#i hope the field is warm today

[veilmochi]

Sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I see her. Sometimes, when I laugh, I hear her. Sometimes, just when Im sitting there doing nothing but relaxing, I can feel her there.

I used to think I hated her, that I took my hands and wrapped them around her throat. I silenced her, I did my damnest to make sure that no one would ever hear her again. I didn't bother to bury her, because I wanted who she was to rot and be forgotten, with no gravestone memory to keep her name.

But then I think of her more, and remember how innocent she was. How alone she was. She just wanted someone, anyone, to be her friend. She never had friends for long, and she always tried to do what she could to have someone like her- no one ever did. She didn't understand why.

When I first put my hands around her neck, she cried and begged. She pleaded to let her try again, shell be better this time. She'll do better. She'll be good. I let go of her throat, and left the field, where she continued to thrive.

The next time, she welcomed my hands. She was tired. She was still so young, and yet she was so tired. Her body made her feel disgusted, from all of the eyes that stared and all of those that looked away. I didn't know she was tired.

I was just angry, and tired too.

I know better now.

I go back to that field sometimes, and I find her there. Playing in the dirt, making pretend potions and dreaming about dinosaurs. I dream about them too, and I tell her about all of the things that have been learned. She loves that dinosaurs have feathers.

I never killed her, I never wanted to. We hold each other, and she loves me. I love her too. We sit next to the empty grave that was dug out, but it's not a grave anymore. It's a space to rest, to store all the things that need to be. She rests in there sometimes, but most of the time, she sleeps under the sun, with the hole uncovered but still safe.

I still struggle when I see her in the mirror, and want to shred my skin until I don't look like her anymore- but I don't know what I want my reflection to look like, so instead my insides are shredded. She helps put me back together during the night, in my dreams.

I cringe when I hear my laugh, and I stay quiet so I don't have to hear her voice. She still speaks, in her own ways, until I can find my voice again. I haven't found it yet, but I know one day I will. And she'll love me for it.

I welcome her when I feel her, because she was never welcomed. I know the pain, and I wish I could heal her's.

It's a long journey, and sometimes I don't go back to the field. She's left alone, for a long time. And we aren't the same person, not anymore. We used to be, but we both know that at some point, we changed.

She'll wait in the field for me, and I'll hold her name in my heart, cherishing the memory. I hope that she forgives me, for all the anger I used to feel towards her.

I believe she already has, and she traces my name into the dirt with a stick, innocent and hopeful, for the day I find my own feathers, and can finally be free of my scales.

[girl-in-the-chairs-void]

May I say just Tyler pulling you close to him while you’re staying safe from a tornado hmmm

A lil protective moment with him is all I want 🫠🫠. Ask and you shall receive, my dear.

Pairing; Tyler Owen’s x reader

Word count; 1.2k (I got carried away just a little)

cw; tornadoes, rodeos, idk what else? FLUFFF AND a sprinkle of angst.

“Is this how they do it in Texas too?”

You looked up at the man beside you, his green eyes stilled on you. You were focusing on the rodeo he’d brought you to, men out on horses and bulls, taming the wild animals, riding their fears.

You looked back Tyler, he was still focused on you and not on the game. Heat rose to your cheeks, turning them into a red mess as you rubbed your hands nervously on the fat of your thighs. It was too hot to wear anything but jean shorts and a tank.

“Pretty much, not different from how they originally used to do back in the early days actually. But Texans have their pride.” You didn’t really have the accent to be taken as someone from Houston, but the badges- fabric patches with Velcro- you wore on your jeans at all times were evident enough of how proud you were to be from Texas.

The man chuckled, his eyes getting just a little smaller as crinkles formed around them, his cheeks lifting forming into a beautiful smile on his lips.

“Well ain’t that the right way to do it”

You both laughed, turning back to the rodeo. You tried to get a little bit comfortable in your seat, adjusting yourself before deciding to just sit a little bit straighter. Your hands reach for the arm rests, expecting the cold metal to make contact, but it never happens, instead your met with a warm, calloused palm of Tyler’s. He’s a little surprised at first, you both are, he slowly gathers the courage and weaves his hand through yours, helping you adjust.

You keep a hold of his hand, looking at him wide eyed and he’d say you look like a deer caught in headlights but that won’t do the justice to how beautiful your eyes look right now. The way sweat glistened on your body, your lips parted and slightly heavy breath of yours that fans his face. You’re mere inches away but it feels too far to him. He needs to feel you, feel those lips on his, caress your soft skin under his rough hands an-

A loud siren buzzes through the arena snapping the two of you out of it. A tornado siren. You felt the continuous buzz of the alert through your jeans, looking back at Tyler with the same look in your eyes.

We gotta get out of here.

And so, in a very calm yet hasty manner, you and Tyler take off. Calmly brushing past the crowd and scared civilians to get to his truck. It might not be enough to stay in there but you may have enough time to get somewhere safe.

Think think think, where is safe? And suddenly it hits you.

Your hands are still attached, his hand squeezing yours a little too tight when he feels like you might get swallowed by the rushing crowd.

“I got it!”

You finally get to his truck, quickly getting in and driving.

Tyler is scared, but the way a smile forms at your lips, he almost forgets you’re in the middle of fucking life and death.

“You got somewhere close?”

You nod, giving him the directions as he hits the gas on full. It’s an old bunker you found literally yesterday when you came out to explore the town. Trying to figure out places that could be safe for the people to evacuate to. It is small, enough to fit around two or three people and you hope it’s not jammed up for the two of you to seek shelter.

