fact, that they’ve come to believe that he’s deathly allergic to anything bigger than a one-and-done hookup.

They can’t judge. In part because they’d be throwing stones from glass houses, but also because the man’s penchant for empty physicality is far from unfounded. His past self gave pieces of his heart to the wrong people, contracted first-degree burns from the guileless warmth he sought out. Now, his version of “intimacy” is less a connotation of closeness than it is a self-contradiction, for it should be impossible for so much distance to remain between two people in a single bed.

Chris hasn’t vocalized any of this. Nor have his housemates discussed it with each other. The knowledge simply exists in the air between the four of them like something akin to taboo, dipping in and out of acknowledgement depending on the circumstance.

This might be the circumstance of all time.

At around 11:40 A.M. on a Saturday, three doors in the suite open at once. Hyunjin and Changbin aren’t coincidence—the latter is coercing the former to go to the gym again—but they lift their eyes to the opposite side of the living room, and the slice of milk bread dangling from Hyunjin’s lips very nearly takes a fatal fall. Changbin manages to snatch it up with an extended hand.

Chris has just emerged from his room as well. Your silhouette follows close behind, your mouth stretching into a yawn as you massage the sleep from your eyes. You’re sporting a mesh green sweater identical to one Chris owns. They find Chris' accessories more interesting than his clothes, though: two hickeys peeking out from beneath his jaw and the base of his neck.

Chris sees Hyunjin and Changbin right away, and his expression goes utterly blank, not unlike their faces as they watch you close his door meticulously. You turn around and gasp.

The four of you stare at each other for what feels like multiple business days. At least, Hyunjin, Changbin, and Chris stare at each other; your eyes dart between the men on the other side of the room and the man next to you, silently pleading for him to say something. He does not for a long while.

Then, he lunges for one of the throw pillows on the couch and flings it at Hyunjin like a shot put. It ricochets off his chest and lands on the floor rather anticlimactically.

“Distraction!” Chris yells anyways, grabbing your hand and tearing towards the exit, wild grin on his face. “Go, go, go!”

Your raucous laughter lingers even after you’ve been hauled away, accompanied by an unintelligible, breathless shout of something along the lines of my toothbrush—and then the front door clicks shut, and there are two.

Changbin and Hyunjin lock eyes, struggling to process what just happened. Hyunjin is the first to move, wandering hesitantly into the bathroom that Chris and Jisung share. Nothing about the place looks out of the ordinary.

“Well, shit,” Hyunjin says out loud.

That is, aside from the two toothbrushes slotted in the holder on Chris' side of the counter.

Something moves in the bathroom window, catching his attention. Hyunjin looks over just in time to spot you and Chris dart out onto the lawn two floors below. Chris has his arm draped over your shoulders, yours wrapped around his waist. Your smile is discernible all the way from here, and Hyunjin sees a perfect mirror of it on his friend’s face when Chris glances at the frathouse over his shoulder. 

Has he always had dimples?

Moments later, Changbin joins him in peering out the window. A high-pitched cackle erupts from the older boy’s lips. “Look at that idiot.”

Standing off to the left is a tiny, astonished Han Jisung, his arms full of groceries, jaw sitting squarely the grass and whites of his eyes on full display as he watches you and Chris stroll away.

Hyunjin laughs with his whole fucking body. Changbin whips out his phone and takes a picture.

When you finally breach the topic, it’s because you don’t think you can physically study for another minute—but also because, after multiple long months of fruitless sparring, your curiosity finally wins.

Your boyfriend is seated in your desk chair, feet kicked up onto your mattress with his laptop propped up on his thighs. His features have rearranged themselves into an expression of intense focus as he pores over his production homework. You can hear music blaring through his headphones from all the way here.

You uncross your legs from below you, scootch across your bed, and lift your hands to cradle his cheeks. He startles as if coming out of a trance, then begins to smile when he reads the words hi, Channie off your lips.

His headphones fall around his neck. He sets his laptop down onto your desk with a dull thunk. The next thing to drop is you when Chris seizes you by the waist and tackles you into the mattress. The somber atmosphere of your study session is shattered by your muted laughter and Chris pressing his lips to every inch of your exposed skin he can. He saves your mouth for last.

“Hey, beautiful,” he answers, but only after kissing the living daylights out of you, the syllables soft and silky with adoration. “Missed me?”

You drag your eyes from his brown irises with blown pupils to his sloping nose, from his disheveled dark locks to his cordate lips, so plush and warm against your own that you swear you still feel them there. You brush a hand over the back of his neck, your head now spinning so badly that you barely remember what you wanted to ask him.

“Always,” you say. “I was starting to feel jealous of your homework.”

He chuckles. “Shit, I’ll drop out of college right now, baby. Just say the word.”

“You’re perfect,” you hum.

“Says you,” he murmurs, nudging the tip of his nose against yours.

Your lips find each other’s again—needless to say, your study sessions aren’t known for their productivity. Some time passes before you come up for air. Even afterwards, Chris doesn’t let you go far, pulling you into his chest by the curve of your waist, nuzzling his cheek into your hairline. You only need to whisper for him to hear your question.

“Can I ask you something?”

“'Course,” he returns, and you’re close enough to sense him tighten with apprehension. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, don’t worry.” You print a kiss to the side of his neck for extra reassurance. “It’s just…I’ve been meaning to ask how your friends feel about me.”

He tightens with something else now: surprise, you’re guessing; you’re hoping. You hadn’t seriously considered that the answer could be negative, but it’s dawning on you now that the possibility of that isn’t zero.

“Where’s this coming from?” Chris inquires, his tone opaque.

You hesitate, mentally reviewing your interactions with your boyfriend’s social circle. Hyunjin and Jisung can’t make eye contact with you when they speak to you. Minho does nothing but make eye contact with you whether he’s speaking to you or not. Jeongin and Seungmin can maintain small talk for about ten seconds before they start looking like they’d rather be anywhere else. Changbin is the only one you’ve held a conversation with, and only because you were going up the same stairs at the same time and the alternative would have been mind-numbing silence.

What is the best way for you to say this?

“Well,” you begin, “I can’t help but notice that they act a little—when I’m around, they’re a bit, uh—”

“—crazy,” Chris offers. “Completely fucking bat-shit crazy.”

“Yes. Exactly that.”

Chris threads a hand through your hair, the comforting gesture doing nothing to assuage your worry. It seems there’s some truth behind your impressions. Your next words are tinged with a quiet sadness.

“I’m not imagining things, then?”

“No, angel,” he sighs. “But not for the reasons you think.”

A beat passes. Chris perceives your silence as a chance to backtrack, to opt out of this conversation if it’s one he’s not ready for. He would’ve leapt at the opportunity once.

But he realizes in that moment, with your voice gentle against his ears and your touch so doting upon his skin, how much has changed since he met you: from the color of the sky to the word home and everything in between, including his cynicism towards love and all the iterations of forever it holds. 

With that epiphany comes another, then another: he wants you to know why his friends are acting insane, wants you to know about him and his past and all the wounds of his you never know you healed, wants you to spend the rest of this forever with him.

His pointer finger dusts beneath your chin, a wordless request for you to look at him, and he nearly liquifies when you do and he finds entire constellations in your eyes. 

“It’s a lot,” he mumbles, though he suspects you know that already; he suspects you know about the other stuff, too. 

You bring your hand to the side of his face, bring your forehead to rest upon his. Your closeness washes over him like a low summer tide lapping over sandy shores, a soothing balm spreading over scorched flesh. 

“It’s you,” you breathe. “I will love it just the same.”

Chris' held breath comes out in shudders.

So this is warmth.

Minho and Felix are watching anime on the couch when a knock comes at their door, unfortunately during a pivotal moment of a pivotal episode. 

Minho hits pause with a ghastly groan. Felix laughs and rises to his feet, dashing into his room to grab the two silver necklaces he’ll be loaning out for the evening. “Coming!”

Outside, Chris is standing alone, hips and thighs accentuated by a pair of tight-fitting dress pants, sculpted chest and collarbones framed by a thin, cream-colored shirt with the top three buttons undone. Most of his hair has been pushed off his forehead, leaving a few locks free to fall over his right eyebrow. He’s rolling up his sleeves when Felix opens the door, veined forearms flexing as a result of the effort.

“Well?” He asks. Minho cranes his neck to look past Felix.

Both boys start to holler and whistle like excited macaques.

“What in the Calvin Klein is this?” Felix shouts, spinning Chris around by the shoulders. “You look insane, bro. Holy fuck.”

“What’s the occasion, young man?” Minho inadvertently sounds like a gruff uncle. “Where are you going dressed like that, huh?”

Chris' laugh comes easier nowadays. What’s more, it comes in a way that reaches the rest of him, that ends in a tiny, high squeak that you really have to look for in order to hear.

Felix and Minho can't help but replicate his smile. Those clothes look good on him, yes—but happiness looks better.

“You guys are silly,” Chris giggles. Dimples indent his cheeks as he accepts the necklaces from Felix. “Thanks, man. I’ll give ‘em back tomorrow.”

“No rush,” Felix replies, grinning. “Have fun, yeah?”

“We will.” Chris starts to retreat down the hallway, hands moving to clasp the jewelry around his neck, but not before he blows the both of them a kiss.

“Be back before ten!” Minho hollers; Chris laughs again, turns a corner, and disappears.

Felix closes the door. His smile falters fast. Minho has brought his face mere centimeters away, his expression thoroughly humorless.

“Tell me only the truth, Lee Yongbok,” he deadpans.

“O-okay—”

“Is Chris in a relationship?”

“—oh.” Felix frowns. “Well, yeah.”

Minho blanches. “How—how long?”

“One year, give or take? Anniversary’s today.”

Minho is stunned. Felix is stunned that Minho is stunned.

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[sleepyjuice]

r u mine? — jj maybank

summary: you weren’t sure what to call you and jj. friends with benefits? a situationship? either way, the two of you certainly acted like more than friends.

word count: 4181

warnings: lowkey toxic!jj but we love him, jealousy, smut 18+!!!, unprotected p in v sex, squirting, creampie, some fluff

a/n: i am quite proud of this one so I really hope y’all like it! let me know what you think! <3

“Ugh, I hate that word.” You shook your head, taking a swig of your nearly lukewarm beer, grimacing at the skunked taste on your tongue.

“What else would you call it?” Sarah scoffed, raising her eyebrows inquisitively at you as she playfully shoved your knee.

“Hanging out, I don’t know…” you mumbled, your feet playing absently with the sand below you.

“Yeah, okay. It’s okay to call it what it is. A situationship.” Sarah grinned, nodding her head oh so matter of factly at you.

You and Sarah somehow ended up at a kook party. It just kind of happened. It had been awhile since the two of you had been to one, but seeing as the rest of your friends either had plans or were working, it was either this or another night at home, but the former somehow seemed only slightly more appealing.

You didn’t like labels, but if you had to pick one, you were a pogue. You were in a similar boat as Sarah and Kiara. Rich parents, but you hated nothing more than the snobby, ‘I’m so much better than you’ lifestyle the people on your side of the island lived by. By no means were you ungrateful for the life you were given. Your privilege was not ignored. But it was the country club luncheons and the uptight fakeness and the general attitudes of those you grew up around that you wanted no part of. So one day, you met Kiara, and the two of you clicked almost instantly, both of you finding solace in someone who shared the same views. Next up you met Sarah, and the three of you were inseparable. Your friendship was great until it wasn’t, and you and Kie found home in a group of boys from the cut while Sarah completely turned the other way.

But that was old news, history. Sarah came around, started macking on John b, and the three of you eventually made up. Shit happens.

So here you were, on your third beer, sitting on the beach next to Sarah, the full blown kook party going on only a few hundred feet behind you. The two of you tried to mingle, but that lasted for a total of about five minutes before you took advantage of several coolers stocked to the brim with beers, each of you grabbing a few cans before making your way down to the mostly empty beach in front of the Oceanside home holding the party.

You found comfort in the peace and tranquility of the ocean, the soft glow of the moonlight illuminating your senses could have very well brought you peace, if your phone wasn’t blowing up with messages every few minutes.

jj maybank: you really ain’t gonna text me back? got me over here double texting and shit??

jj maybank: knew you’d go back to full kook eventually. my lifestyle ain’t enough for you huh?

jj maybank: alright that was out of pocket I can’t lie my b

You and jj had gotten along since the second you met. Apparently Kiara had been hyping you up, because surprisingly, jj showed zero apprehension to letting another ‘kook’ join his circle. The attraction was also immediate, on both ends, but that took a bit longer to come out. Shared glances weren’t uncommon, neither were legs brushing against each other on the boat, even though there was more than enough room for the two of you to sit apart.

You and jj were friends for about a month before you hooked up the first time. It wasn’t anything crazy, you were both drunk and horny and one thing led to another. It was sloppy and pretty quick. But instead of it being a one and done deal, it kept happening, no alcohol involved.

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment where it went from purely sex to more, but it just happened. You and jj would spend time alone without the rest of your friends, cuddling on the couch at the chateau while everyone was out, or you calling jj late at night sobbing after a particularly nasty argument with your parents, which led to him climbing through your bedroom window and staying the night, sneaking out before you woke up the next day. Since that night, you would keep your bedroom window cracked ever so slightly, and most nights, like clockwork, jj would make the familiar climb up and through the window to be with you. Sometimes this led to sex, but other times it didn’t. That’s why it was weird.

You had both agreed that you weren’t in a relationship. jj for one didn’t want to commit, and you didn’t either. Several shitty relationships prior to meeting jj would taint your view on love. So it seemed like you were on the same page, but both of your actions proved otherwise.

This is why it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence that jj was currently blowing up your phone. For two people who are not in a relationship, you both had your fair share of jealousy issues. But you shouldn’t, because you’re not in a relationship.

“He’s freaking out right now,” you groaned, turning to Sarah with an exasperated sigh as your eyes glazed over the messages on your phone, “he’s mad that I’m not responding and that I’m here, but he knows it’s Kelce’s birthday party and so he assumes Jake is here since they’re best friends… but he’s acting like I’m gonna do something, like are you serious?” You vented, finishing off the last few drops of your beer.

Jake was your most recent ex. Total asshole. You cringed every time you thought about your time shared together, hating the fact that you ever gave him the time of day. He was overly preppy, but also overly possessive, yet he still cheated on you. Imagine that.

“He’s mad about Jake?!” Sarah gaped, leaning in closer to you as she glanced down at your phone, not missing the texts flooding through from jj.

“That’s what I’m saying… I hate him, and it’s not like I’m gonna cheat on him —“

“Ah, you can’t cheat on someone you’re not dating.” Sarah hummed, shaking her head at you.

“Ugh, you know what I mean. This situationship bullshit is so stupid. But either way, that’s a valid point. Not only do I want nothing to do with Jake, but even if I did, jj isn’t my boyfriend, so he shouldn’t even be mad,” you rambled, pausing for a moment before looking back down to your phone, “yeah, no, that’s a good point, that’s what I’m gonna say.” You mumbled as you began typing out a response to jj’s multitude of texts.

you: you say it’s about the kooks but seems to me like it’s one kook in particular you’re mad about

you: yeah, jake is here. I ain’t dumb jj, you’re transparent as fuck lmao

you: also I’m just trying to figure out why you’re mad bc you know I hate him but even if I wanted him, why would that be your problem? We’re not dating soooo??

you: have a good night at work! <3

You locked your phone, but not before putting it on do not disturb and shoving it in the back pocket of your denim shorts.

“Oh, well now he’s gonna lose his shit even more.” Sarah giggled, having watched you type out your messages.

“I don’t care, let him. He’s pissing me off.” You shrugged, rolling your eyes, but you couldn’t help but laugh along with Sarah. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the thought of jj freaking out with jealousy over you made your stomach tingle. Just a little bit though…

An hour had passed since you had texted jj and you haven’t checked your phone once. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t the slightest bit curious to see his response, but your stubbornness was strong, outweighing your curiosity for the time being. The four beers in your system helped too, lightening up your overall mood and somewhat helping you forget about jj for a little while.

You were only a little tipsy at this point, but you and Sarah had mutually agreed to call it a night and start your trek home.

You both felt generally safe walking home. Streets were pretty well lit and it was figure 8, all the drunk creepy frat guys you had to worry about were down the street at the party.