The tornado is not far behind. Gaining speed and strength as it chases the two of you. You’re not ready, this was not in the plan and you’re certain that today is not the day you’ll die. Not when you’ve just stared to get to know him.

Tyler strategically positions his car, activating the drills as the two of you exit, running towards the patch of metal in the middle of the farm field.

He gets to it first, letting go of your hand mid sprint to open it up for you. Letting you climb down before getting in, the metal trap door a little too heavy with the winds and rain for him to completely shut it. So he leaves it open, letting the cold rain pour down into the bullet as he reaches for you.

You’re holding onto the pipelines, not having it in you to move further because of the wind. You feel his hand on your waist, holding onto you for dear life as your grip on the pipes tightens. One hand holding onto you and the other onto the pipe right above you, Tyler grounds himself on the floor. His feet turned soon as he tried not to move. Your hand comes up to where his rests on your waist, clutching it tighter before he pulls you even closer, chest to back.

You can feel his heart pounding, like your own, against your back. You’re both heaving. Your heavy breathes turning into calmer ones as your eyes closed, trying to breathe in his scent, feeling the way his arm feels around you. Thinking about anything but the giant tornado above your head. The smell of him engulfs you and you find yourself thinking and wanting to feel is him, him, him, him.

It’s enough. The sheer skin to skin contact, the smell of your hair right under his nose, the feel of his hot breath on your neck. It sends shivers down both of your spines and in no time the sky clears and the wind and rain passes over. The tornado moved or completely died, you’re not sure.

But you’re sure about the man that is still latched to you. Holding onto for dear life. The way he’s nuzzling his nose into your hair, his lips brushing against your scalp and leaving tiny kisses you can barely make out.

“It’s gone” your voice is nothing but a whisper. You turn in his arms, his hand still attached to your waist as you look up at him through wet lashes.

He has this wild look in his eyes, concern, fear, and love all moulded into one. You feel them dart to your lips, and back to your eyes before his other hand comes up to brush some hair from your face.

“Thank you for that” he whispers, “if you hadn’t known about this place, I’d probably be dead”

You give him a smile, squeezing his arm before snaking your way out of his grasp.he reluctantly lets go of you, wanting to keep contact with your soft skin and that close proximity that kept you warm. But he lets you go, you’re shaken, just a little bit. This wasn’t your first tornado, but god it felt like you both were about to die there.

He helps you get back up, climbing up the ladder just behind you.

The walk back to the truck is quiet, you’re only half an arm length away from him but it feels too far.

He opened the door to the passenger seat, letting you in before getting into the drivers seat himself. Letting out a long breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in before deciding to break the silence.

“So, you know anymore rodeos that end like that?”

A/n; The ending feels rushed, idk? I hope you liked it!! Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated, lovies🫶🏻🫶🏻.

[n0tamused]

Jiyaaaan request coming your way~

While training his soldiers, one of them accidentally calls him 'Dad'. This leads to the reader teasing them but Jiyan teases back by calling them 'Mom' (or the gender neutral for it?)

(Was reading tv tropes and Jiyan had the 'A Father to his Men' tropes in his character tab lol)

A/n: Anon this request was so sweet, thank you sm for sending it in! Jiyan the father of an army fr.. I do hope I executed it well. Enjoy!

Content: Jiyan x F!Reader, fluff and playful stuff, nothing more

The morning sun had long since shifted its axis towards the center of the sky, blazing down through cotton clouds that sailed the azure skies. Below them, in the open fields, west of the main base cacophony sounded, consisting of commands, groans and other sounds of effort as the Midnight Ranger performed their training. And today Jiyan had come to overlook the session himself, although it wouldn’t be the first time. He was often so preoccupied with tasks at the front lines that he didn’t have the time to be leading drills too frequently, but when he did get the chance to do so he would take it. While it wasn’t a full reprieve from the battle, it was still a stark contrast to the grotesque and twisted fates he’d see daily on the battlefield.

Jiyan was noticeably more disheveled by the end, hair messy and hanging in strands and clinging to his sweaty forehead, hands on his hips as his voice rose to meet all ears present. You have just been passing by, helping carry supplies that just came in, and loading old and empty boxes back to be refilled in the city. For once there was no rush that would make your legs ache or your lungs hurt, allowing you all the precious time to bask in the views, the soft chatter and, of course, your dear lover.

The sun caught his figure and formed a golden aura around him, his skin glistening, and you couldn’t help but take a seat at one of many big boxes at the side of the training grounds after you had finished your task. In passing you caught a few looks, and a few smiles of the soldiers you knew from before. They looked much  more lively, despite the rigorous training they just went through. It made your heart warm seeing them in better spirits, wishing nothing more than to see them prevail and be happy. And just as you had recognized a bunch of familiar faces did Jiyan conclude his small speech, about to dismiss everyone with advice of rest hanging on every word. He had spotted you from the start, when you were going by with supplies in arms and soon he’d have a chance to speak to you too, he thought.

“General Jiyan! General Jiyan, a word or two- if I may?” 

It was a voice of one of the new recruits, Jiyan noted as he gazed at the face of the youth, a boy of twenty or so years by the looks of it, and eyes full of curiosity and admiration. He had come up to Jiyan just as he had turned towards you, prompting him to stay rooted in his spot a little longer. A few more young rangers came up behind the recruit, sharing the same curiosity but also being aware of whatever the recruit had on his mind.