“Hey, text me when you get home, okay? And keep me updated on jj whenever you check your phone. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t show up at Kelce’s after that exchange.” Sarah giggled as the two of you approached her house, giving her a quick hug goodbye and promising to update her. You only lived one street away from her, and she had plans with John b early the next morning so you decided to not sleepover this time.

You continued your journey home after seeing that Sarah had made it inside safely, sighing to yourself as the soft island breeze gently blew against your face, cooling down your slightly flushed cheeks.

You arrived home only five minutes later, tiptoeing through your dark home so as to not wake your sleeping parents, humming softly to yourself once you made your way upstairs and into your bedroom, pulling your shirt over your head and letting it fall onto the floor before fishing your phone out of your back pocket and tossing it onto the bed as you went to unbutton your shorts.

“Oh, so you do have a phone.”

You gasped, nearly screaming as you scrambled to flip your lights on, immediately spotting jj laid back on your bed, hands behind his head as he leaned seemingly comfortably against your headboard.

“jj what the fuck?!” You whisper yelled, wishing more than anything that your parents weren’t home so you could truly yell at him. You didn’t have to question how he got in, though. You had left your window cracked like you always did, as jj would have more than likely came over tonight anyways, but that was before you had started bickering over text. He had done this before, too, surprising you in your bedroom while you were at work or out with friends, coming home to the boy waiting for you in your bed.

“You put your shit on ‘do not text’ or whatever and I couldn’t get ahold of you. I was going to go straight to Kelce’s party, but I took a moment to consider the fact that that wouldn’t be a good idea, so I decided to wait for you here. Were you just gonna ignore me all night?” He sat up once you had acknowledged his presence, his hands playing with one of your pillows as he looked at you.

“First of all, it’s ’do not disturb’ and second, you were blowing up my shit and being annoying. Therefore, you were disturbing me.” You rolled your eyes, feeling jj’s eyes on you as you grabbed a sleep shirt from your closet and pulled it over your head before sitting on the edge of your bed as you worked to untie your shoes.

“Why do you do this to me?” jj whispered after a few moments of silence, scooting himself closer to where you were sat.

“What am I doing to you, jj?” You asked, not looking at him as you removed your first shoe, now untying the other.

“You — fuck. You make me fuckin’ crazy. I don’t like that I feel like this.” He muttered, and you could feel by the movements in the bed that he was anxiously adjusting and readjusting his hat, an anxious tick you had picked up quite early in your friendship with him.

“I make you crazy?” You questioned, your brows raising as you kicked off your other shoe and finally turned to look at the boy sat behind you on your bed.

“Yeah, and I hate it. Got me… got me checking my phone every two seconds to see if you texted me, fuckin’ — picturing you with that douchebag ex of yours… literally has my heart pounding. Like I can’t think about anything else.” He admitted, and you couldn’t miss the way his knee was shaking anxiously, his fingers playing absently with your blanket, yet he still kept his gaze on you.

“jj…” you breathed, your voice softening now. You felt for him. You knew it wasn’t easy for him to express his feelings, and you didn’t want to dismiss the way he was feeling just because you had argued. You would also be lying if you said you wouldn’t be jealous if he was around his ex all night… but you can blame that on your shitty past relationships, not because you didn’t want jj around girls he used to call his… definitely unrelated.

“Listen, I get what you’re saying, okay?” You sighed, slowly placing your hand on his bouncing knee. “But… we aren’t dating. We’re just friends who sleep together, you know?” You added quietly, hating the words that left your mouth, but it was the truth. There was no gentle way to say it.

“You’re right, you’re right. But let me just,” he reached for your hand over his knee, moving it to your side, “let’s just not talk about that right now, okay?” He licked his bottom lip, his hands now finding your thighs, rubbing the soft skin slowly, his fingertips inching their way up past the top of your shorts and underneath your shirt.

You didn’t speak as he took a hold of the bottom of your shirt, lifting the fabric over your head, leaving you completely bare from the waist up. You didn’t protest, your body heating up at his touch like it always did. He let out a long breath as he took in the sight of you before him, his hands quickly grabbing your tits, squeezing the soft flesh in his calloused hands, causing your back to arch slightly, your lips parting as an almost inaudible gasp left your lips.

His eyes found yours quickly following your reaction and you nodded at him, no words spoken between the two of you as you fully gave into his touch, crawling all the way onto your bed and scooting yourself back towards your pillows.

“So pretty..” he cooed, his fingers pinching your hard nipples, making you whimper softly, fully giving into him. You reached forward, pulling his hat off of his head and tossing it onto the floor alongside your shirt, your fingers entangling in his messy locks as you pulled him closer to you, wrapping your legs around his middle, bringing his face right up to yours before you connected your lips.

You hummed into the familiar feeling of your soft lips against his, and only a few seconds passed before your mouths had both parted and your tongues were moving sloppily together, his soft groans sending vibrations into your mouth and through your body, your core feeling even hotter and wetter as the seconds passed.

His hands continued to toy with your tits, but they eventually began to trail down your stomach, unbuttoning your shorts blindly as you continued to kiss. You lifted your hips up as he tugged the denim down your legs, leaving you in just your underwear.

You opened your mouth in protest when he suddenly pulled away from the kiss, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you caught your breath, about to say something about him pulling away but stopping once you watched as he pulled his shirt over his head, and your attention was now turned to his naked torso.

“Shh, I got you, I got you.” He murmured, his hands now tugging the zipper of his cargo shorts down, ridding himself of his shorts entirely, the two of you now only in underwear. Your eyes flew immediately to the ever present bulge in his boxers, and you didn’t miss the wet spot right where the tip of his dick was, no doubt leaking precum. You had almost an identical wet spot in your underwear as well, your arousal practically dripping out of you as each second passed, eager for his touch.

“jj, please.” You grumbled, wrapping your arms around his neck as he lowered himself back down to you, your lips connecting again, this time moving a lot quicker and more sloppily than only moments ago. Your centers both connected within seconds, you bucking your hips up to grind against him and him grinding himself down against you. Who had gone for it first, who knew. You were certainly on the same page.

“Please what, baby? Hm?” He breathed, holding himself up above you with only one hand as his other wriggled its way between your bodies and down to your wet core, fingers barely even teasing at the waistband before he slipped them inside, cupping your pussy.

“Fuck —“ you moaned, shamelessly grinding yourself against his hand, desperately aching for more of him. The feeling of just his hand had you crumbling, any thoughts of your disagreement from earlier were long gone and forgotten in this moment.

“Use your words, baby. You want my fingers?” He questioned, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, yes, please. Touch me.” You answered immediately, and that was all it took for him to yank your underwear down your legs and push his middle finger inside of you, effortlessly sliding into your slick yet tight walls. Your head fell back onto your pillow, a long exhale leaving your swollen lips as he pumped his finger quickly, adding a second after you began to adjust.

“Goddamn, you’re fuckin’ soaked, woman.” He spoke lowly, quickening his pace once he found a good rhythm, curling his fingers into your g-spot, emitting soft whimpers and curses from your lips, you still being half mindful of your sleeping parents down the hall.

The sight of jj’s furrowed brows and parted pink lips had your stomach turning, and you watched as he watched intently at the sight of his fingers moving in and out of your pussy, a look of concentration mixed with arousal evident upon his features. That and the spots his fingers had found inside of you had you crumbling quickly, your fingertips that were lazily resting in his hair now gripped tightly into his locks, your eyes squeezing shut as you felt your orgasm approaching quickly.

“jj, gonna cum, oh fuck, oh — oh god.” You panted, head flat on your pillows now as you felt him quicken his pace, hearing his own moans as you pulled on his hair.

“Yeah, let go for me, baby, come on now.” He urged, and that was all it took for you to let go, your orgasm hitting you at full force. He quickly shot his free hand up to your face to cover your mouth, quieting your loud cries of pleasure. He loved the sound of your sweet moans, but being caught by your parents would be less than ideal. You cried into his palm, your juices gushing out of you and all over jj’s hand and torso, dripping down and soaking his stomach and boxers.

“Oh fuck, that’s right, so good, so good, huh?” He cooed, his fingers slowing down as you rode out your high, uncovering your mouth once you had fully finished and planting several soft kisses all over your parted lips as you worked to catch your breath.

You lifted your head after a moment, your eyes opening to meet his hungry gaze, untangling your fingers from his hair to reach for his boxers. You needed more of him.

“Need you now.” You spoke, voice still a bit shaky as you had just caught your breath. You removed his boxers with his help, his leaking cock springing free from the restraint of the tight fabric. Your mouth watered at the sight, watching as he pumped himself slowly, finally giving himself some relief.

“Need me inside you, sweet girl? Hm?” He licked his bottom lip as you nodded eagerly, a smug grin present on his lips at your neediness. You didn’t care, he could be cocky after the orgasm he just gave you. He could have his moment.

“Please. Please fuck me.” You pleaded, pushing your hips up to rub yourself against his cock. He groaned at the contact, giving himself a few more pumps before tapping his tip against your sensitive clit, causing you to gasp and push your thighs together purely out of reflex.

“Ahh, keep those legs open for me. Gotta open up so I can fuck you, sweet thing.” He tisked, pushing your thighs open with his free hand, positioning his cock against your entrance, slowly pushing himself in. Once halfway inside, his hand trailed down from your thigh to grab your ankle, lifting your leg to wrap around his back, quickly doing the same with your other leg.

Finally getting you positioned like he wanted, he pushed himself all the way in, jaw going slack once he bottomed out, grunting at the depth he reached inside of you.

“Fuuckkk,” he breathed, his messy hair falling onto his forehead as he looked down at the two of you, fully connected. He inhaled sharply before he began moving, struggling to keep his eyes open as your tight pussy hugged his cock perfectly. But he wanted to watch you, that was one of the best parts.

You did everything in your power to not scream, his cock immediately hitting all the right spots inside of you, his pelvis hitting your clit with every thrust. You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning however, your arms wrapping around his neck to hold you up, keeping your body somewhat up. Your fingernails found home in the soft skin of his back, each trust and movement he made surely forming scratches into the skin.

“So good, so good,” he moaned, sweat beading past his hairline as he found the perfect pace, his balls slapping your ass as his cock disappeared inside of you, “you’re fucking perfect, yeah, oh fuck.” He breathed shakily, almost whining as you squeezed your legs tighter around his torso, his body pushing closer to you if possible, his dick hitting deep inside your wet pussy.

You were a mess beneath him. The tension throughout the night and the way he was fucking you perfectly was not doing anything to prolong your orgasm. But you could feel by the way he pulsated inside of you that he wasn’t going to last long either.

“Shit, I’m close, baby. Where d’you want me to cum?” He asked, slowing his thrusts for a moment as he attempted to gain composure of himself, wanting to give you one last orgasm before he finished.

You didn’t even hesitate before responding.

“Inside.” You answered, eyes looking up to meet his.

He cocked his head in confusion, stilling his movements following your words, almost unsure if he had heard you correctly.

“Don’t fuck with me —“

“I’m not, jj. Please. Want you to cum inside me.” You assured him, pushing your hips up, urging him to move again.

“You… okay.” He resumed his movements, each thrust bringing both you and him closer to the edge.

“Oh fuck jj, I’m gonna cu-“

“Say you’re mine.” He cut you off, not stopping his movements, his breathing was shaky but his voice was steady, and he was serious.

“What?” You panted, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Say you’re mine.” He repeated himself, soft grunts following his words as he watched your face below him.

You knew what he was saying, and maybe it was the impending orgasm, or maybe it was the fact that you had never felt this way with anyone before him. Maybe after you said it and you both finished you would both get hit with that post nut clarity and go back on your words, but you could figure all of that out later. You could be his. You wanted to be his.

“I’m yours.” You spoke, and that was all it took for him to reach his end, his balls tightening, thrusts sloppy but still quick as he released inside of you in hot spurts, his face falling forward as he moaned, triggering your own release.

The wet sounds of his cock pushing into your cum filled pussy filled the room, his movements slowing down as you both rode out your highs together, eventually stopping completely before he slowly pulled himself out of you.

His cum leaked out of you almost immediately, but jj was quick to reach over the side of the bed and grab his shirt, placing it under your leaking pussy.

“Shit,” he breathed, rubbing your lower stomach gently as your bodies both began to relax, leaning down to kiss your swollen lips gently.

“You still mine?” He asked after a few moments of silence, mentally preparing himself for your rejection, nervous you had only said that in the heat of the moment. He meant what he said though.

“Mhm, I’m still yours.”

[greg-montgomery]

the latest hotch x sunshine reader fic?

u think u ate with that?

no.

U DEVOUREDDDDDD. GRRRRRRRRRRR

part 2 now mama i love u so much

bestieee thank you omg!!!! <3 i hope you like part 2!!

part 1

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Spencer took a deep breath staring at his desk. On any other day it would be due to the amount of paperwork waiting for him, but this time it was a cup of his favorite coffee order, a muffin, and a chocolate croissant, all sitting right on top of the report he was working on.

He wasn’t ungrateful for the treats, but he would rather enjoy them if they weren’t accompanied by three pairs of wide eyes looking at him, while searching for answers in return.

Emily threw her head back dramatically. “Come on, give us something.”

“They’re on a date right now, aren’t they? That’s why he left early. I know you know,” Penelope said. “I know you do. Rossi knows too, but he won’t say anything.”

“Yeah,” JJ agreed, “Every time we ask he says nothing and just…smirks at us.”

“Please, you’re our last hope.”

Spencer took a bite of his muffin and smirked.

“You’re even worse than him,” Emily said and pointed at him.

“Come on, girls. Let’s go hack Hotch’s phone.”

“No, wait!”

--

Was it silly to start planning your wedding on a first date?

Maybe it was; you didn’t care. Because there was no way Aaron was not your future husband.

He did everything perfectly: he picked you up from your house, got you flowers, did not let you touch a door handle, paid for your dinner date, and let you play your music during the car ride.

Aaron also smiled a lot and the sight of it made you melt into your seat. It wasn’t often that a man gave you butterflies by just one look or with the sound of his laughter.

“What are you in the mood for now?”

The last thing you wanted was for the date to end, so instead of suggesting you walk back to his car you made a different offer.

“Let’s get ice cream!”

He chuckled, but you could already tell he would not say no to you. “Okay.”

You were walking side by side and even though you were already falling in love with his warm voice it was hard to pay attention to his words. Your mind was too occupied thinking about his arm swinging next to yours and how bad you wanted to hold hands with him.

Did he want it too? Would he think it’s childish to hold hands?

What if you just…did it?

Life’s too short, you thought and grabbed his hand.

Yes, you had not been paying attention to what he'd been saying but you did notice how he stopped mid-sentence when your hands touched. Was he mad?

Your heart was jumping against your chest, afraid you did something stupid. Aaron was quick to ease your anxiety, intertwining your fingers and squeezing gently your hand.

He wanted this too.

He cleared his throat. “So it’s um…a good chance to…”

With the side of your eye, you caught him turning his head to stare at you. You hadn’t wiped the grin off your face from the sudden hand holding yet, and he saw it.

His dimples made an appearance, and as your grin got bigger you noticed he blushed.

“Oh, shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!” you giggled.

The sound of Aaron’s phone ringing interrupted your moment.

“Sorry, I have to get this,” he said.

You, of course, didn’t mind. Even though he hadn’t said so himself, you knew he had left right on time – early in Hotch’s terms - from work just for your date. Perks of being best friends with your date’s subordinate was getting to have this kind of inside information.

“Hotchner,” he said sternly.

You stayed quiet.

“What? I didn’t authorize this.”

Oh.

“No. And I trust this won’t happen again.”

Oh…Maybe you liked this side of him a little bit more than you should.

“Thanks,” he said, and hung up. “I’m sorry about that.”

I’m not.

“No, it’s okay! It’s fascinating observing you being a boss.”

“You like observing people?”

“Why, are you interested in hiring me?” you teased.

“Oh, I would never.”

“Why not?” you asked, acting offended.

“I would not be able to focus on a case with you around.”

You took advantage of the fact you were on a sidewalk and stopped walking, turning your body to face him. “And why is that?”

Aaron moved closer and dropped your hand only to cup the side of your head. His thumb moved back and forth on your cheek and his eyes on yours made you feel dizzy.

“Because you take my breath away.”

And with his next move he took yours. Maybe you’d actually faint if he didn’t pull you in and place his lips on yours.

Your hands moved to his tie with the intention of pulling him even closer to your body. His kiss was heavenly and you really wouldn’t mind if you were to stay like that forever.

Yeah…there was no way Aaron Hotchner was not your future husband.

[nereidprinc3ss]

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you. 

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better. 

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either. 

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.  

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.  

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring. 

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there. 

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?” 

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows. 

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?” 

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.” 

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside. 

“Nice, nice. What else?” 

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.” 

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening. 

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.” 

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself. 

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.” 

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.” 

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”  

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.” 

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice. 

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.” 

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better. 

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.” 

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry. 

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.” 

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless. 

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.” 

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart. 

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.” 

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again. 

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle. 

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life. 

“Then I’m on my way.” 

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.  

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime. 

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.  

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?” 

You shake your head and gasp a small sob. 

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders. 

His hand smooths over the back of your hair. 

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.  

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear. 

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.” 

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight. 

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?” 

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.” 

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.” 

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea. 

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave. 

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.  

At least, until he goes home. 

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up. 

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.  

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you. 

“That among other things.” 

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?” 

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does. 

“Okay.” 

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.  

“Thanks,” you murmur.  

His lips pull into a melancholy smile. 

“Anytime.” 

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.  

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close. 

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist. 

“I can’t do that, honey.” 

“Why not?” 

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently. 

“Because we’re not together anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is. 

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down. 

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.” 

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.” 

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke. 

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.” 

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again. 

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.” 

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales. 

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.” 

When he kisses you, it feels like home. 

[prettiedup]

yuji fuckin u while gumi’s sleepin beside u two :3

if u dont like, dont read!!!! aged up 20+ characters. if u cant differentiate different timelines dni!!

you three have always been close. since you guys were young teenagers into your early adult stages. nothing major shifted, if anything you guys only grew closer. there’s no such thing as secrets or embarrassment, you have all seen each other at your worst and best. one minor thing that did shift is you and yuji’s relationship.

your relationship with him blossomed after one drunken night. megumi had bailed due to a mission taking longer than he thought. usually, you and yuji wouldn’t have gone to the newfound club without him, but you two were so excited and had been waiting months for your schedules to align and to go out for the night. everything was innocent and platonic, until it wasn’t. after one too many shots, you and yuji somehow ended up in the back of his car with his cock nestled deep inside your tight walls. since then, the two of you have grown closer and closer until he asked you if he could be your boyfriend.

megumi gave a neutral reaction when the two of you told him about your new relationship status. which to you, was a relief. thankfully, things really didn’t change. you three still did everything together, and there continued to be no secrets or embarrassment. you only feel bad for megumi when you and yuji get into an argument and he’s thrown in the middle with the two of you pressuring him to pick a side.

your eyes trail over to megumi’s sleeping figure. he has his back turned to you and yuji while he sleeps. what started off as the three of you having your common sleepover, turned sinister when yuji woke up at four am with a hard leaking boner. of course he made it your problem also.

he has you on your side, your back to his chest. your panties are slid to your knees while your legs are slightly pried at an angle. you bite down on your lip as you try to contain your moans and mewls. yuji’s cock is sliding through your slick pussy so deliciously. with all three of you being so quiet you could hear the sound of your pussy slickening his cock every time he pushes his hips against yours. the bed rattles every now and then when he hits a particularly hard thrust that causes your mouth to fly open and a weak sound to escape.

yuji presses soft kisses on your exposed neck. “you feel so fuckin good, babe.” he sighs out. “wanna fuck you harder.” his voice is whinier the closer he gets to his orgasm.

“c-can’t.” you whisper to him. “gumi’s gonna一haaa..” you’re cut off when you feel him twitch inside you and send a particularly hard thrust when you say megumi’s name.

“i know.. i know.” he groans. “jus wanna..” he kisses more spots on your neck.  “jus wanna fuck you like i mean it.” 

“you’re already making me feel good, yu.” your back arches when yuji suddenly brings two fingers to your clit. he begins rubbing in fast circles, trying to coax an orgasm from you.

“could make you feel even better.” he grabs your jaw with his other hand. he forces your head in his direction. the two of you stare at each other for a few seconds, not saying anything. you let your bodies colliding together do the talking for that moment. yuji cuts the moment when he crashes his lips against yours, he pulls you into a sloppy kiss. 

unbeknown to the two of you, megumi has his eyes sleepily pried open. his fingers are slowly rubbing over the tip of his clothed cock. he wants to rub his boner on something; anything. hearing the lewd sounds from your pussy and your lips slapping together. he almost wants to cry from how hard he is. he wants so badly to just turn around and look. just a peak. he wouldn’t even touch you or yuji, he’s just desperate to take a glance.

he feels like such a perv for just listening to the two of you fucking and not stopping it. he decides he’ll never speak of this moment and he hopes that the two of you do the same.

[k0yaz]

hello! can I request headcanons of how Arlecchino would be as a parent with wife reader? like they have their own child that isn’t being trained to join the Fatui and Arle just gets to love and raise the child with reader (preferably the child being a daughter but it’s up to you <3 )

parent arlecchino hcs

Pairings: arlecchino x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, established marriage, CHILDREN MUAHAHAHSHSH, um idk what else to put, pure fluff, her wife/reader being absolutely concerned for this woman, but it’s ok bc it’s cute and she loves her, eating the nearest route on the highway, ok that’s enough “content warnings” I hope.

A/N: wait this is so cute omg I love the idea of arlecchino having her own child that’s not part of the fatui 🕯️

Oh my god bro Arlecchino would be so ridiculously sweet and gentle with her daughter it’s actually insane.

She cares about the members of the House of the Hearth obviously, so the affection she shows her own child with you is immeasurable.

Arlecchino would be way more protective over her, considering that this child of hers isn’t trained to kill or go on missions, and just meant to live a normal life. She really wants to protect her child’s innocence and peaceful lifestyle no matter what.

While you two took care of your daughter, Arle would definitely do the thing where she picks her up and spins her in the air.

She enjoys it, but her resting bitch face makes it hard to tell-

Lowkey I feel like she would hilariously have her daughter held in one arm while answering the door to Lyney, and tell him to go on another mission while shielding the child in her encircled arm.

And Lyney would just stare wondering if that’s really the fourth Fatui harbinger, who’s currently hugging a child protectively.

She finds it oddly comfortable to come home to her wife and daughter at home, having both you and your kid in her arms as the three of you would spend time like a normal family.

Although she may not show it, Arlecchino gets kind of emotional over this. She wasn’t accustomed to coming home to just pure peace and tranquility rather than never ending business and violence. It was nice.

Subtly, if you have to go out for something, or if either of you have a responsibility to share, she ALWAYS and I mean ALWAYS, tries to make some sort of excuse to stay home with your daughter.

She never outright says it, but she always has a convinient ploy of reasons as to why she should stay home that day.

Most of the time, she uses the excuse that she wants you to have a break from the kid.

“Hey Arle can you-“ “No worries, I’ll take care of her today so that you’ll have some weight taken off your shoulders.”

You see right through her, but who cares it’s adorable.

When your daughter gets a bit older, Arlecchino initially lies to her whenever she goes out on missions. At first, she’d vaguely state that it was just “business that she needed to take care of,” and then come home covered in blood.

She definitely lied saying it was ketchup once.

Of course she isn’t able to hide it forever, but your child understands since that is her father after all.

Omg off topic but this woman would definitely let y’all’s daughter step on her back cause she thinks it’s funny, Arle won’t be fazed even a bit cause obviously this woman has some ridiculous muscle.

Arlecchino would even let her do her lipstick sometimes, no matter how sloppy it turns out.

Once she removed it and redid her lipstick before going out, and your daughter wasn’t happy at all 😭

So from then on she always kept it on even if she looks like a clown.

She’d have to stare daggers at her fatui children laughing at the oh so intimidating woman who was feared going out with lipstick smeared up her cheek.

This is so cute I love domestic parent arle ‼️

A/N: OMG BRO AT FIRST I DIDNT HAVE ANY IDEAS FOR TJIS BUT I ENDED UP EVAPORATING MIDWAY AND GOT A TON SO I FINISHED WITH IT BEINT FAIRLY LONG hope u like it <333

[temilyrights]

just go with it

melissa schemmenti x fem!reader

summary: reader runs into an old frenemy at the bar and enlists melissa to play her date. hidden feelings are revealed. inspired by the movie just go with it.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: alcohol (beer), swearing, old bully.

a/n: this was so much fun to write! i hope you enjoy <3 i think i included all the warnings but as always pls let me know if i missed anything! if u wanna be added to my taglist just lmk or fill out my form on my masterlist!

The night hadn’t exactly gone to plan, not that you were complaining. The Abbot family were supposed to be celebrating reaching the end of another quarter, even going as far as to select a bar up to Ava’s standards with extravagant cocktails and comfortable booths (but still with a generic enough dart board that Melissa would turn up). Ava had shoot down your usual place saying, “Girl, I’ve got a reputation to uphold and even entering that place would lose me 1K on Instagram,”

However things had immediately started to splinter when Gregory and Janine failed to turn up, still very much in the honeymoon phase of their relationship. And then Barbara had ordered two cocktails which had immediately gone to her head and called Gerald to come and pick her up. Jacob got a text for Avi and ducked out apologetically, Mr Johnson disappeared somewhere, and then Ava declared she couldn’t be seen dead out in only a group of three so she ditched, which meant less than two hours into the night only you and Melissa remained at the bar. 

You’d initially been irritated, having looked forward to a family night out all week. But when Melissa dragged you to the dart board saying “We don’t need ‘em.”, her hand warm in yours and her smile bright. You’d suddenly forgotten every thought you’d ever had.

“Another bullseye for me!” Melissa smirks victorious, dancing as she turns around to face you. “I think that means ya owe me a drink, hon.” 

You roll your eyes, but can’t bring yourself to care that deeply at the sight of the redheads joy. She seems to be having a great time, despite everyone leaving. And you’re determined to soak up every moment of this additional out-of-school Melissa time until she decides to call it a night. 

It feels like a blessing, and the sight of her in a strappy leopard print top with enough cleavage to cause your brain to short circuit when she‘d first arrived definitely didn’t hurt. She looked beautiful with her red curls down past her neck, and her brown leather jacket and red high heels on. Any day now you were gonna get this raging crush under control and not look at Melissa Schemmenti and see the sun, any day… 

…just not today if your traitorous heart had any say. 

“Another of the same?” You ask, nodding towards her beer with a grin on your lips. 

“You betcha.” She shimmies closer to you, her teeth biting into her lip. “And when youse get back we’ll have another game. If you can take the heat.” 

Your face heats up and you force out a laugh to cover up how wildly attractive you find her. You push yourself off the barstool and side step her. “Uh yeah, another game sounds good. I’ll be right back.” You step back, giving her a slightly too tight smile before you run away to the bar. 

So chill Y/N. Wow, excellent game. If she didn’t want you before, I bet she does now.

You groan as you approach the bar, resisting every bone in your body that wants you to slam your head very hard against the bartop to hopefully knock some sense into yourself because that was just plain embarrassing. Instead, you settle on waving down the bartender and ordering two yuengling's. 

They make quick work of your order and you pay and mutter a polite, “Thanks,” before turning away with your drinks, ready to head back to Melissa. Determined to not make a complete fool of yourself this evening. 

“Y/N L/N!” A shrill voice calls and your blood runs cold, “Oh my god, is that really you?” 

Your eyes fall close as you blow out a breath and send a hail mary that maybe, just maybe, that voice won’t be connected to the woman you believe it to be. 

Of course, life doesn’t work like that and when you open your eyes you come face to face with your old college ‘friend’. If a friend meant someone who constantly put you down and had to be better than you at all times. Suddenly the last day of college doesn’t seem long enough ago, god you could’ve gone the rest of your life without seeing this woman and that still wouldn’t have made up for the torment of the three years of friendship with her. 

“Alisha, Hi.” You grimace. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

“I know!” She cackles, “I’d never expect you to be somewhere this close to classy. I remember the dives you loved in college.”

Your smile tightens and you force a humourless laugh. “Well, great to see you Alisha, but I really should be getting back to-”

“No, no, no, come on we must catch up!” She interrupts. She shakes her hair performatively and presents her hand, showing off an obnoxious diamond, “I, of course, got married. My husband is here actually and you must meet him.”

“Congrats, but I really should be getting back to my-” 

“I’m sure your friend won’t mind.” Alisha waves a hand. 

She grabs the hand not holding the two bottles of beer, her face etched with pity. “I noticed you don’t have a wedding band. It’s okay, your time will come.”

You try to shake your hand free, but Alisha’s grip tightens. “Seriously, Y/N, not everyone can be as lucky as-”

“Hey hon, everythin’ alright?” Melissa interrupts, an obvious edge to her voice. Her hand perches on the small of your back as she gives Alisha a once over, and despite the other woman being four inches taller than her, you know Melissa could take her effortlessly. 

Alisha’s eyes widen before melting into a smirk as she extends her hand, “Alisha, Y/N’s closest friend from college.” 

Melissa looks at you before looking back at Alisha and scoffing, “Right.” 

Alisha drops her hand, but doesn’t look disturbed, in fact she looks more excited than you’ve ever seen her, if you exclude that one house party she threw where she got the entire football team to attend and ended up sleeping with the quarterback. 

More than slightly disturbed, you push the beer in Melissa’s direction, “Here, sorry.”

“Thanks, hon.” She accepts the drink, her fingers brushing yours as she does. 

You watch Alisha hungrily eat up the action, and you know what’s gonna happen next before she even opens her mouth. “So, you’re Y/N’s girlfriend?”  

The redhead’s eyes widen, her drink pausing on its way to her mouth. And before she can reject it, and Alisha’s face grows even more victorious in your pathetic aloneness, you jump in and answer. 

“Fiancée, actually.” 

You should be awarded an Emmy for the way you keep your face straight and don’t cringe as both Melissa and Alisha swing around to face you. 

“I left my ring at home,” You roll your eyes. “She only popped the question recently. Haven’t quite got used to wearing it yet.” 

“Really?” Alisha questions, eyes narrowing. “Well now you must join my husband and I for drinks. We can toast to the newlyweds and newly-engaged.” 

She grabs your hand, pulling you away before you can protest again. You look back at Melissa, silently begging for help, but she just watches you with an arched brow and smirk before she takes a long sip from her beer and saunters after you.

Alisha doesn’t release her grip until you reach the booth in the corner of the bar. Her husband, an even taller man, presumably quite handsome if you’re into that sort of thing - but in your opinion quite boring looking - sits scrolling on his phone and nursing what looks like a whiskey sour. 

“Honey, I found some friends.” She says, sitting down beside her husband. “This is my best friend from college Y/N, and her fiancée…oh,” Alisha tips her head, smiling widely “In all that excitement I didn’t get your name.” 

Melissa doesn’t respond, instead signalling you to slide in the booth first so she can be on the end. 

“It’s Melissa,” You respond, ignoring the redhead’s dark look for sharing her personal information. 

“Traitor,” She mumbles quietly into your ear, her breath hot. 

You roll your eyes, even as you struggle to breath properly. If she’d saved you when she had the chance you wouldn’t be in this situation. 

“What a lovely name,” Alisha gushes, and you don’t need to turn to see Melissa’s glare.

Alisha drops her head to her husband's shoulder, who wraps his arm around her back with a boy-ish grin, “And this is my husband, Victor.” 

“Ladies, nice to meet you.” 

You force a smile and take a long sip from your beer. 

“I was just saying to Y/N how funny it is running into her.” Alisha laughs, “We’re only in Philadelphia because the jet needed to refuel. It was not part of our plan,” She rolls her eyes, “Honestly, can you imagine living here?” 

“What’s wrong with Philly?” Melissa challenges, eyes narrowing

“I’m just saying it wouldn’t be my first choice.” She waves her hand, like she hasn’t said anything offensive. “Victor and I live in California, but we’re heading to Paris because this one’s talking at a convention for dentists.” 

“Wow, impressive.” You nod politely.

“You ended up here?” She asks, pity evident in her tone. 