“Yes? Is there something you need?” Jiyan questioned, looking at the young man. From his peripheral vision he spotted you moving down from the boxes and joining his side, staying quiet after a short word of greeting towards his Rangers, but your presence felt like a cool breeze under this sun, and he appreciated it all the more.

“I just wanted to say how great today’s training session was, we learned so much more than we did with our drill sergeant” he praised, smiling up at Jiyan all the while, “And I just wanted to ask whether or not you’ll be leading our training session tomorrow as well? Or any other day that is, we would really benefit from your teaching. I mean, you've seen it all for yourself at the front lines!"

The other few with him nodded along, prompting a small smile of pride to form on your face from seeing their fascination with Jiyan. To them he was everything they aspired to be - strong, enduring, tough but not lacking kindness or knowledge. There were times where they were scared to approach him, not knowing how he’d react to their questions, but from observing his interactions with others they warmed up to the idea and plucked all their courage. 

A polite smile curled up on Jiyan’s face as he regarded the youth with gentle golden eyes. His presence as the drill sergeant today wasn’t due to his availability, but a simple coincidence and necessity to fill the shoes of their drill sergeant that had been injured due to Tacet Discords, and Jiyan just happened to be able to be there. “Ah, you have my thanks, rangers. If a replacement for your drill sergeant does not arrive tomorrow and I am not required to be at the front lines, then I will be leading your training tomorrow as well” he told them, which pleased them greatly to hear.  “Although I’m sure Sargent Jin’xi has much more to teach you, something much more important for your sound development in this profession. You cannot take his method lightly. He has seen everything I have, as well. His knowledge is as valuable to your growth, and even more so than mine. You need the good foundation he can give you�� He was aware of how confusing or hard it could be to listen to Jin’xi, as the sergeant had quite the eye for details and slow progress in lessons due to his meticulous nature - but that also made him all the better for his station. He was observant and could pluck out bad behavior and mistakes like weeds, and that is better to be done here, than in the middle of battle.

“We know, general, but sergeant Jin’xi is just so hard on us.. sometimes it really seems like he has no limit” one of the women standing behind voiced, earning a look from Jiyan that spoke of his understanding but also his disagreement with the subtle message they were trying to send - please, replace sergeant Jin’xi, or, save us.

“Yeah! One time I accidentally mixed up the weapons in the storage room and he had me do everything on my own again, saying how such mistakes can’t happen on the front lines, how it all means life or death” the first young man said, brushing his fingers through his hair and sighing. “I understand it, but we just got here..” he added and looked at his comrades. 

What was supposed to be a short chit-chat turned swiftly into a gossip galore about Jin’xi. Had Jiyan been any different from the man he was currently, he would’ve scolded them, taken offense at how they spoke about his colleague, but he was in their shoes once, always on edge around the higher ups, and he wished not to bring that same unease to them. He didn’t fail to remind them to not speak like this in front of everyone, and to respect sergeant Jin’xi when he does eventually return, and they gave him their word.

The first young man that approached looked at Jiyan after their discussion, both hands on his hips and looking more relaxed. “We won’t forget that, I promise on my last name! Still, we appreciate your kindness, and one more thing dad- I MEAN- GENERAL!” His entire face crumbled into a look of terror, and all eyes of the group shot to him, looks of surprise and amusement appearing before several of them erupted into laughter after taking a wary glance at Jiyan - who was not offended.

“General Jiyan! Oh god- I apologize, general, I don’t know where that came from-” he stammered, shaking his head and his hands, face flushed from sheer embarrassment. More choked words tumbled out of his mouth, desperate to excuse himself and forget about this. 

Jiyan can’t help but chuckle, the corners of his lips twitching in a failed attempt to hold back his smile. “At ease, recruit. You have not done any crime” he nods at the other, his eyes softening and not showing any sign that he’s about to dish out some punishment - that’d be ridiculous. 

You can’t help but crack a laugh too, covering your lips with your hand as to stifle the sound, but your mirth was evident in your eyes. “Have I missed a chapter? I didn’t know you had kids, general Jiyan” you teased, earning a few shocked but heavily amused looks from the group. Giggles erupted once more, all stifled as they waited for Jiyan to respond to the quip.

Jiyan turns his head to look at you, his eyes boring into yours and questioning your intentions - you can read the thoughts going through your head and your smile only widens in a silent call to a challenge of wits. He didn’t expect you to say something like that, but he could only huff, hiding his amusement under an abrupt guise of confusion.

“Kids?.. Why, I had hoped you’d recognize your own kids, Miss (L/N)” he shot back instantly, making your jaw drop at his rebuttal, a gasp flying past your mouth. “General” you said, accusations plenty heard in your tone as the atmosphere melted into one of jest and play.

Many eyes flickered between you and him, taking in the easy way you conversed with one another.

“Yes? What’s the surprise for? The recruits look up to you too, if you fail to notice. You can confirm with them right now” he is shifting the spotlight to you, and the recruits are quick to jump in too. “It is right, miss. Personally I haven’t been around you for long, no longer than I interacted with the General, but you two are alike, you treat us new ones with a firm but kind hand” a young woman said, smiling at you, and you feel your heart climb into your throat. 