“I chose here. I love Philly. I’ve got an amazing teaching job and an amazing group of friends. It’s a really good community.” You say seriously. There were some things Alisha could make you feel insecure about, but Philly was never going to be one of them. You were happy with your life. 

“And your fiancée, right?” She challenges, “How long have you been together?” 

Melissa’s arm wraps around your waist and she tugs you tightly into her side. You try not to let the surprise at the action show on your face. 

“Two years. Known each other for three through. She swooped in and saved me when the kids were drivin’ me mad and kinda hasn’t stopped since.” 

Your heart flutters as you stare at Melissa from beneath your lashes, warmth settling in your chest. You know the exact moment she’s talking about, it’s the first time you properly met, about a month into teaching at Abbott. You’d heard the commotion coming from her classroom while your first-graders were in music class, and had popped your head next door - just to check - and found a clearly stressed out redhead trying to control a large class of second and third graders. 

You’d made your way in, with a calm “How can I help?”. Melissa had just thrusted worksheets at you and pointed towards the third-graders. From then on you popped in to help whenever you had a free lesson, and if it meant staying later to catch up on lesson planning you decided it was worth it, especially as it led to one of your favourite friendships.

“You have kids?” Victor asks. “I love kids.” 

“No, teacher. We work together.” 

“Oh, that makes sense. Y/N was never one to have much of a social life outside of her work.” Alisha rolls her eyes, “Of course she’d have to meet her partner at her place of work too. She never had much luck when it came to dating, always so alone.” She juts out her bottom lip patronisingly. 

“I dated.” You defend, “I just happened to put my studies first, which was the whole point of being at college.” 

Alisha nods and takes a sip from her drink. Your eyes narrow at her. You don’t realise your hand has tightened into a fist until Melissa pulls it into her lap and begins gently caressing your knuckles, slowly coaxing it open again. 

Victor’s phone rings, an obnoxious beeping sound that shocks you enough that your hand pulls away from Melissa’s. You miss the touch instantly, wanting to reach back but knowing you shouldn’t. 

“Oh sorry girls, I should take this.” 

“He gets lots of important calls.” Alisha supplies proudly, as she slides out of the booth to let her husband out. Melissa lifts her brows, shooting you a look of disbelief and you struggle not to laugh.

They stand together beside the table. Victor drops his forehead to Alisha’s and inhales deeply. “Your beauty, your drive, your wit.” He breathes dramatically.

Alisha hums, “Your intelligence, your thirst, your strength.” 

Their nose’s rub together, and you swear your soul leaves your body as you watch them open mouthed in disbelief. You turn to Melissa whose face is screwed up in outright disgust. 

Alisha sits back down, a content smile on her face. “It’s something we do whenever the other person leaves. Say what we love most about each other.” 

“You really ain’t from Philly, huh?” Melissa laughs, taking a long sip from her beer. 

“You guys should try it.” 

“I ain’t doing-” 

“I don’t think-” Melissa and you both start to say at the same time.

“Not everyone can do it.” Alisha waves. 

Your eyes narrow and Melissa puts down her beer. 

“You know what, we’ll do it now.” You say, determined. 

Melissa smirks, eyes bright with challenge as she looks between you and Alisha. “Sure thing, hon.” 

“Okay, just look into each other’s eyes and say three things you love most about each other.”

You turn to face Melissa, knee’s brushing against hers. You blow out a breath, suddenly nervous looking at her this closely. Her green eyes hold your gaze, a reassuring smile on her face and it helps you steel yourself. 

“Okay. Uh, I love how much you care about the kids.” You start, easy, honest, tame. “You do so much for them, more than anyone even realises. But they love you so much. You’re a phenomenal teacher. You’ve got such a beautiful heart, even if you do try to keep it hidden.”

Melissa listens to you with soft eyes, a wet chuckle breaking from her lips.

“It’s not even just the kids. The things you do for Barbara, Janine, Me. You are extraordinary. I see how much you care, I see your kindness.” The words flow from your lips, the truth that you should probably keep hidden. 

She scoffs, shaking her head, “I ain’t that soft.” 

“I love how safe you make me feel.” Your breath shakes as Melissa’s eyes widen. God too much, too honest, but maybe she’ll just think you’re selling the lie and won’t know just how true every word coming from your lips is.

“Whenever something happens you’re the person I want to find. And you just know how to make it better. Before you, I never needed someone else, but now I literally…I just, I don’t know, I gravitate towards you. When I’m with you I just know everything is going to be okay. I feel safe, like together we could take on anything.” 

“I wouldn’t let anythin’ happen to you.” She smiles gently. 

Your heart stutters, “And your smile, god that smile.” It makes you soar, you can’t breath as words spill from your lips, “I love it. I look forward to lunch everyday because I know I get to see that smile. Your smile starts my day, and everytime I get to see it I feel like I’m doing something right.” 

She stares at you and you clear your throat, breaking your gaze. “And that's three.”  

Melissa grabs your hands, her fingers stroking your knuckles, prompting your eyes to return back to hers. “My turn.” 

You nod silently, unable to speak as you watch the women in front of you. Heart pounding. 

“I love your company. No matter my mood, it’s good. You’re just nice to have around. Whether I’m cookin’ for you, we’re drinkin’, or we’re stressin’ out over work. It’s fun with you.” She shrugs with a shy smile.

You grin. God your heart can’t take this. It still pounds and you can’t differentiate between truth and lie. She sounds so honest, eyes so gentle and you desperately want to fall in and believe every single word leaving her lips. 

“You’re stupidly generous too and I love you for it, even if it makes me wanna hit ya sometimes.” 

She rolls her eyes and you both chuckle. 

“You say I have a good heart, but I watch the way you keep giving to everyone around you without expecting anythin’ in return. You’re always offering to cover a lesson or lunch shift, even though I know it means you’re staying at school later to catch up on lesson plans.” 

You shift, you really hadn’t thought she’d noticed. “It’s nothing really.” 

“It’s somethin’. You’re good. Like, actual good, and you don’t find that often.” 

Your eyes soften, tears threatening to pool as you itch to reach out and pull her in, kiss her. 

“And you know what else I love? Your eyes.” She nods, with a shining smile. “When they catch the light? Stunnin’. They are so expressive, always shining, sayin’ things even if you don’t.” 

You draw in a sharp breath, eyes locked with hers. Wondering maybe if-

“I won a competition for the most beautiful eyes.” Alisha’s piercing voice interrupts. You jolt away from Melissa, having entirely forgotten about the other women’s presence. 

“I’m pretty sure I’d still win if you entered. No offence, Y/N.” She laughs shrilly. 

You drain the last of your beer, your chest still tight and your bearings off. 

Melissa snaps. “Alright, I’m done. I dunno if your parents were too nice to you as a kid or didn’t tell you they loved you enough but either way I don’t care. You ain’t speaking to my girl like that anymore, especially if you think your ugly ass fake contacts in any way compare to her stunnin’ fuckin’ eyes.” 

Alisha’s face finally falls. 

“So goodbye, we’re leavin’. And you and your guy can get the hell out of Philly fast before I find someone to jack your dang car.” She grabs your hand, fingers entwined with yours and tugs you from the booth with her. 

You laugh, feeling lighter the further away you get from the gobsmacked women you left behind. Melissa weaves you between people and out the bar, not letting go of your hand until you're safely outside and the door has shut behind you. 

“That was…” You look at the redhead, shaking your head and grinning, your entire body buzzing. “God, I just…”

She chuckles, her hand landing on your waist. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” Her other hand digs into her back pocket pulling out her phone, “I’ll call a cab.” 

Your heart thunders. Your hand reaching for her chin bringing her face back to yours. She’s so close…. “You are extraordinary.” 

Her cheeks pink as she tries to shrug off your touch, “Y/N,”

“No.” You breathe, bringing her back to look at you. Your gaze falls to her red painted lips, your chest tightens. And you know you could let go, step back and you’d both pretend this moment had never happened, but you don’t want to. 

You want to lean in and kiss those pretty lips. Finally say fuck the point of no return. Because all the fears and risks that were keeping you from plunging in all seemed irrelevant when your body felt this alive. 

It’s like you’d finally woken you and you knew you didn’t want to go another day without kissing Melissa Schemmenti. 

You lean in. Melissa’s shaky breath expelling against your lips before she meets yours. Tentative at first, once, twice, three times, before her hand fists into your shirt and yours moves to her hair, and then a moan is pulled from her lips and your gone. Frantic and heated you devour each other. Her phone is roughly shoved into your back pocket so she can paw at your ass and then she’s walking you back into the wall. Her body is finally flush against yours and you gasp in delight as you drown in the sensation, unable to think clearly as you passionately kiss her.

When you finally separate, you’re both breathing heavily, foreheads resting against each other. Melissa’s lipstick is a mess, her lips swollen, and you think she’s never looked more beautiful. 

“Ya mess.” She tuts affectionately, breathing still broken as she reaches out to wipe her lipstick from your lips. 

“And who’s fault is that?” You chuckle, grinning like a fool. 

She rolls her eyes and you want to kiss the expression off her face. You lean in to do just that, but she steps back, her eyes shifting away from you. 

“Hon,” She shakes her head, finally wiping the lipstick off from around her own mouth. 

A pit lands in your stomach, panic coursing through your body. No. You’ve come this close. You weren’t losing her now. 

“You can’t tell me you don’t feel this too.” 

She looks at you, eyes soft and pained, “‘Nd you can’t want this.” 

“Did you not hear a word I said in there?” You ask incredulously. “God, Mel, all of that. Every single word. I meant that.” 

“You meant it?” She questions, unsure. 

You shrug, vulnerable, exposed. “Of course. How could I not? You’re the best person I've ever met.” 

She scoffs, wet, stumbling forward back into your arms. “Fuck you.” She murmurs and captures your lip. You expect it to be harsh and heated, but she’s so gentle and slow, her lips tenderly moving against yours like you’re something to be treasured and if she pushes too hard you might break. 

You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek lovingly when you separate. She watches you in awe, eyes so gentle and you’ve never felt so content in your life. 

“I meant everythin’ too.” She confesses.

You grin and press a quick peck to her lips. “I had my suspicions.” 

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever. You wanna actually get out of ‘ere?” 

You laugh, “Yes, please.” 

“Leftovers and beers at mine?”

You hum in delight, not missing the way Melissa’s eyes darken, her eyes dropping to your lips. “That sounds perfect. And watch something on Netflix?” 

“Whatever you want, hon.” She responds, dragging her gaze away. “I’ll call a cab now.”

She takes a couple steps away, to make the call and you unashamedly watch her the entire time. Your eyes taking in her figure and lingering on her ass. Because, hey, who can blame a girl. 

It was Melissa goddamn Schemmenti. 

Your teeth pulling at your bottom lip, do nothing to suppress your grin.

I guess you really might have to thank everyone in Abbott for leaving tonight if this was the result. 

You weren’t quite a big enough person to thank Alisha. 

You would have gotten there without her.

Eventually.

taglist: @aburman03

[cheolhub]

LOVE SCENE — LEE SEOKMIN ࿐

summary. you’re scared that seokmin might want to go separate ways after graduation, but he proves, in more ways than one, that he wants you. forever.

wc. 2.3k

warnings. college au. nerdy soft dom!seokmin, breeding kink xx, obscene amounts of dirty talk, pinch of angst, literal love making, unprotected sex, marriage kink, HEAVY praise, baby talk, v minimal plot im sorry — MINORS DNI 18+

note. DAMN ok i have a lot to say so i’ll keep it short. ONE this was a request but like i kinda didn’t do anything the request asked for and im so sorry, i hope u can forgive me anon. TWO i literally lost sight of the plot so dont ask me abt any missing details ehehb just enjoy seok being hot <3 THREE happy belated birthday to my minnie <3 FOUR thank u to my luvr @rkiv4d for beta-ing. yas ok enjoy

p.s. reblogs and feedback are extremely appreciated— i also love to hear ur thoughts <3

how seokmin pulled you, the most beautiful girl to ever walk the earth, he has no clue. he’s what people call a ‘nerd’ with his thick-rimmed glasses and his abnormally high IQ and you’re the pretty girl that didn’t understand the simplicity of covalent and ionic bonds who fell head over heels for him. 

you couldn’t help it, he was so smart and so fucking pretty. he was awkward and he giggled when he got nervous and he was so unbelievably goofy that it had you laughing till you cried. nevertheless, he was the most beautiful man ever. 

then you asked him out. he remembers it like it was yesterday. the last day of your chem class– the end of the first semester of your sophomore year– right after your final. you thanked him incessantly, giving him a hug for helping you get a B in the class. you told him you’d rather thank him another way— another way being a date. with you. at your place with a homemade dinner. 

he would’ve been stupid to decline. so he didn’t. and the rest was history. seokmin became your boyfriend, grew more confident in himself, and fell in love with you.

now you’re in your final year, the last few weeks approaching quickly, and you’ve been anxious. anxious about seokmin leaving you, anxious about going separate ways after graduation, anxious that this was all just fun and games till it was time to get serious about life.

seokmin has picked up on your behavioral patterns over the past 2 years. he knows you so well, probably better than anyone else in your life– probably better than he knows himself. 

so when seokmin sees you evading his eyes with his cock stretching you open, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“hey,” he whispers, stilling inside of you. when you don’t turn your head and your eyes are still closed, he calls for you. “baby?”

you feel your heart clench at the pet name. “hmm?” you hum.

“baby, do you not wanna do this anymore?” he questions worriedly, ready to pull away from you. “i can pull out.”

you mumble, “i-i do.” 

he cocks his head even more confused, “talk to me, pretty, what’s going on?”

he pushes into you some more, making you gasp and you can feel his expectant eyes burning holes into your face. you then realize he’s not gonna let this go, but it’s partially your fault for letting your mind wander while he was putting away the dinner you guys ate. you decide to just come out with it.

“‘m just… so scared of graduating…” you whimper between your words, eyes screwing tighter. 

he hums, “look at me, baby.” the demand comes out so soft, yet the sheer dominance of his voice makes you clench around him. you turn your head on the pillow, opening your eyes, and finally looking at him. “why?”

you shudder at the eye contact. he looks so pretty, so concerned over you, yet you’re still tense and oh-so nervous. the topic of post-grad has never come up, and now you’re mid-fuck about to tell him how you want to be with him forever. 

“i-i’m scared that… that you’re gonna go off without me,” you pant, hands wrapping around his biceps and holding him to keep you stable. 

“where am i gonna go, beautiful?” he whispers, bottoming out and fully sheathing himself inside of you. 

you whimper again, his massive cock filling you so well. “s-scared you’re gonna go do big things ‘n leave me…” 

he freezes at that, eyes widening, “leave you?” he asks incredulously as if he couldn’t believe that you’d ask that question. “baby, you think i’d leave you?” 

you nod slowly. “i dunno, ‘s just that i’ve been thinking ‘n you’re so smart– gonna go get a real job that’s across the country or something…” 

he’s honestly bewildered. why would you ever think something like that when he’s tried so hard to show you how much he loves you every single day?

“oh, baby, i would never fucking leave you.” he presses his forehead yours, nose rubbing against yours. “pretty fucking thing, i adore you— love you. more than anything.”

your eyes glisten with tears at the reassurance. you feel yourself relax under him, entirely fluttering at his words. “really?”

“yes, really. how can i prove it to you? want me to put a ring on your finger?” he whispers, breath fanning against your face. 

you gasp, clenching around him again, fingers digging into his muscles. he smiles, chuckling airly at your reaction. 

“my pretty baby wants that? you like that idea?” he asks, his sultry voice filling your ears. “you wanna be my wife?”

you nod your head, eyes fluttering shut as you moan, “yeah, w-wanna be your wife.” 

your response has seokmin reeling. he pulls his hips back and slams back into you making both of you moan again. 

“yeah? bet you want my kids, too.” he states boldly, mind cringing at his words and internally freaking out that you’ll get turned off at them. 

you choke, clamping tightly around his length. “f-fuck.” you cry. “d-don’t say things like that, seok.”

“why? ‘cuz i’m right?” he grunts, thrusts growing faster.

you nod your head and seokmin nearly cries, cock twitching at the idea of pumping you full of cum and getting you pregnant with his kids. you’d be such a great mom and he’d love having a mini-seok running around a nice, big house fit to take a family. 

admittedly, he’s been wanting to talk about his future with you. he’s been fantasizing about it since the first time he said he loved you. fantasizing about you being his wife and living together in a big house and having three kids and living happily ever after as if it were some fairytale. he’s imagined your kids and how they would be a constant reminder of his everlasting love for you. he hopes that they’ll look like both of you– kids with your eyes and his nose. he’d kill for that.

“wanna put a baby in you,” he mumbles, lips ghosting over yours. “swear to god, ‘m gonna give you everything you want– ‘ll get you a ring ‘n a house– everything. just say the word.”

you lift your head to press your lips to his, moaning into his mouth like a mad woman. your stomach drops in anticipation, suddenly craving the feeling of his warm cum filling you to the brim, sure to get you pregnant. your legs wrap around him, heels digging into his back and you can’t resist the cry that he ends up swallowing at the new angle. 

seokmin pulls back, panting, “gonna let me give it to you, baby?” 

“uh-huh!” you nod, eyes screwing shut and jaw going slack as his speed increases. “yes, yes, please give it to me.” your response is wavered as you nearly choke on a sob of pleasure. 

and you know the decision is haste– a baby even though you still have a month left of undergrad seems… absurd to say the very least, but you don’t need to think about anything. you know seokmin. you know he’s the one you want to spend the rest of your life with. he's an amazing boyfriend and person in general. you already know he’d make an even more amazing husband and father. 

who would’ve thought the nerdy man with glasses who was insanely good at chemistry would be the one you ended up with?

he lets out a guttural moan, “such a good girl, always saying please.” he praises, slamming into your sweet spot repeatedly.

and jesus fucking christ, your moans and cries are like music to his fucking ears. 

his head falls into your neck, licking and sucking at your skin. “never gonna leave, i promise. gonna make you mine, gonna take care of you.” he mumbles into the skin as he continues to mark and ravage you. 

the stimulation and his words are sending you into orbit as your stomach churns and tightens at the feeling of his cock rearranging your insides. his strokes are impressive, never missing a beat and unrelentingly hitting the spot that makes you crumble. 

he feels you tighten around him, gummy walls squeezing him in and he curses, “shit, is my pretty girl gonna cum already?” his voice borders on condescending, but it only makes the tightrope in your stomach all the more closer to completely unraveling. 

“y-yeah, so close,” you moan breathily as your pants increase, chest rising and falling rapidly. “so fuckin’ close, min, ‘m gonna cum.”

his lips find your ear and he whispers hotly against the shell, “come on, baby, cum for me so i can fill you up.” he gently tugs at your earlobe with his teeth and you can’t resist, back arching with a shiver running down your spine.

your orgasm brings you immense pleasure, white spots filling your vision as you cum with a loud sob. you feel it in your entire body, from your curled toes to your thrown back head. your eyes roll back, calling out his name and raking your nails down the skin of his arms. 

he coos, holding back a groan at the way you get even tighter as you soak him in arousal. “thaaat’s it, baby, just like that. so, so good for me.” he coaxes you through your euphoric high, fucking you through it as he always does. 

“s-so good,” you slur, parroting his words as your mind numbs a bit. 

he moans, letting the sound of your whimpers and the lewd sounds of your bodies meeting fill the room. he buries his head in your neck again, desperately rutting into you so he can let go, too. your eyes flutter closed again and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer to you. 

your overstimulated pussy pulses around him as you listen and whine along to your lover's muffled moans. you can tell he’s close. so close to giving you the life you’ve imagined for almost 2 years. so close to being yours forever. 

“seok, cum inside me,” you whisper and his hips stutter, yet they keep moving as if they have a mind of their own. he lifts his head and looks at you– his eyes are clouded over and teary, yet they’re filled with all the love in the world.

he looks so beautiful above you. his face is scrunched up in pleasure, brows knitted, eyes droopy, mouth hung open as pretty sounds exit his loose lips.

“i… fucking love you…so much.” he says in between pants, thrusts growing sloppy. the telltale signs of his fast approaching orgasm becoming heavily apparent. “god, so much, baby, love you so much.”

you nod your head, mirroring his pleasured face. “me too, seok, i love you.” your words are a bit scrambled, but seokmin makes sense of them– understands you so well. 

his eyes roll back a bit at your response, brain momentarily malfunctioning, but he comes back seconds later. “gonna take this load like a good girl, right, pretty? gonna get pregnant and let me marry you?” he moans out breathily, cock now twitching uncontrollably. 

“yes, yes, yes, please, wan’ it so bad!” you beg.

it’s all he needs to press his hips to yours, stilling there, and releasing inside of you while he moans out your name so prettily. it’s a newfound feeling for both of you– his cum coating your cunt, filling you up till it’s spilling on his freshly washed sheets. he’s grown accustomed to finishing on your skin or into a condom, but this? this is all very new. this is something he now can’t live without.

you think the same thing when you feel him spraying your walls with his thick ropes of cum. it feels so good– so euphoric– while it’s leaking out of you. you don’t know how you’ve gone your entire adult life without experiencing this at least once.  

“c-came so much, baby…” you whimper, feeling him pull his cock out of you. 

as soon as he sees his release dripping out of you, he groans softly, already feeling hard again, but he decides to ignore it for now, bringing his attention back to you.

“hey… love,” he says softly, noticing the way you perk up a bit from your tired state just at the sound of your name. “you should’ve told me you felt like that… i hate that you thought i’d just leave you ‘cause we won’t be in school anymore.”

you frown, “i’m sorry, i didn’t know how to bring it up without being awkward… it’s the real world and i dunno… things are different.”

he sighs, hands running up and down your naked sides. “i get it, but like i said, i wanna be with you forever.”

you blush, biting your lip to hide the wide grin that ends up on your face despite the fact. “yeah, i remember… was that a proposal by the way?” you ask meekly. 

he squeezes at your waist, “did you want it to be?” he beams.

“i mean, it was a bit untraditional, definitely not how i expected my wedding proposal to be.” 

“what? you mean you didn’t think you’d get proposed to while i had my dick inside you?” he asks with faux incredulity. “i, for one, thought this was the best proposal ever. i even put a lil baby in you.”

you giggle, wrapping your legs around his body again, “you don’t know that, i’m not pregnant… yet.”

his heart swells at the idea and he smiles brightly at your blushy face, “well, maybe another round can change that, hmm?”

you pull him closer to you by the strength of your legs and say, “make me yours then, seokmin.”

© cheolhub — all rights reserved, please refrain from copying, reposting, modifying or translating my work on any platform.

[bunny-1111]

hii i kind of recently stumbled into your account and i absolutely fell in love!! i love your writing and your theme 🤍 i was wondering if you could make one with theo where he's academic rivals with y/n but one day he pushes y/n a bit too far and it ends in him comforting/"babying" her? u can make them end up together or not its up to you! thank you in advanced ml

Thank you babyyyyyy <3 I appreciate you sm, I hope you enjoy

Word Count: 3.8k

Unedited and not reread

Reblogs comment and like appropriated my darlings

...

The flicker of candlelight and the soft shuffling of enchanted books were the only sounds in the nearly deserted library. You blinked, the strain in your eyes a reminder of the four long hours you had spent hunched over your notes. Stretching your arms above your head, you allowed your gaze to wander, taking in the rows of shelves and the dim ambience. The stillness of the evening should have been calming, but it wasn’t. Not when your eyes finally landed on him.

Theodore Nott was already staring at you, his dark eyes gleaming with that infuriating smirk, a silent taunt written all over his face. He didn’t even have to say a word to get under your skin; just being there, watching you, was enough.

You sighed, refusing to break the stare as he approached, his steps deliberate, elbows resting on the edge of your cluttered table without so much as a word. You weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of speaking first. If he wanted to start this, he could be the one to open his mouth.

“Struggling again, I see,” his voice finally cut through the quiet, dripping with arrogance as he nodded towards your scattered textbooks.

“I’m succeeding, not struggling, Nott,” you snapped, your gaze flicking back to your notes. The exhaustion gnawing at you was starting to wear thin, but you wouldn’t let him see it. “Maybe if you spent less time bothering me, you’d be worried about keeping up.”

Theo chuckled, stepping around the table, his presence closing in behind you. You could feel him hovering, leaning just close enough that the heat of his gaze bore into your back. “I’ll be waiting at the top while you catch up,” he murmured.

Your jaw clenched, teeth grinding together as you buried yourself further into your notes. You knew his game well by now—pushing, teasing, always trying to be one step ahead. He lived for it, as did you but lately, you were starting to feel like it was wearing you down.

“Wrong year,” his finger dropped onto your page, tapping on one of your scribbled notes. “It was 1783, not 1781. Get that wrong, and you can kiss ten marks goodbye. There’s so much for you to learn, I'll tutor you. You clearly need the extra help. How about we start with the Declaration of mer-kind Independence” he teases slowly

“I’m fine,” you say hiss, pulse-quickening in irritation. He picks up a stray book you had abandoned over an hour ago

He chuckles, a low sound that sets your nerves on edge. “Come on, don’t be like that. I’m just offering to help.” he studies the back of the book cover in his hands, whipping your head around, snatching the book back off him.

“Don’t touch what’s not yours, Theodore, and you're wrong, it's not mer-kind, it’s merpeople. Misuse the term, and you can say goodbye to 10 marks” You smile, using his own words against him.

He only grinned wider; he loved it when you played this game. “You’ll be back here tomorrow?” he asked like it was already decided.

“Mhm,” you hummed, gathering your things. “Nowhere better.” You didn’t bother with a goodbye, letting your words linger in the air as you made your exit.

The next day, as promised, you returned. Same seat. Same workload. But this time, the weight of it all pressed harder against your temples, exhaustion gnawing at you, threatening to topple the carefully built walls of concentration you had managed to put up. Don’t let him get to you, you reminded yourself; three weeks of non-stop studying couldn't be for nothing. But even as you focused on the page in front of you, you didn’t have to look up to know Theo had arrived.

“You’re going to burn a hole through that parchment if you keep glaring at it like that,” his voice cuts through your thoughts.

Your grip tightens around your quill, ignoring him completely, even as your cheeks flush with irritation.

“Come on, don’t ignore me,” he adds, that familiar teasing lilt in his voice. “You’re gonna give me a complex.”

You finally glance up, the smirk on his face testing your patience. Theo, as usual, drops into the seat across from you, uninvited. His dark eyes glint with amusement—he’s fully aware of what he’s doing. He always knows how to push your buttons.

"Don’t you have your own table?" you mutter, eyes flicking back to your notes.

"This one’s got a better view." His gaze is fixed pointedly on you.

You roll your eyes, irritation bubbling up. "If you’re here to distract me, save it. I’m focusing."

"Oh, I’m sure you are." His tone is light and teasing, but there’s always that edge to it. "But no matter how hard you try, you’re not going to beat me on this test tomorrow."

His words hit harder than they should. You grit your teeth, trying to keep your expression neutral. The weight of the upcoming test, the sleepless nights, the constant competition with Theo—it’s all piling on, suffocating you.

"I don’t have time for your games, Theo," you snap, your voice sharper than you intended.

He raises an eyebrow, not even flinching. "Games? I thought you enjoyed our little rivalry. Keeps things interesting, doesn’t it?" He leans over, slamming your book shut without warning.

You slam your hand over the book, eyes wide with frustration. "Don’t touch my stuff! Just… go find your own table!"

Theo doesn’t respond immediately, but the smirk falters. He gathers his things with more force than necessary, walking to the next table. But he doesn’t stop there, not entirely. "Yeah, well, don’t stop studying now," he throws over his shoulder. "Wouldn’t want a repeat of last year’s essay, would we?"

That comment—it hits differently this time. You’ve barely slept, barely eaten, and the pressure is crushing you. The final thread of patience snaps inside of you.

"Why do you always do this?!" Your voice echoes in the library as you stand abruptly, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. Several students glance your way, but you don’t care. "Every time, Theo. You can’t leave me alone for five minutes!"

Theo looks taken aback, clearly not expecting the outburst. He recovers quickly though, that smug mask returning. "Because I know you can handle it. It’s called motivation."

"Motivation?" you scoff, barely believing your ears.

You let out a bitter laugh, shoving your books into your bag with a force that surprises even you. “You know what? I’m done. Done with you and your constant need to prove you’re better than me. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Fucking pathetic ”

The scrape of your chair against the floor is loud, cutting through the silence of the library as nearby students glance up. Theo’s smile dropped, his expression shifting as he watched you storm off, you didn’t wait for him to respond. When you finally reach the astronomy tower, the cold night air hits your face the moment you step outside, but it does nothing to cool the simmering anger burning inside you. Leaning against the stone wall of the courtyard, you try to steady your breath, but your chest heaves with frustration. Why does he always have to push so hard? Why can’t he just—

“Hey.”

The sound of his voice makes you tense. You don’t look up.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended.

“looking for you,” he says, stopping a few feet away, his tone uncharacteristically soft. “You left in a bit of a hurry.”

“Yeah. Intentionally,” you mutter, eyes fixed on the ground.

Theo moves closer, a sigh escaping his lips. “I don’t like seeing you react like that.”

You scoff, pushing off the wall to face him. “Maybe if you didn’t constantly push me to my breaking point, I wouldn’t. I can’t keep up with your games anymore. I’m not eating, I’m not sleeping—it’s messing with my head. Why do you insist on this bullshit?”

He finally speaks. “I push you because you’re the only one who can keep up and what the fuck do you mean not eating, not sleeping”

The words catch you off guard, and you blink, trying to process what he just said. For years, you thought the rivalry was all about him proving he was better, about him enjoying getting under your skin. But this—this feels different. More personal.

“I don’t understand,” you manage to say, your voice quiet.

Theo takes a step closer, his dark eyes searching yours. “I push you because I like spending time with you. You get so focused, so intense, and it drives me crazy in the best way. When you make that face when you're really focused; you have a certain smile when you get a higher grade than me, too” His voice is low, careful, and it makes your heart pound you turn to leave, to catch up with your beating heart in private, when he grabs your wrist, pulling your right back 

Before either of you can say another word, footsteps echo from the stone steps behind you. The unmistakable voices of Pansy and Enzo interrupt the fragile moment.

“Honestly, if Theo’s up here sulking again, I’m hexing him,” Pansy’s voice echoes up the stairs, cutting through the silence, laced with her typical blend of annoyance and affection. “I don’t have the energy for his brooding tonight.”

Before you can even think to pull away, Theos arm relaxes on yours, still tight enough to keep you in place, gentle enough for you to not want to let go, The moment between you and Theo hangs in the air, fragile and unfinished.

“Wow,” is what automatically splits out of your best friend's witty tongue, looking between the two of you. “Well, well, well, what have we here?” Pansy smirks, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the two of you standing so close. “Did I interrupt some kind of lovers' spat turned romantic reconciliation?”

Enzo leans against the doorway, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “Looks like Theo’s finally stopped acting like a total git,” he says with a chuckle. “About time.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you try to pull away, but Theo doesn’t let you go, his arm still firmly wrapped around your waist. “It’s not—” you start, but Pansy’s smirk only deepens.

“Please, spare me,” she says, waving a hand dramatically. “I’ve been watching this slow burn for years. You can drop the act now.”

Enzo smirks, clearly enjoying Theo’s discomfort. “Who knew Theo had a soft side?”

Theo groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Can you two not?”

Pansy crosses her arms, the grin never leaving her face. “Oh, please. Don’t stop on our account. I’m dying to see how this academic rivalry plays out when you two finally, you know, release your tension.” She winks.

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes, “It’s not what it looks like,” you mumble, saving your almost-exposed smile

“You two have been going at it for so long, it was bound to end in a hug or a duel. Looks like you chose the softer option.” Smiles Enzo

You bite back a laugh, “Well, it hasn’t ended in bloodshed… yet” you joke, glancing up at him.

Pansy leans against the wall, still smirking. “So, what’s the plan now? Are you two going to keep pretending you hate each other or finally admit there’s something more going on?”

Theo shakes his head, looking amused despite himself. “You’re unbelievable, Pansy.”

Pansy just grins wider. “Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

You glare at her, but there’s no real bite behind it. It’s Pansy, after all, and if anyone was going to notice the tension between you and Theo, it was going to be her. Still, your cheeks burn as she watches you both with that insufferable smirk of hers.