“Can we really be surprised, they’re always together too-” "Aren't they married?" Whispering is heard amidst the group, and Jiyan looks amidst the faces to catch the one that said that but fails to do so, or refuses to weed out the individuals, and his eyes go back to you to catch your response. It’d be a lie to say your relationship with him was a secret, everyone knew there was something deeper between the two of you, something you didn’t show in public due to the war and status, but it was undeniably there. Still, hearing it loud and clear like this was like a splash of cold water. Despite their chatter, the group remained respectful, sweet in their musings.

“Ah, quiet, I do not want to hear it. This is about you, General”

“Ah, don’t run from it now. You’re the one that started this” he commented, rolling his eyes as he folded his arms over his chest. “Anyway, you’re all dismissed. I have a word with.. mother over here. Off you all go. I will see you all in the morning for another training drill. Get some rest” he speaks to the group, gazing upon their faces, only to see how they looked at him with some sort of childhood wonder, and that’s when he realized he must be flushed too. A sheepish smile bloomed on his face. 

“Alright! Awesome-” “Yes, sir!"

“Have a good day, General! And you too, Miss!” 

He watched them leave, bidding them all farewell, and when he turned to face you again he saw you pinching the bridge of your nose, hiding away the biggest smile of the day, the apples of your cheeks redder than before. The Midnight Rangers were undeniably close in connection, having spent so many nights and days huddled together for warmth or laughs or protection, and this small exchange only warmed Jiyan’s heart, to witness how positively they felt around him - and you. 

“Didn’t think we’d become parents so soon. Have we gotten that old already?” Jiyan commented, tone softer in a way he only addressed you when you were alone, and there was no one near the training grounds to hear you.

“Oh, shut up, Jiyan-” you playfully snapped, biting your lip as you looked up at him, stifling a giggle. “You are unbelievable!”

“Hm? Did you expect me to stay quiet today or ignore your quips?” he smiled bigger and you have to admire the little dimples in his cheeks as the smile reaches his eyes, making them squint at you softly.

“I don’t know what I expected, but your response was certainly the last thing I expected” you replied and shook your head, as if that would shake off the redness tinting your skin, imitating him now by crossing your arms. The two of you were looking at each other, wordlessly admiring your red faces while throwing these little quips at one another. 

“Ah.. you’ll get used to it, dearest wife”

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[briefinquiries]

Tyler Owens x Reader: I Choose You

Request: Anonymous said: "jealous tyler or jealous reader would be interesting to read 👀"

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: none!

A/N: not sure how i feel about this one but I gave it a go and wanted to make sure I posted!

Tyler tells himself that he’s over thinking… maybe even reading too much into things. 

But God, he swears he isn’t imagining the way that you and the reporter he’d agreed to let tag along for the next week naturally interact with one another with such ease. 

Tyler is not a jealous person– he’s confident and secure and he trusts you. Jealousy is petty and it’s stupid. And Tyler’s been trying his whole life to prove to himself and everyone around him that he’s not stupid.

Tyler has a loose shock to repair before the storm they’ve been tracking rolls in later that day. He’s currently laying on the dirt at the rest stop they’ve pulled in, with a wrench in his hand. Dani’s shining their flashlight for him, and it’s important he stays focused. And he tries… really, he does. 

But Tyler looks up just as the reporter laughs at a joke you’ve made. And then, he reaches out to touch your arm for the added effect. Tyler nearly drops the wrench he’s holding on his face at the sight. 

“Easy, T,” Dani says, studying him closely. 

He takes a deep breath before looking back towards the truck. 

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Dani asks, kicking his shoulder gently with their boot. 

“Nothing,” Tyler grumbles in a tone that screams there is absolutely something wrong. Thankfully Dani doesn’t push. 

…

Throughout the rest of the week, Tyler tries to talk himself down whenever jealousy rears its ugly head. He keeps telling himself that he’s being irrational– you’re not flirting with the reporter everytime you walk with him into the gas stations they stop at, or offer to ride with him in the van instead of Tyler’s truck, where you normally sit. You’re just trying to be friendly… make him feel at ease. 

But did he really have to look at you that way while you studied the GPS monitoring system? Or share his fucking cookies with you when everyone ate lunch in the field? And did you have to laugh so loudly at every single joke he made?

Tyler finds out on the second night he’s tagging along that Henry’s a fucking Columbia grad on top of a stupid self-proclaimed comedian. The two of you are sitting around the fire talking about graduate degrees when Henry turns towards him. 

“Did you two meet at school then?” Henry asks.  

Tyler smiles, but instead of warmth it’s laced with sarcasm. “Nope, I don’t have one of those fancy degrees, Henry. In fact, none of us but her do.” 

Henry turns back towards you and proceeds to ask more questions about your time studying meteorology at the U of A. Meanwhile, Tyler is left to simmer in his own self pity, wondering if it bothered you that he isn’t educated like Henry. 

Tyler has to spend the rest of the week fighting the urge to make it known you’re his– he’s had thoughts of keeping a permanent hand planted on your waist right in front of Henry. Maybe if he pulled you in for a kiss a little more often, and really claimed you as his, this guy would back the hell off. 

But Tyler quickly shakes away the thought. 

Because claiming you like an object is stupid, and Tyler is not stupid. 

…

Tyler grabs you a coffee from the nearest gas station and brings it back to the motel because he’s really trying to move past all this shit. You’re sitting with Lilly and fiddling with the drone when he tries to hand it to you. 

You offer him an appreciative smile that warms his entire chest. Tyler’s definitely been overreacting, because you’re looking at him with such love and admiration in your eyes. 