Theo sighs beside you, “Merlin, Pansy, can you not?”

“Oh, don’t be so sensitive,” Pansy teases, crossing her arms. “I’m just saying, if you’ve finally decided to stop terrorising each other, the least you can do is admit it.

Enzo, clearly enjoying Theo’s misery, pats him on the back. “Don’t worry, mate. We’re rooting for you me and Draco have a bet of 5 galleons again Blaise that you two get together before end of school year.”

“Get the fuck out of here, both of you,” Theo growls, but his eyes flick to you as he says it. His tone, the one that’s usually directed at you, is now used for your defense. And you don’t miss the way his gaze softens as Pansy and Enzo finally turn to leave, You roll your eyes, though the tension in your chest loosens slightly. “This isn’t some grand confession,” you mutter, glancing up at Theo. “Right?”

Theo smirks down at you, the usual arrogance gone, replaced with something softer. “Right,” he agrees, though the hand still resting on your waist suggests otherwise. 

Pansy snorts. “not in love with each other, my ass. You two have been circling each other like animals for years, and now look at you, all cosy.”

With that, you finally step back from Theo, he didn’t fight you dropping your hand, crossing your arms over your chest. “We’re fine, Pansy. It’s not a big deal.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, clearly not believing a word. “Whatever you say, you’re my best friend if you think I’m going to let this slide without some serious teasing later, you’re delusional.”

you roll your eyes. “Why don’t you go find something else to meddle in, Pans?” Theo lets out before you have the chance to reply. Unbeknownst to you he is desperately wanting for you two to be alone again

Pansy grins wickedly. “Oh, I fully intend to. But don’t think for a second I’m letting this go. I’ll need a full report on how we got here.”

Enzo nudges her, clearly ready to leave you two alone. “Come on, Pans. Let them breathe.”

Pansy gives you both one last pointed look before finally turning to follow Enzo out. “I’ll be waiting for details,” she calls over her shoulder, her voice sing-song and full of mischief.

The door swings shut behind them, and the quiet returns. You glance up at Theo, unsure whether to laugh or cringe at Pansy’s dramatics.

Once they’re gone, the space feels quieter. Lighter. Theo shifts beside you, and for the first time, the tension between you two doesn’t feel like it’s pulling you apart.

“So” Theo starts hesitantly. “Do you still think I’m just trying to one-up you?”

You shrug, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t know what to think anymore,” you admit softly.

He steps closer, his usual bravado slipping away, replaced by something more vulnerable. “Then let me tell you.” His hand moves, and before you can react, his fingers gently cup your cheek. The warmth of his palm against your skin makes your breath catch. “You’re a bright witch. Brighter than anyone I know. I can see you’re tired of this game… but you’re not tired of me.”

The weight of his words settles over you, and for the first time, it feels like the competition has faded into the background, leaving something real in its place. Something different.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice steadier than you expected.

Theo’s about to smile when you pull away, breaking the moment. “I have to go. There’s that test tomorrow, and I want a good night’s sleep.”

“Mhm,” he nods, though his eyes linger on you, like he’s not ready to let the moment end.

You manage a small smile. “Still have to try and beat you, Nott.”

But he doesn’t laugh this time. There’s something more behind his eyes, something deeper, and for the first time, you wonder if maybe you’ve been playing the wrong game all along, he’s wondering the same thing.

You have an overwhelming feeling that if you stay alone with him any longer you’re going to do something without thought, or that he might bet you to it, your mind was a mess, you turn saying nothing more, not even a goodnight, racing with your own legs to catch up to Pansy. 

The test comes and goes, and you walk out of the classroom with your head hanging low. You feel miserable, you aren't confident in your work, and you are terrified it will reflect on your grade. 

On top of that you’ve made it your mission to avoid Theodore like the plague. How could you two even communicate without the teasing, without the constant back-and-forth, without unnerving everyone else around you? You have no idea, and you’re not about to figure it out anytime soon, it brought on a new set of frustration, a new set of nerves, it was almost worse than before. 

As you sit, wanting to sink into your seat, waiting for your result, you feel a tremble threaten to spill out of your lips. You’re haze broken by a soft nudge that sways your body, looking over to see Theodore; with a sigh, you set your eyes straight ahead; you can't afford to become distracted now. You can’t take much more uncertainty. 

You take a shaky breath as the parchment lands before you, but you can’t bring yourself to look at it. You already know. The sinking feeling in your gut says it all.

You failed.

Your hands shake as you stare down at it, that big, ugly number glaring back at you. Not just a bad grade—an actual, undeniable failure. The first one you’ve ever had. And it crushes you. The pressure to keep up, to stay on top of everything, to keep pace with him.

You brace yourself, waiting for the inevitable jab, you felt things changing between you both, but you still expected a small dose of sarcasm.

But it doesn’t come.

Theo is quiet. Too quiet. You chance a glance over, expecting his usual cocky grin, but what you find is... different. His expression is unreadable, brows furrowed as he watches you. There’s no teasing. No smugness. Just... concern.

“You okay?” His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it, careful, like he’s testing unfamiliar waters.

You blink, startled by the gentleness. “Fine,” you mutter, though it sounds weak even to your own ears.

He doesn’t believe you. He leans in a little closer, eyes narrowing as if he’s studying you, really looking at you, “dismissed” you hear your professor say above the noise of the classroom chatter.

You waste no time leaving class. You rub your eyes as you make your way down the hall, straight down to your common room.

You felt sad, disheartened, unaccomplished; you hadn't even noticed Theodore light jog to join you by your side, so unfocused that you kept walking when he called you to stop, he had to place his hands on your shoulders, his knuckles lifting your chin to force you to face him. 

So there you stood, eyes meeting his and here is comes, the waterworks, unintentionally falling down your face.

You had no idea how Theo would react, Merlin, you didn’t want this to be happening but, it was, you couldn’t stop if you tried. 

He wastes no time in pulling you into his chest. “Come on,” he mutters, rubbing your shoulder with his thumb, leading you both to the nearby couch in the empty common room. 

When you finally have enough courage to look back up, you almost cry again when you lock eyes with the softness of Theo’s, never experiencing the affectionateness of each other.

“I failed” you choke out, muffled into his chest, he pulls you out to face him immediately “No. You didn’t,” he says as surprised as you are 

“I did” you cry harder, forcing yourself back into his chest, his hands now find their way into your hair 

“This is my fault, I pushed you too hard, for too long, I’m sorry, alright, I’m sorry” he rambles 

"You don’t have to apologise," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "I should’ve taken better care of myself."

Theo’s gaze snapped back to you, intense and unwavering.  Both of his hands on each side of your face. "No," he said firmly, his jaw tightening. “I am sorry” he repeated

You looked down, your heart pounding in your chest. It felt surreal—this conversation, this moment. The Theo you knew, the Theo who pushed you to your limits and didn't feel sorry, you who would push him unapologetically, that Theo wouldn’t be saying these things, that you wouldn’t be feeling these things. But here he was, raw and real in front of you, admitting that he’d been wrong, and here you were, scared if you looked into his eyes for a second longer, you’d reveal how you felt before you could even come to terms with it.

"I don’t know what to say," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Theo leaned in a little closer, his lips brushing a soft kiss onto your forehead ever so lightly, the touch sent a shiver down your spine, you didn’t pull away. "You don’t have to say anything right now," he said softly, his voice warm. "Just… think about it. We can do this together. No more pushing, no more competition—just you and me, figuring it out."

Your heart stuttered at the way he said you and me like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it had always been there, hidden beneath the layers of rivalry and tension that had built up over the years.

You took a deep breath, letting his words sink in. You weren’t sure what this meant—what it would mean for the two of you going forward—but for the first time in a long while, you felt like you weren’t drowning under the pressure. Theo was offering something you never thought you’d get from him. 

You let out a confused huff, laced with exhaustion, comfort, happiness, sadness, all of it in one sigh. Theo pulls you into a deep hug again, kissing your head over and over, when you finally pull away, you almost whispered "can I-" your lips hovering so close in front of his, "yes" he practically spoke into your mouth as your lips collide, sinking into each other until a sudden gasp makes you both break away and look over

“I fucking TOLD you, Enzo!” Pansy yells out, mouth agape, pointing at the two of you. At the same time, Blaises hands Draco his galleons. Apparently, everyone knew this was coming but the two of you. 

i dont know how to feel about this fic tbh. Not my favourite piece of writing, I'm honestly kinda disappointed in this one, I've been working so much I think I'm burnt out... ughhhh anyway love y'all. ANON I hope this is sort of what you had in mind... its almost 3:30 am so IM INSECURE about posting this alright IDKKKK HELP hxweomhfsou,nzw

[ladybirdswritings]

Pride & Prejudice - Coriolanus {Young} Snow x Reader

Summary: You’re birthed into a lively family in dire need of financial stability. As the eldest, you’re paraded around to be married and much to the dismay of your mother, you deny every hand offered. Yet unbeknownst to you, a man of great power and influence, Mr. Snow, is lurking in the shadows, waiting for his chance to have you. Steamy Pride & Prejudice retelling with young snow and you! Alternate universe, au!snow <3

Notes: I hope u girlies eat this up, getting scrapped otherwise </3 — as always, thank u for leaving comments and loves as it keeps me motivated!

next chapter

one

You’d much rather be at any other breathing, standing tower of gold trimmings and cracked pillars in existence.

At any building filled to the brim, simply overflowing with tiered skirts and lively grins… offered hands and gentlemen donned in fine suits, pockets suffocated by their own riches.

Yet you cannot be; for mama has ordered your presence to be most dire and mandatory. Although you did consider fleeing for the highest hilltop or feigning ill, you knew well that mama would find you or see straight through your falsehoods.

“My my, you look as though you’ve got something unsweet taped to your vicious tongue.”

You scowl at the blonde goddess most confusingly known to be your sister, and she only flips a ringlet of gold behind her poised shoulder.

“I think it to be quite clear how dreadful I find this. No need to observe aloud, sister.”

Her mischievous sapphire orbs glow with enjoyment, face pink and flushed — skin glistening under the gold lanterns flickering above.

You’ve watched happily from your seat, she’s sure to have danced with at least twenty men now.

No wonder mama has no fears or worries about Jane. She is just guaranteed to run off and be married within the upcoming season, it only makes for less of a distraction for mama— she’ll be glued to you like quill to paper.

It is not as though men do not want you. Oh, they do. Most ardently.

The trouble is only that you do not want them.

How horrible it is to be confined to four lonesome, frayed walls with nothing more than your books and your wit to keep you company. Married to a man who will most certainly be your senior, who busies himself with trivial matters and leaves you to be cold at home.

You would much rather drown yourself in the river stix than face a fate so melancholic.

You wish to be an odd thing, to run away into a cottage and spend your days parted from the people who surround you. You will read books of men made from dreams and you will find comfort in knowing that you will not be wed to a man who will only discontent you.

Of course, that would bring great shame upon your family, ruin them. So it seems you will end up a spinster or a governess. Both fates, although not as you may hope in your dreams, still offer more joy.

“Forgive me for having fun. It is not why I displease you however, perhaps if you picked your pretty head up from that book and stopped waving the hands that greet you away— you would know this. Mama has sent me. The duke, his sister and a dear friend of his have arrived here. Here! At our party, can you believe it?”

You huff out a sigh laced with annoyance, flipping to the next chapter of the dilapidated thing in your hands.

“No, I truly cannot.” You mutter, yet you cannot spare the fresh page even a glance before it is snatched from your clutched fingers.

A first edition, it shreds from its spine and erupts a gasp from both you and Jane. Mama’s cyan gaze is cold and anxious, feigning a tight smile.

That one was your favorite.

You do not lift your head, you do not notice the three towering men who look down upon your reserved oak wood bench in interest. Mama clutches the duke’s palm in an embrace of suffocation, yet you do not pay it even a little mind as you drop to your knees in your pretty dress to find the strayed page.

“My god, where are your manners — girl! Please do not pay her rudeness any attention, she gets sickly over these things. Sweetheart, up now— we can buy you another.”

Her voice is cold, devoid of any admiration. It is a lie, too. Your family cannot afford even a singular chapter of a new novel, let alone a first edition. You should be the one plagued by frustration, yet you feel as though it is you who is doing something wrong.

Even so, your eyes search the floor with great fervor, landing on a polished leather shoe which suffocates chapter twelve.

You wince, preparing all the words you can to kindly request the stranger lifts his big foot off of your paper. Yet they dissipate in the back of your throat.

The man, he bends at his knee as he frees the old thing from his sole. Your eyes lift to greet him, then.

He is a mess of blonde locks, unruly compared to that of the others with hair long enough. Theirs are tamed with ribbons, his only sits atop his head. His eyes are a cold color, one you cannot explain. They are commanding, fueled with great intensity.

Beyond all of this?

He looks most certainly miserable.

He does not wish to attend tonight, one glance proves this.

He spares you no words as he passes you the paper, eyes locked upon the contents of it. He offers you a hand of assistance, too.

You ignore it, wincing at the disgust your mother expresses.

You need no aid as you lift to your feet and dust the old thing off, he follows you — becoming a tower taller once he stands.

Jane, you are grateful now that she is still here. She laughs most uncomfortably, placing a polite hand upon your shoulder as she snatches the page away. Far more gently.

“My dear sister, may I introduce you to your grace — sir Sejanus Plinth of Newbury. Alongside him, his sister — Grace Plinth and their dearest friend, Coriolanus Snow, also of Newbury.”

You know well that you’ve just about boiled a vicious pot of scorching water, one you’ll have to face the many consequences of. A quick glance stolen toward mama proves it.

With a soft sigh, you curtsy to the men before you. A show of respect which you most certainly do not have for them. They are just as unimportant as the others, grand status or not. Including the miserable looking blonde with cold eyes.

“Lovely to meet you. This is truly a grand gathering you’ve all put together…” Sejanus offers with a smile of pearl. You peer up at him, his eyes stealing quick glances at goddess Jane.

Mama goes off on a tangent about how much she adores hosting gatherings as much as attending them — and it’s all a mere buzz in your ears.

Your eyes shift toward the sister, Grace. She’s scowling at you… how peculiar.

“Jane, forgive me if this is far too forward but — I would be most honored to be the last dance you partake in this evening.” Sejanus swallows back his nerves, wincing at the sound of his own voice. Sweet Jane doesn’t bother torturing him, she only nods a shy head.

“Oh, come Grace! I must show you how my youngest daughter performs on the grand piano!”

You feel poorly for the scowling girl who is whisked away by mama. Jane and Sejanus follow alongside them, but part as soon as the music begins.

Both of your palms come to a clasp— shifting weight on your heels as you watch Jane twirl and giggle a golden sound, so beautiful you are certain it could bring each and every single gentleman in attendance to their knees.

Well, except the miserable Mr. Snow.

Your eyes drift to him then — and you catch his gaze already locked upon your stature. He averts it hastily, staring at what looks to be the far wall after he is caught.

Does he plan to lurk here like a shadow’s phantom for the entirety of the evening?

“Do you dance, Mr. Snow?”

His jaw is a sharp — tense thing. It clenches in surprise at your voice. He doesn’t spare you a glance as he answers.

“Not if I can help it.” Is but all he offers before returning to a miserable state of silence again.

By god, to garner more than a mere word is equivalent to the act of tugging teeth loose. You purse your lips, turning your head away to find another question you could offer.

You do not bother, however.

For the first time in all your life, in all the seasons you’ve suffered — you wish to dance. Not because you find it to be fun or any more stimulating than a novel but; rather because you would be far more joyous away from him.

Beyond this, it would make mama less angered when the gathering reaches its end.

You do not offer him a word of parting before you plunge into the lively crowd. A man with blonde locks, not quite as icy as Mr. Snow’s own tousles, offers his hand.

You lose yourself in the rhythm, pretending to be that of a girl in one of your novels. Whisked away by a mysterious, dancing stranger who offers more than just a meaningless hand.

You pretend the blonde is to be a grand lover, one who will care for you beyond material needs. Beyond what is expected and a bore.

You pretend, and when the song ends — so does each and every one of your mindless fantasies.