“Thanks, but I’ve already had some today,” you say, crushing every hope inside of him in an instant. “Why don’t you give it to Dani?  They take their coffee the same as I do.”

“When did you have time to get coffee?” he asks, trying to play it cool. 

You reply so simply, like the words don’t slice right through his heart. “I didn’t, Henry brought me one.”

Tyler’s jaw tightens. It’s a gesture you don’t notice, because you’re too busy focusing on the drone half in your lap. 

What you do seem to notice, is the way he scoffs. It makes yours and Lilly’s heads both turn. 

But before you can reply, Tyler’s already walking away. He clutches the coffee firmly in his hand and without a word, drops the full cup in the trash can outside the motel. 

…

Tyler has to remind himself that he’s not angry.

At least not at you.  

You and him have a great relationship. He trusts you and that’s all there is to it. Whether it’s Henry or whoever else–  you never gave Tyler a reason to be worried. 

But Tyler doesn’t like the way seeing you with the reporter makes him feel. Because at any moment, you could leave him for someone with a more respectable career– someone with fair skin and button up polos who just looked like they had their shit together. Someone with a college degree… someone a hell of a lot smarter than him. 

Seeing you with him made Tyler feel vulnerable, like he had something to lose– because he had everything to lose. 

…

The crew spends another week chasing in Oklahoma. The season’s winding down, but they still managed to catch two EF0s and an EF1. 

Tyler’s been avoiding you for most of the week. He’d offer the truck space to Boone and Lilly, he’d sit next to Dexter around the fire at night… hell, he would hardly even look at you. 

You turned down his coffee earlier in the week. Only after the fact did you realize that you should have just taken the damn thing. You understand that rejecting him after he went out of his way to do something nice for you hurt his feelings… But you can’t understand how that turned into an entire week of the silent treatment. 

On numerous instances, you try to approach him. But he always has somewhere to run off to. 

“I gotta help Dani with the van’s oil change.”

“I gotta see if Boone got the footage we need.”

“I gotta give Dexter a hand with the radar.”

You’re getting sick of it. 

You try to distract yourself for the rest of the week– you ask Lilly to explain more about how to work her drone, you keep on top of the radar– looking for forming storm cells, and you try to make the reporter Tyler had invited along for the week feel welcome. 

Henry’s nice– he’s completely new to storm chasing and has loads of questions all the time. You find it slightly annoying that he’s so interested in Tyler… but you get it. And even though you’re a little irritated with Tyler for your week-long silent-treatment sentence, you still want him to sound as good as possible in the article, so you talk him up every chance you can. 

You know that this lack of communication can’t last. And the second Henry goes back to Boston to write his piece, you plan to corner Tyler and force him into telling you what the hell you’d done wrong. But until then, you don’t want to cause a scene. So, you sit back, spend more time talking with Henry about Tyler, and try like hell not to lose your mind.

…

It’s more for his own sanity than anything. It’s like seeing you with Henry has caused this sudden realization to pop into his head… You can do better– and honestly you deserve better than him. The thought is all consuming. It makes focusing on anything else incredibly difficult. 

“You gonna tell us what the hell is up?” Lilly asks one day. 

Tyler’s currently standing in the bed of his truck, tinkering things that didn’t really need to be fixed just to stay busy. 

“What do you mean?” he replies without looking up.

“I mean are you going to tell us why you two love birds haven’t spoken in like three days?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tyler notices Boone glancing his way with an expression on his face that says he was wondering the same thing. 

“We’ve spoken,” Tyler says dismissively. 

“Telling her you don’t have room for her in the truck doesn’t count,” Lilly retorts. “C’mon, seriously, Ty. What’s wrong?”

Tyler sets his tool down and looks down at Lilly. “Nothing is wrong.”

Lilly rolled her eyes. “Okay, well are you sure she knows that? Cause Dani and I saw her crying in the bathroom.” 

Tyler lets out a long exhale– the thought of you upset instantly filling his insides with sorrow. But the thought that he was the one to make you upset is even worse. 

“I know it’s not my business,” Lilly adds. “But I’ve been watching you give her the silent treatment all week, and that’s not going to fix anything. I know Henry’s still here and it’s been a crazy week–”

Tyler can’t help the scoff that escapes his lips at the mention of Henry’s name.

Lilly pauses before a look of understanding washes over her. “You’re pissed that she’s been hanging with Henry.” She says it as a statement instead of a question. 

“I’m not–”

“I’ve known you for six years, don’t even try to deny it. You are– you’re jealous, aren’t you?” 

With his lips pursed in a thin line, Tyler raises an eyebrow at her. “Maybe I am. Does that make you happy? Is that what you want to hear?”

Now it was Lilly’s turn to scoff. “Of course it doesn’t make me happy. You’re being an idiot.”

“What?” 

“I said that you’re being an idiot,” Lilly says, annunciating each word insultingly. 

“Yeah,” Tyler nods. “I’m well aware that I’m an idiot, but thanks for reminding me.”

“I said you’re being an idiot, Tyler. Not that you are one. Now stop sulking and fucking listen for once in your goddamn life.”

It’s so out of the ordinary for Lilly to snap that Tyler actually does shut his mouth. 

“You invite a reporter on the road with us and then you don’t give him the time of day to answer any of the questions he has. You’re short and curt and to be honest, kind of fucking rude anytime he asks you anything. Y/N is being polite– and she’s hosting the guest you invited along. So don’t fucking blame her just because you’re insecure.” 

Tyler can feel the anger rising in his own chest, he wants to get defensive– to snap back at Lilly. But deep down, he knows she’s right, so he stifles any comebacks and instead hangs his head. 

Lilly sighs. “You’re not an idiot, Tyler. So stop acting like one.”

…

After letting Lilly’s words really sink in, Tyler decides that she’s right. For the first time all week, he’s motivated to actually talk with you and make things right. 

Or at least he is right until he sees Henry approaching you in the parking lot. He’s too far away to hear what Henry has to say. But he’s not so far away that he doesn't see the folded up piece of paper that he passes you. 

In an instant, everything Lilly had said– along with all the things he’s said to convince himself he’s been overreacting flies away with the wind. Because Henry just gave you his fucking phone number. 

Tyler turns– needing to get as much space from whatever exchange he just witnessed as he possibly can. In a few, long, angry strides, Tyler reaches his truck and climbs inside. In the distance, he hears Lilly call after him. But he pretends he doesn’t hear. Instead, he slams the door shut, starts the ignition and drives away. 

…

“Where’s he goin’?” Boone says just as you approach him and the rest of the crew. 

“Dunno. He didn’t say anything to you?” Dani asks, turning towards Lilly. 

She shakes her head, eyes squinting against the bright sun. 

“What the hell is his problem?” you say frustratedly, biting back tears. 

Stupidly, you’d let yourself get your hopes up earlier in the day when Tyler had offered you a small smile over breakfast. You had thought that maybe things were alright, and that he was finally over whatever had been bothering him so badly. 

But now you’re standing in the cloud of dust he just left behind after taking off in his truck without a word to anyone and you know that isn’t the case. 

“Here I was thinking I helped last night,” Lilly says under her breath. 

You snap your head in her direction. “You talked to him?”

She shrugs. “I tried to.” 

“Did he say why he’s been so upset?”

Lilly hesitates. And truthfully, you understand why. Everyone here was Tyler’s friend first. You were the last to join the crew– inducted into the group just by being Tyler’s girlfriend. They have no obligation to be loyal to you over Tyler. 

“Forget it,” you say defeatedly, turning away as soon as you feel the familiar burn of tears behind your eyes. “It doesn’t even matter.” With that, you make your way towards the RV, painfully aware of everyone’s eyes trained on you the entire way. 

…

Tyler drives to the nearest gas station, desperate for space to clear his head. 

He knows he’s being dramatic and irrational at this point, but if he stayed at that rest stop another second, he didn’t know what would come out of his mouth. He really really had to get it together. But he can’t escape the fear inside of him– the one saying that meeting Henry helped you recognize that you could do so much better than him.

And now you had his phone number, to reach out whenever that realization hit. 

Why wouldn’t you be interested in Henry? He’s got a goddamn master’s degree from Columbia, he writes articles for the Globe, works out every morning before they go chasing–  apparently makes hilarious jokes… 

Tyler rests his forehead against the steering wheel and groans.

…

Tyler’s gone for an hour. But when he finally parks the truck back at the rest stop, he hasn’t shaken the sinking feeling inside of him. 

In a preemptive attempt to avoid questions he had snagged a bunch of snacks from the nearest gas station. If you ask where he’s been, he can just say he had a hankering for potato chips and call it good. 

Except, you don’t even look at him when he gets out of the truck. Boone’s got corn hole set up in the dirt. It looks like Boone and Henry versus Dani and Dexter while you watch. He only watches for a moment before bringing the bag of snacks into the RV. 

Secretly, Tyler’s been simultaneously excited for and dreading the end of the week. He’s excited for Henry to leave and excited to sleep in his own bed. But he’s dreading being back in your shared house. It’ll be the first time the two of you are forced to be alone, and he knows he’ll have to find the words to describe what he’s been feeling. 

But apparently Tyler’s stupid, because he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. 

All he knows is that he doesn’t want to lose you. And seeing you with Henry makes him feel like he’s about to lose you. Tyler doesn’t know how to say that to you without coming across as a total lunatic.  

…

You don’t want to cause a scene at the rest stop. But the minute you see Tyler head for the RV, you’re out of your seat and beelining it towards him while the rest of the team is distracted.

As soon as you hoist open the door, you find him hunched over the fridge, grabbing a water bottle. 

“What the hell?” is all you can manage to blurt out. You’re fuming and on the verge of tears. But you can’t help it– Tyler’s silent treatment has just about pushed you to the edge. 

Tyler whips around at the sound of your entrance… and maybe it was a little dramatic– but you need to get your point across. 

There’s a long pause while Tyler’s eyes study you. 

“Are you gonna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me all week?”

You’re met by more silence.  

“This is ridiculous, Tyler. Will you just talk to me?”

Finally, Tyler scoffs, “The reporter gave you his number, right?  Why don’t you talk to him?  I’m sure he’d love to talk.”

In an instant, a wave of understanding washes over you. But it isn’t overshadowed by the anger you feel. 

“Are you serious right now? You’re jealous of Henry?”

He shuts the fridge before cracking open his water bottle dismissively, ignoring your questions. 

“Tyler, are you forgetting that you’re the one who invited him with us this week? I mean, did you think he was just supposed to sit back and observe? He’s a reporter, of course he’s going to have questions… Questions that you were way more qualified to answer, but you were too busy being a jerk all week to answer any of them. So I did it for you–”

“I never asked for you to do that.”

“You didn’t have to– I did it for you!” you cry. “I did it so that he’d write you a good story– because you deserve that.” 