To normality once again…

[333sturns]

shy!matt x fem!reader

CHERRY LIPS

its your 20th birthday and matt decided to get you a new lipstick as a gift, which ends up getting him very excited.

includes heavy smut, suggestive language, masturbation no protection, and alot of sexual content.

it was a cold december night, the sky was dark, the breeze in the air was cold and there were small snowflakes starting to pile up onto the grass. giving the grass a barely visible white surface.

you were snuggled underneath your covers, the touch of the silk brushing across your skin was such a comforting feeling that you didn’t even realize that your phone was buzzing uncontrollably.

the morning crept through and the rays of sunlight tickled your eyelids, causing you to roll over and slowly flutter your eyes open.

stirring yourself awake, you grab your phone like always, even if you werent fully awake. to your surprise you had over 50 birthday messages from your friends.

“geez, so many fucking messages…” your voice slowly trailed off and you looked through each one. all of them wishing you a happy birthday.

how cute!

you got yourself ready for the day and smiled to yourself. your hair was slightly curled and your makeup looked nice. you wore some dark washed jorts and a cute black top that hugged your waist perfectly.

you grabbed all your items and quickly put on your shoes before quickly skipping over to your door. and to your surprise nick, chris, and matt were already outside.

“happy birthday!” they all said in unison.

you were flooded with hugs from all three of them and couldn’t help yourself from hugging them back and laughing.

“aw guys! thank you!” you chuckled, pulling back and giving each one of them a huge smile. you looked down to their hands and they all individually gave you a small gift.

“ooh, gifts? thanks you guys!” you closed your door once they all entered and walked over to sit next to them to open your gifts. once you sat down, you grabbed the first gift that caught your attention and slowly began to open it.

“lets open this one first!”

as you ruffled through the colored paper you were met with a small black box that had my name imprinted on the inside. i opened it carefully and widened my eyes at the beautiful red lipstick infront of me.

“lipstick—woah,”

you looked over at them and locked your eyes with matt who had a small tint of blush on his cheeks. he nervously placed his hand on the back of his neck and smiled,

“yeah, i-i thought it’d look great on you.”

you caught yourself staring at matt who also was staring at you until you looked away and smiled to yourself. you were about to place the gift back inside until you noticed a small envelope inside. sealed shut with a red heart.

you picked up the envelope and carefully opened it by the heart. trying your best not to rip it.

to: y/n <3

from: matt

happy happy birthday to one of my favorite best friends in the entire world. i really hope you have a great day today and that your 20s treat you well.

p.s hope u like the gift :)

love, matt. <3

you looked over at matt with a small pout and smiled at him, placing your hand over your heart. his sloppy handwriting always made you smile.

“that was so fucking adorable matt thank you!” you smiled. giving him a quick side hug.

“of course.” matt replied.

you carefully opened the lipstick and pulled out your phone, opening the camera app. you slowly applied the lipstick onto your lips, looking over at matt and sarcastically blowing him a kiss.

“y—yup looks great as always,” he chuckled. his fingers picking at his nails nervously. you looked back at chris and nick with a smile and started opening their gifts next.

the triplets ended up staying over for the rest of the day and nick had decided it was time to eat some cake and celebrate for the rest of the night. nick called an uber to go over to the store and chris decided to tag along.

yet the only reason they had to call an uber is because matt was in the bathroom stating that ‘he was gonna be a while.’

which meant you two were both together.

alone.

you walked over to your room to take your shoes off and as you passed by you heard a faint sound of whimpering.

“fuck, y/n, fuck,” matt sighed, his chest rising with every staggered breath he took. his fingers wrapped around his throbbing cock in need of friction and of some touch.

he slowly pumped his hand against his cock, his thumb brushing against the tip causing him to let out another small whimper.

he threw his head back and bit his lip harshly. he didnt need anybody to know that he was selfishly pleasuring himself in his bestfriends house. on your own birthday. and in your bathroom.

but fuck, he couldnt get you out of his mind. the way you applied the lipstick so smoothly against your lips he wishes it was him and not the lipstick. the way you puckered you lips in a joking manner was driving him insane. he needed you badly and he just couldnt hold it in anymore.

he just needed to see your lips wrapped around his cock as d he fucked you relentlessly until he found his release. he wanted to see that pretty red mouth of yours destroyed.

his mind was fogged up in imagines of you, your beautifully colored lips and your teasing sent him over the edge.

he hadn’t even realized that he was close, or that you had now entered the bathroom out of curiosity and he didnt even react one bit. his cock twitched in desperation and a low moan escaped from matts lips. he pumped his hands faster and jolted his hips up until he suddenly came.

the white strips of cum shooting onto his hands and onto the hem of his t-shirt.

“shiit.. y/n...” he mumbled, opening his eyes and looking down at his hands covered in his warm come. he wiped his forehead which was now covered in small droplets of sweat and small strands of hair stuck against his forehead.

he looked up at the ceiling and tried catching his breath. his back against the toilet seat and his heartbeat slowly calming down.

“do you want some help?” you mumbled, breaking the awkward silence that grew between you two. he instantly looked down to your lips and felt himself getting hard and embarrassed again.

“you werent—how did you—when!-“

“i guess you were to busy jerking off you didn’t even notice i came in? huh?” you cut him off before he could continue staggering.

“its not what it looks like im—“

“matt its okay.” you reassured him and got up from the bathtub and slowly walked a bit closer to matt. once you stood infront of him you looked down at the beautiful view of his flushed face, his beaten cock, messy hair, and his lips parted slightly trying to catch his breath.

slowly, you lowered yourself down onto you knees and looked up at matt who was again blushing in embarrassment.

“is this okay?” you whispered, softly placing kisses on the head and sides of matts dick. watching him shiver from every kiss making you wetter than before.

“yeah but they.. fuck,”

“they wont be here for another few minutes just give me time.” with one hand you began pumping matts cock while slowly wrapping your red cherry lips onto his dick.

with every bob you gave matt began to get more comfortable. suddenly grabbing a fistful of your hair and pushing your head down a bit further until he was satisfied.

hearing your whimpers and small gags drove him crazy and caused him to abruptly come.

he let go of your head and looked down at you with a mischievous smirk.

“that was so fucking good baby,” he growled, grabbing your arm and pulling you up onto hip lap.

you playfully pushed him back against the toilet seat and sat yourself down onto his lap. he grunted softly at the feeling of your clothed clit against his dick. and hesitantly placed his hand onto your waist and pulled you closer to him.

“take this off, now.”

he tugged at the hem of your jean shorts and you obeyed easily. sliding them off your legs you were now only left in your panties and shirt.

he roamed his hands underneath your shirt and loved the way you bit your lip and admired his features.

he placed one hand on the back of your head and pulled you in closer, giving you a passionate kiss that he’s been dreaming of. for who knows how long.

you bit onto his lip harshly and slid your tongue in once he groaned softly. he gripped onto your hips tightly and slowly grinded your hips against his.

you separated from the kiss and slowly moved over to his neck, licking small strapes along his neck. you loved how he crumbled underneath your touch, giving into you and whimpering softly.

you pulled away from his neck and looked up at him. slowly creeping your hand down to his dick.

he knows that he wants this. i mean he was just jerking off to scenarios of you just a few moments ago, but he just didnt think it would actually be happening right now. but he isnt really complaining anyways.

you watched as he squirmed underneath you, shuddering out desperate pleases to be touched once more.

“fuck i need you.” he growled. he moved his hands down in between your legs and moved the rim of your underwear to the side.

he carefully lifted your body up and centered himself underneath you before slowly slipping himself inside of you.

“youre so fucking tight, y/n.” he ran his fingers through your hair and started to gain a steady rhythm.

you rested your head into matts shoulder and used that to place kisses along his neck while he selfishly thrusted into you. you moaned into his ear and gently bit down onto his neck, causing him to let out a stiffled moan.

“dont stop matt, youre doing so fucking good i—,” you gently placed a soft kiss on his lips, trying to keep yourself from screaming too loud. you pulled away quickly and watched as he furrowed his brows in concentration.

matts thrusts began to get more rough by the second and he wasnt holding back anymore. this is what hes always masturbated to and what hes always wished he couldve done with you and he isnt letting that slide now that he has you in his hands.

“oh matt!” you cried, throwing your head back and fluttering your eyes closed.

“im so close…” matt whimpered, desperately trying to seek for release.

the sound of our heavy breathing and skin clapping together flooded the room. the windows fogging up very slightly as you both came to your high.

“im coming!..” matt jolted his hips up once more and came inside you, his come slowly dripping in between your thighs.

he held your waist down until he was finished and buried his face into your neck while peppering small kisses.

you ran your fingers through matts hair before propping yourself up with his hands on matts shoulders. giving him a cheeky grin in my messed up lipstick.

matts neck, face, and collarbone was covered in the faint color of my lipstick. and it looked heavenly.

“you should wear that more often baby.” matt mumbled.

©333sturns

[formulaforza]

💐 hi my wonderful birthday girl !! so i was thinking about a dress coded lewis blurb (because i was born a lewis and ts girl) where they just get drunk together and there’s teases flying and stuff. keep it as brief as u wish <333

—you can take it off

lewis hamilton x merc!reader summ. thank you stephy i love u bad <3 inspo from... ur never gonna believe it... this. hope it's up to your standards my love. 2.7k (kind of got out of hand)

You were half-asleep and half-drunk the night of the Belgium Grand Prix. The air was cool, recycled like all air seems to be in hotels, smelled of too-strong perfume and was filled with the dull noise of elevator jazz. What had begun as a before-we-go-to-bed night cap in the hotel bar with Bono had turned into a seemingly never ending addition of guests. 

Valtteri was first to join—never could pass up the opportunity to give you shit, to offer you job postings at Alfa Romeo that weren’t job postings at all—and with him around, there’s no casual drinking. You don’t try to keep up, not really, because you know you don’t stand a chance, but also because he would never let you. After all these years of being just a few months younger than him, he still calls you kiddo, still promises to call your parents when you’re out after dark, and always sends you a text after a race with some… questionable strategy decisions you’re catching flack for online. 

A brief appearance from Toto and Susie, just long enough for them to know they had no business trying to go drink for drink with Valtteri, and then they’re wishing all three of you a wonderful summer break and retreating to whatever room is considered prestige enough for Motorsport’s it-couple. 

And then there was Lewis, the last to arrive, who never called you kid, who never viewed you as one. He sits adjacent you in the red, high back leather booth and takes up a seat and a half, the toe of his shoe brushing against the side of yours, flashing you apologetic puppy dog eyes every time he bumps against yours. 

It’s somewhere between drink number five and six that Lewis gets his first, insists on a toast to the summer break that officially began… six hours and fifty-three minutes ago. For a long season this and a too-short summer break that, you lot had a mouthful of things to complain about, but a million more to be grateful for. “To not having work for a month,” Lewis proposes, clinking his glass against yours, offering a quick wink and holding it up properly over the table. 

“To no racing-talk for a few weeks,” Bono adds, clinking his glass against Lewis’. 

“To summer-fucking-break,” Valtteri chimes in, laughing at himself before the rest of you get the chance to match it. 

“To summer fucking break,” you repeat because you know there’s no better way to sum it all up. 

Unlike the other two, you slowed down when Lewis joined, wanted to give him time to catch up, to give yourself time to meet him somewhere in the middle. A glass of water and a virgin rum and coke and another water and the night is still young. 

“First summer break as the big boss, kiddo,” Valtteri remarks, and you have to squint to hear him through the alcohol-induced thickening of his accent. 

“That’s right!” Bono laughs. Your cheeks run hot at their mention of your title, of your promotion following James’ departure earlier in the season. Lewis smiles against the rim of his glass, bumps his foot against yours and doesn’t give you apologetic eyes. No, he raises his brows so slightly you think you’re the only one that notices, which is probably exactly the way he intended it to be. “Little miss queen of strategy is making the big money now, got any big travel plans?”

Lewis clears his throat, and your eyes dart over to his almost instinctively. “You’re staying in London, yeah?”

He’s right. Your summer-break plans consist of four weeks of trying to remember what it feels like to do nothing, failing at that task pathetically, and spending the rest of the time meticulously picking apart every call you’ve made all season and imagining the million and one things you could’ve done differently and their billion and two outcomes. 

You pick apart the drink napkin, tear it into tiny little pieces. “Yeah, yeah. Just staying home, catching up with friends and family,” you clarify, try not to sound as pathetic as you feel. It’s hard not to when you’re sitting next to the guy who spends his offseason snowboarding in Antarctica with his celebrity friends and his weeks off traveling to Paris fashion week for front row seats next to supermodels. Anything you say would sound pathetic to someone who makes thirty-five million a year. 

“I love it,” he nods, stares right through you and into your soul so you know he’s being genuine. “That’s awesome.”

You nod, swallow hard, purposely angle your body away from his, to the rest of the group. “What about you guys?”

Lewis laughs, soft, quiet, completely under his breath. The kind of laugh that deserves to be bottled into a jar and kept on a shelf for safe keeping. You know he’s always laughed like that, even before he knew you, but in the last few months it just feels different. Good different, like he’s laughing just for you now instead of everyone else too. 

You know you’re crazy, that he’s just Lewis being Lewis and you’re just single for the first time in a long time and also drunk. Not half drunk anymore, just drunk—even if you do think you’re meeting him in the middle, you’re not. He’s just chasing after. 

“Back home, too,” Bono concludes. “Take a breather, might head up to the country with the family.”

“You’ll take pictures, yeah?” Lewis asks, starts to pick up the pieces of your napkin tear pile and move them in front of him like a kid who isn’t patient enough to share or destructive enough to rip up his own. You watch in your peripheral, the way he fiddles with the wet paper, gets it stuck to his fingertips. You can’t laugh, so you don’t, but you want to. You think he knows you want to. 

Bono scoffs, nods while swallowing a sip of his drink—something dark, something pungent. Not what you would have pegged him for ordering, even after knowing him as long as you have. “So I can compare with the likes of you lot and,” he turns to Lewis, leers around you to emphasize the eyeline, “your million dollar vacations or,” and then the other way, back to Valtteri, “your olympic cycling events?”

Valtteri smiles, swirls his drink—gin, you think. Expensive. “Yes.”

“No chance.”

“I’ll be sure to send you a picture of me having a meltdown when I think about our side pods from the beginning of the year,” you chime in, because it’s not like they all don’t know you well enough to know exactly what you mean by spending time with friends and family at home.

 “What sidepods?” Lewis chuckles.

“Fucking exactly,” you add, mirror his mannerisms without even realizing it, all the way down to readjusting in your seat when you’ve had your laugh. 

“Could be worse,” Bono offers. “Could be last year.”

Lewis nods, holds his drink up in the direction of Valtteri across the table. “We never should have let you leave.”

He smiles, weak, lips  pursed. “I could have told you that.”

The night continues on, all drinks and laughs and yawns, occasional remarks that it’s about time I head up, followed by another round, another joke, another comment about this, that, or the other thing. 

You’ve always liked Lewis when he’s a little tipsy. He lightens up a bit, you can actually watch the stress drip from him like sweat, all the titles and the wins and the losses, they all just fall away when he’s relaxed like this. You’ve always liked him like this. Always. Before he was king of the world and before he was the prodigal son and every moment in between. 

After every joke he makes—or, after every comment he makes that he thinks could be considered a joke—you find yourself laughing, because it’s Lewis and you have a crush on him and of course you do. And, without fail, everytime you laugh, he winks, like you’re in on some inside joke even though he’s making it to the whole table, like there’s some double meaning to all of his words that are meant just for you, just for the two of you to understand. 

Somewhere in it all, it comes back to Lewis, because, well, it always does. “Is your back still bothering you?” Bono asks, and you think you already know the answer. You think you know, because you can’t remember the last time you;d seen him take careful consideration of his posture when he sits. Not even now is he sitting up straight, with his legs perfectly spread a shoulder’s width apart and his feet flat on the floor. Instead, he’s taking up more room than he needs to, all relaxed and comfortable on the leather booth bench. 

He swipes his thumb over the  condensation of his glass, looking up from the action at you, and then to Bono. “No, no. All good there.”

“All good?” Bono prods, because he was on the receiving end of a year and a half of complaints from Lewis.

Lewis nods, clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “No Paracetamol in a month.”

Across the table, Valterri chimes in. “None?” 