“Oh, how convenient. So you two just get along so well for my sake then?” he says. 

You exhale sharply. “Are you kidding me right now? We’ve spent the last week talking about you! I’ve been talking you up– telling him stories about what you do– how good you are at what you do– all the people you’ve helped–”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “Yeah right,” he scoffs. 

You pause, anger slowly melting away at the realization that he genuinely didn’t believe anything you were saying. 

“Tyler,” you say seriously. “There is absolutely nothing going on between me and Henry. I’ve been answering his questions and telling him how fucking brave and generous and smart you are–”

“Don’t patronize me,” he snaps, voice cracking just slightly. “Just forget it, it doesn’t matter.” He sets his water bottle on the counter before moving to step by you. 

“Tyler stop–” you say, reaching for him. But he’s too quick. He reaches the door before you’re able to stop him. 

“Will you please stop walking away from me!” you blurt out frustratedly, tears forming in your eyes. “You’ve been running from me all week– I just… I just want to talk about this. Please–”

Tyler doesn’t turn to face you, but to your relief, he stops before opening the door. 

“There is nothing happening between me and Henry, Tyler. I mean, I promise you, absolutely nothing– I… I don’t know how else to convince you. But there’s nothing going on. I’m not into Henry–”

“I know,” he says quickly, eyes squeezing shut. 

You let your mouth fall open, confusion washing over you. “What?” 

“I know there’s nothing happening between you and Henry– I trust you and I believe you.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “So why are you so mad at me?”

Tyler pauses and bites his lip before saying, “I’m not mad at you–” he tries to explain. “I just… I don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“I don’t understand why–”

You sigh. “Tyler, you’re not making any sense–”

Tyler’s face twists in anguish. “Why aren’t you into him?”

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s everything I’m not. And I mean– Seeing you with him– it just made me realize that you can do so much better than me,”  Tyler says desperately, the pain almost palpable in his voice. “He’s got the fancy degree– he’s obviously smart–”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes his sentence, because the idea of anyone ever being better than Tyler was even more ludicrous than him being jealous in the first place. “Tyler, you’re smart–”

“I didn’t go to Columbia. I didn’t even finish my first year of undergrad.”

“I don’t care about any of that– you know I don’t–”

“Why?” he blurts out harshly, finally turning to look at you. “Why do you even want me when you can have someone like him?”

Tyler didn’t think he was good enough for you– and that admission broke your fucking heart. In an instant, all the reasons you loved Tyler flow through your head. There’s so many, you can’t even keep up. 

So instead, you reach into your pocket and pull out the note Henry had given you just hours earlier– the one Tyler apparently saw him give you. He watches as you unfold the piece of paper, quickly revealing that it’s not a phone number. 

“It’s his mom’s cookie recipe,” you explain. “The ones you refused to try. I talked to him about how you have a sweet tooth, and I said how much you love chocolate chip cookies, so he wrote it down for me. I thought I might be able to make them for you when we got home. Because I love you– and I love doing things that will make you happy. Because that’s what you do for me– you make me happy. All the time, just by existing.”

You watch as the realization washes over him.  

You sigh. “Did you ever stop and think about how I feel the same about you?”

He pauses before looking at you questioningly. 

“I mean, you’re you,” you say, gesturing towards him. “People adore you, Tyler. And rightfully so– but I’m always worried you’ll find someone better. But I don’t get hung up on it, because I trust you. I trust that you mean it when you tell me you love me and you choose me. And I need you to do the same for me, Tyler. I need you to trust me. Because I love you– and I always will.”

Tyler exhales, his eyes watery. 

“Can you do that?” you plead. 

To your relief, after a moment, he nods. 

You don’t hesitate before closing the gap between you and wrapping your arms around his middle. You lay your head on his chest just as his arms wind around your shoulders in an attempt to make up for all the hugs you’ve missed out on this week. Because as much as you love chasing in Oklahoma or Texas, your absolute favorite place to be is at home in his arms. 

“Cookie recipe, huh?” he muses above you, chin resting on top of your heads. 

You nod. “I’m a horrible baker, but I was going to give it a shot.”

Tyler tightens his grip around you. “Well horrible baker or not, I love you and I choose you.”

You let your eyes fall shut and inhale the familiar, comforting scent of him. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” you say honestly. 

[pucksandpower]

Pequeña

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Fernando Alonso x Webber!Reader

Summary: a brutal breakup leads you right into the arms of one of your father's oldest friends (or in which being sooooo normal about Fernando Alonso runs in the Webber family)

Warnings: 18+ content, age gap, taking advantage of an emotionally vulnerable state, breeding, and pregnancy

You sit hunched on your bed, knees pulled up to your chest as tears stream down your face. Your mobile vibrates again and you swipe away another message from your now ex-boyfriend without reading it. How could he do this to you? You thought what you had was real.

Your thoughts drift to home, to your family thousands of miles away in Australia. You long for your dad’s comforting embrace and your mum’s reassuring words. But they’re so far away. You feel painfully alone in this strange English city where you’ve come to attend university.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re dialing a familiar number. It rings three times before a warm voice picks up. “Hola pequeña! What’s wrong?”

“N-Nando ...” You sniffle, trying and failing to keep your voice from cracking. “He … he cheated on me.”

There’s a pause before Fernando responds, his Spanish lilt taking on a protective edge. “That little hijo de puta. I’ll kill him myself.”