“None for my back,” Lewis says, and the whole table laughs. You just watch him, though, because who laughs better than he does? You could wax poetic about it without a second thought, the way that his lips upturn and his cheeks round and his eyes crinkle and go soft in a way that makes you feel like you’re the funniest person in the world even when you’re not making a joke. The way that his smile is brighter than anyone’s you’ve ever seen, and the way that if you look at it for too long, you think about how it would feel to run your finger along the gap in his teeth. 

“That’s what I thought,” Valtteri mutters off the end of his laugh. “You're getting old.”

“Not too old to make half a million.”

The entire table’s heads fly to him. You gasp, an embarrassingly wide smile on your face. “You didn’t!” You almost yell, smacking his upper arm with a weak hand. 

He mocks your gasp, makes it somehow more dramatic and over the top and laughs sweetly, shrugging your hand off his arm and letting his hand fall to your leg, bumping your foot with his again. “I didn’t.” The table chuckles, you pout, and then you realize that his hand is on your thigh, that it’s staying there quite comfortably, and that you mind it less than he does. 

“Don’t be a tease,” you sigh, take a swig of your drink. Your knees are suddenly weak, like you know you wouldn’t be able to stand up if you wanted to. It’s like he can sense your change but can’t quite read it, because then he’s moving his hand back to his own lap, interlocking it with the other and resting it there.

 He nods, suddenly shy, suddenly guilty. “It’s as good as done.”

Valtteri laughs. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” You hear what he says, but you’re not listening, not really. Lewis stares into you like he wants to look anywhere else—apologetic eyes and a fear he’s taken a misstep. He hasn’t, you want to tell him. You haven’t, put your hand back, please. Silently, you try to convey what shouldn’t dare be spoken. “I’ll believe it when pen is on paper.”

He snaps his eyes away from you, back to Valtteri. You don’t follow suit, stay fixed on him, on trying— hard—to get your message across. “I’m telling you, they’re announcing it after the summer break.”

“Whatever you say, Mate.”

Bono nods around a mouthful of alcohol, sets his half-empty glass down with an incidental thud. “Who’s to say we still want your geriatric ass?”

Lewis raised his interlocked hands from his lap, to the tabletop, resting his elbows on the wood grain and rattling the empty glasses when he does it. He leans in towards the center of the table, even though the only person separating him and Bono is you. “Would you tell Schumacher ‘no?’”

“What was that?” You ask, your words a convenient excuse to lean in closer, to settle into a spot that much closer to him without raising any brows. To brace for the shift, you leave your hand on his thigh with less subtly than your original movement, but it’s okay. It’s okay—only Lewis knows where your hands are, and you don’t want it to be subtle, don’t want anything to be lost in translation. “I can’t hear you over your ego,” you smile, and your fingers dance up his leg just a few, careful inches. 

He drops back into his seat, drops his hands back into his lap. Under the table, he grabs yours and laughs, but it’s stifled, stunted, not quite relaxed. “Very funny,” he humors, and moves your hand back. His stays too, though, and he crosses one leg over the other under the table. His thumb moves over the fabric of your slacks in shudder-worthy circles. 

“Someone’s gotta check you,” you smile, nod in the direction of your tablemates without ever looking away from him. “These two won’t.”

Bono scoffs.“Are you kidding?”

Your smile grows. “How do you want me to answer that, Peter?”

“Damn,” Lewis laughs so hard he coughs. “She Peter-ed you. That’s cold.”

“You’re the one comparing yourself to Michael fucking Schumacher,” Bono scolds. 

“I didn’t say that, but,”

“But!” You interject. 

“But,” Lewis laughs, threatens to continue even though all at the table know he won’t, knows that no matter how often the media and the girlfriends and the friends and the family tell him he should put himself up there with the greatest, he’ll never quite see himself in the same light. “But it’s about time I head up, I think.”

“Ah, see,” Valtteri chuckles. “Old man Hamilton can’t hang.”

“No, he can not,” Lewis remarks, pulling his phone and his hotel keycard from his pocket, setting the latter on the table and if you were feeling a little crazier than you are, you’d swear he nudges it ever so slightly out of his bubble and into yours. He types away rapidly at his phone, and you try to pay attention to the jokes Bono and Valtteri throw around, the pokes at Lewis they make, but suddenly you’re feeling like it’s a good time to head up, too. You try to shake the crazy, to leave it with your backwash in the final sip of your drink, and you do. You do.

You do, but then he’s slipping his phone back into his pocket. He’s leaving his glass just beyond his keycard and telling you to feel free to finish it. He’s saying his goodbyes while he moves out of the booth and his hotel room key is still sat on the table next to you. It stares at you—the hard, thin plastic. Stares at you in its white paper pocket with the intricate printing of the hotel label and dares you to look at him when he walks away. 

You do, begrudgingly, subtly, and his eyes are already on yours. They’re expressionless, and yet, say so fucking much. You hold the remainder of his drink in his direction before downing it in a single gulp and then he winks at you. He looks at his keycard on the table, and then to you, and then he winks, and you’re sure you’re absolutely crazy. 

You swallow. 

“Oh, fuck,” Bono says, reaches over you to grab the keycard from the table. It’s like you were zoned out and he snapped in front of your face, the way it pulls you from Lewis to the table. “He forgot his key.”

“Oh,” you squeak, and then louder, “I can take it to him.”

“No, no, It’s okay,” Bono says, and he makes you stand up to get out of the booth. “I should be heading up anyway.”

“Really,” you half-insist, trying to convince him you can handle it without letting him in on why you’re convincing him. “It’s no problem.”

Bono pulls out his wallet, flips through the pockets of it and fiddles with his bills. “Our rooms are right by each other,” he insists, tosses his share onto the table. “I got it.”

“Okay,” you nod, accept your defeat. “Yeah, I should be heading up, too, I guess.”

[thepersonnamedsam]

hiii, love your stuff<33 could I maybe request a gen z reader blurb where after getting in a crash due to a mechanical issue everyone worries about her and she’s pissed because she felt seen as weak and vulnerable?? THANK U SO MUCH

life goes on

pairing: genz!driver x '23!grid and some seb cameo

summary: see request :)

word count: 2.1k

warnings: crash, blood, injury, anger issues, tears (idk if that’s a warning), media talks bad about genz!driver, foul language

note: thank you so much for the request!! i am not quite sure if i should write the genz!driver stories in a you pov or a she/her pov, what would you prefer, please let me know, ty :))

masterlist / taglist

It started with a bad day. FP1 was shit, FP2 was also not great. Her day was just not great. Free practice 3 was better, the car had finally responded to her again. In the first two laps, everything went smooth. She was already singing Smooth Operator in her head. But suddenly the car stirred, luckily she saved herself and didn’t crash, but she did retire from the session.

Her engineer and her sat together for Qualifying. She told him everything she noticed whilst driving.

„I feel like the steering wheel is not responding on time. It’s like it’s two seconds delayed, which is not good.“

He nodded and wrote it down on a notepad. „I feel like there’s nothing we can do, I can check with the mechanics, but qualifying is in two hours, which may not be enough time“, her race engineer told her. She sighed. The last two days were bad for y/n, she hasn’t slept good for at least four days. She nodded and told him that she’d be in her drivers room.

As qualifying started, she only got in one good lap before she had to retire. She was right, her steering wheel indeed had a slight delay. Which made turning corners very hard. She ended Q1 in P19, her worst result in qualifying yet. She was disappointed, in herself and in the car.

Her mechanics tried to fix the issue until the race started, but with no hope. She prepared herself for the race, knowing it would not be an easy one. She was scared, like scared shitless. She tried to call Sebastian during Q2, but he did not pick up. Opting for a quick text, she asked him to call her back as soon as possible.

Lewis heard what happened to y/n car during Q1 and wanted to comfort the young driver. With long strides he went to her motorhome. Her engineer just pointed to her drivers room as soon as he saw Lewis approach him. Three short knocks. Her head snapped up as the door opened. Lewis was standing there, looking pitiful and held his arms out.

„Are you okay, darling?“, he asked her as she nuzzled her head in his shoulders. She let her tears fall freely. Shaking her head she told him how she felt. „The steering wheel is delayed, which is so difficult to drive with and also dangerous. But my mechanics can’t fix it, they don’t know why it’s happening and a whole reboot of the system would take too long! I’m scared, Lewis. I don’t know what to do.“

His hand firm on her backside, he just held the young woman. Telling her to retire to not cause a crash would’ve been the best thing. Tell her to refuse to race. But he didn’t, knowing the girl and her ambitions. She would race, no matter what. She didn’t want to be seen as weak or even worse, girly.

She was girly, but not in the sense of racing. She was just as ‚manly‘ as the other drivers.

„I know that you will make the right decision about the whole situation“, Lewis told her. Oh, how wrong he was.

Q3 was finished with Verstappen on pole, as always, Perez on P2 and Leclerc on P3. Happy to see Charles starting this high, she went into the race with somewhat a good feeling. The first three laps were okay, she sank down to P20, DeVries overtook her with ease on the second corner, as she slowed down as much as possible to control the car. But the longer the race was, the more angry she got. It was not fair, the steering wheel was just not responding.

On lap 24 y/n’s car crashed. In corner eight, her steering wheel stopped working. Instead of a turn, the car just went straight into the pit wall. The front wing smashed against the wall, squashing it against her own car. Her head was spinning. What just happened?

„Red flag, the FIA just announced a red flag in corner eight. Seems like y/l/n crashed. Let’s hope she’s fine.“

Several team radios went through.

„Charles, y/n crashed in corner eight, there’s a red flag, be careful.“

„Lewis, there is a red flag.“

„Be careful, Max. You are approaching corner eight where y/n has had a crash.“

And many more. Everyone was concerned. What has happened? What did she do to crash her car like that. Was she responsive? Responsible? What was going on?

„y/n, please respond. The race has been stopped. What happened?“, her race engineer tried to speak to her, she was non-responsive.

„What the fuck, what happened?! Is she responsive? Are the medics on their way?“, Lewis was the first to address the situation. „We don’t know, we don’t see any medics yet, Lewis.“

And as Max pulled up to corner eight he hopped out of his car. He ran towards hers and yelled for her, to show him a sign that she was still alive, without a response. He was worried, he was always worried when someone crashed, but he was extra worried when she did.

„y/n! What happened? Are you okay? Please give me a sign!“, he tried it again, with no luck. He saw her helmet move, the flashy colours moving from side to side. „Ach godzijdank Ah, thank god“, he mumbled.

The medics arrived and ushered Max to the side. Taking her out of the car and laying her on a spinal board. Transporting her into the ambulance.

She was devastated. It was not her fault she crashed. But the media didn’t know that. They would accuse her of crashing yet another car. That she wasn’t good enough to be in Formula 1. They would report about her as if she wasn’t a human being and just something they could play with. They would talk about her like a doll. It was not fair.

Meanwhile on the paddock the talking began. Lewis was the most worried, he should’ve just told her to refuse racing. What if she suffered a serious injury? Like a neck or spine injury and couldn’t race anymore. It was his fault, that’s what he thought.

Lando was worried too, not really knowing what happened, he was just worried. She could be injured. The minutes went by without any news from her. They were hard for Lando.

Even Checo, who wasn’t usually a companion of y/n, was worried. He didn’t see what happened, but he heard from Max how the crash looked - bad, it looked bad.

„We hear from the medics; y/n is okay. At least that. Let’s hope the race will continue without another crash.“

Lewis released a breather, not knowing he heals so much air in his lungs. He was glad y/n was okay. He still felt bad, always feeling responsible for her. And now that she crashed, his head was spinning with gut wrenching thoughts and worry.

The FIA announced the green flag and the race continued without y/n. When she got back to her garage, her motorhome, she expected a angry team principal, angry mechanics and engineers, expect she was greeted with relieved sighs and shoulder droppings. Her engineer was the first one to embrace her. He told her how sorry he was and how everything was definitely not her fault.

She was still angry, no points, no race, no happy ending for that day. Everything was shit. She had a shit day that race. And it was not even her own fault.

Her team principal came towards her, gripping her shoulders hard and said: „I know this seems bad, it is, but we can fix it. I wish I could send you home, but media still awaits.“

So she waited, she waited lap after lap until eventually Max won the race. She waited until her PR got her out of the drivers room and took her to the media pen, where the post race conferences will be held.

Sky Sports interviewed the todays winner. So, y/n waited for Max to finish. She hoped he would never finish, that she would never have to face the camera and talk about the incident.

But that didn’t happen.

„Hello y/n, how do you feel? Everything okay, no pain?“, the nice interviewer asked her. „Uh, yeah, everything is fine“, she struggled with her answer, not believing herself that everything was fine.

„Can you tell me what happened? We just saw you crashing?“ - „Uhm, yeah“, she looked towards her media PR, what was she allowed to say? She shook her head - no bad words about her team. „I-, uh, I lost control of my steering wheel.“

The interviewer nodded. „We saw you retire from the race after Q1, having struggled already in FP1 and 2. Did you have problems with your steering wheel during them as well?“

She sighed. She was tired, her neck ached and she just wanted to be in her bed.

„I mean, kind of, yeah you could say I struggled with it during free practice.“

If she told the interviewer that she struggled with it during the whole yesterday and today, she would’ve bad mouthed the team.

„Last question for today, y/n. We asked Twitter for some comments, would you be so kind to make a statement to some of them?“

She really didn’t want to, knowing exactly what most of them had to say; women don’t belong in motorsports, etc.

„Sure“, she sighed. Her PR nodded, happy that y/n decided not to refuse.

„Alright, @motodports_2 said: That’s the second time this season that y/n crashed her car and we are only on the 7th race. What do you have to say to that?“

She closed her eyes, the headache creeping in like a madman with a desire to kill. „That’s true, that was the second crash of the season. And I am sorry for that, my team doesn’t deserve me crashing that many times during the season. I apologise.“

Sebastian was sitting at home, watching the race from his couch. He couldn’t believe what she was saying. The team doesn’t deserve a driver that crashes so much? Bullshit.

He missed her calls earlier that day, he wished he would’ve picked up his phone or at least called her back. But what she was telling to that interviewer was absolute bull.

Charles, who was next in line, also couldn’t believe the stuff you were telling Sky Sports.

„Okay, @maydrive says: The way y/n is throwing away her career in F1 with those shenanigans. Get a grip, will you?“, the interviewer read from the screen in front.

Charles was shocked, he never had to respond to any comments like that. How was she experiencing something like that?

„Uh yeah, thank you @maydrive for that. I will try to get a grip, and you are right, I am throwing away my F1 career like that, but I don’t want that, that’s why I will keep trying to get better“, her eyes were starting water. Just don’t let those tears fall, y/n. They want to see her cry, don’t give them the satisfaction of it.

„Thank you, y/n. Rest up and good evening!“

Her PR pulled her away and onto the next interview. After all that, she was exhausted. Exhausted and angry. How could they be asking her questions like that? Not fair.

Back in her garage, she let the emotions flow. Tears were streaming down her face, sobs were heard and her body was shaking. Her PR handed y/n her phone, leaving her again with a gentle pat to the shoulder.

Seb was calling her.

„Before you say anything, don’t let them treat you like that ever again. Not your fault, if you had problems with the steering wheel, it is not your place to apologise“, Seb interrupted her, before she could even sob into the phone. He heard sniffles. „Don’t cry, liebes dear. You did nothing wrong today.“

„Seb, I wish you’d be here“, she sobbed into the phone. It broke his heart. Comforting someone over the phone was hard, much more if the person being comforted was a teenager.

„It’s gonna be okay, life goes on, okay?“, he told her. „I just feel so weak and vulnerable. They hate me, they always find something wrong with my driving.“

„You are not weak! Who told you that?“, a voice from behind her sounded from the dark. Fernando Alonso stepped out of the shadow. Seb instantly recognised the older spaniards voice over the phone. Glad y/n was not alone in a time like this.

Fernando embraced her. Hugging her tight and firmly. He felt her heartbeat against his chest, beating like crazy. „Breathe with me, y/n.“

They were standing in her motorhome, embraced in one another. If a camera had noticed, headliners would say: Alonso and y/l/n dating confirmed? But there was no camera around.

She had her family here in F1. She belonged here, just as much as any other driver. She was not at fault. She was not weak or vulnerable. She was strong.

°°°

taglist: @ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @missskid , @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23