You let out a watery laugh. “No, don’t do that. I … I just miss home. Miss my family.”

“Say no more, pequeña. You’re coming to stay with me for a bit, yeah? Can’t have you all alone like this.”

You hesitate, wiping at your tears. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose ...”

“Impose?” Fernando laughs. “My favorite girl? Never. I’m sending a car to get you right now.”

“No, no, I can drive myself-”

“You’ll do no such thing in this state,” he chides. “Driver’s on his way. Go pack a bag.”

You open your mouth to protest again but think better of it. Fernando can be extremely stubborn when he wants to be. “Okay, okay. Thank you, Nando. Really.”

“De nada, pequeña. I’ve got the guest room all ready for you. We’ll get through this together, yeah?”

His soothing Spanish accent is already making you feel infinitely better. You know Fernando has been close with your family for years, has watched you grow up into the young woman you are today. He’s always treated you like his own daughter.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say, meaning it. Spending time with Fernando is guaranteed to lift your spirits. “Your place in Silverstone, right?”

“That’s the one. Get packing and don’t worry about a thing. I’ll see you very soon.”

You hang up and immediately start throwing clothes and essentials into an overnight bag with a renewed sense of hope. Fernando always knows just what to do to make you feel better.

Two hours later, you’re being ushered into the backseat of a sleek black sedan by a courteous driver in a pressed suit. He takes your bag and stows it in the trunk before sliding behind the wheel.

“Miss Webber? I’ll be taking you to Mr. Alonso’s residence now.”

You nod, suddenly exhausted from all the crying. The driver seems to sense your melancholy because he doesn’t try to make small talk.

The English countryside whips by in a blur of green fields and quaint villages. Before you know it, the sedan is pulling up to an impressive brick estate surrounded by beautifully manicured gardens.

The driver lets you out and leads you up to the front door, which swings open before you can knock. Fernando stands there in a soft white sweater and dark-washed jeans, arms open wide.

“Pequeña!” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he pulls you into a fierce hug. “Welcome, welcome.”

You breathe in his comforting scent of sandalwood and citrus as he rubs soothing circles on your back. “I’m glad you came,” he murmurs.

He ushers you inside and you can’t help but gape at the tasteful, modern interior decor. It’s bright and airy, with huge windows offering views of the impeccable gardens beyond.

“This place is incredible, Nando,” you say, trailing behind him as he leads you through the spacious living room towards what appears to be the kitchen.

“You like?” He grins over his shoulder. “I had it remodeled not too long ago. Here, have a seat.” He pulls out a barstool at the huge kitchen island.

You take a seat, settling your elbows on the cool granite surface as Fernando busies himself at the stove. “So,” he says without turning around. “Tell me everything, from the beginning. Don’t leave out a single detalle.”

You sigh, resting your chin in your hands as Fernando starts pulling ingredients from the fridge. “Well, it started a few weeks ago. ..”

You recount all the little things that, in hindsight, were red flags: the constant emailing and texting, the unusually long nights “studying” at the library, the bizarre excuses. Fernando listens intently, occasionally tossing in a sympathetic “maldito idiota” or an indignant shake of his head.

Finally, you get to the part where you finally confronted your now ex about his shady behavior … only to have him confess that he’d been cheating on you for months with some underclassman sociology major.

By the time you’ve finished, your voice is thick from holding back a fresh wave of tears. Fernando sets down the knife he was using to chop vegetables and comes around the island to pull you into another hug.

“Oh, pequeña,” he murmurs into your hair. “Lo siento mucho. You didn’t deserve any of that, you hear me?”

You just nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Fernando rubs your back again before pulling away, hands on your shoulders so he can look you square in the eyes.

“Listen. That boy?” A feisty glint enters his warm hazel eyes. “He’s a fool, a complete and total imbecile for hurting someone as incredible as you. You’re so brave, so strong, so full of life ...” He tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “And any man should consider himself the luckiest in the world to have you in his life, you understand?”

You manage a watery smile and nod again. Leave it to Fernando to know exactly what to say to begin mending your broken heart.

“Good.” He straightens up, clapping his hands together decisively. “Now dry those tears, pequeña. I’m making my famous seafood paella for dinner tonight and I’ll need my best assistant chef!”

You let out a surprised laugh, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks. “You know I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”

“Nonsense!” Fernando waves a dismissive hand as he returns to the cutting board. “Everyone can learn with a little guidance from Chef Nano, no?”

The next couple of hours pass in a blur of cheerful chopping, stirring, and laughing as Fernando walks you through the steps, nudging you gently whenever you veer off course. It’s impossible to stay weighed down by your sadness when he’s cracking jokes in that irreverent way of his and peppering you with silly kitchen nicknames.

By the time you’ve portioned out the fragrant saffron rice studded with shrimp, mussels, and clams into bowls, you’re doubled over in a fit of giggles from Fernando’s dramatic retelling of his past Formula 1 antics.

“... And then this crazy Australian madman comes barreling into the pit and just starts laying into me!” He throws his hands up, eyes dancing with mirth. “If Charlie hadn’t stepped in, I think your old man really might’ve killed me that day!”

You shake your head, still laughing as you take your first bite of the paella. It’s absolute perfection, the flavors melding together in an incredible symphony on your tongue. “My dad really went after you?”

“Oh yeah,” Fernando chuckles, digging into his own bowl. “We were like two crazed animals back then whenever we were on the track together. Couldn’t stand each other.”

There’s a lull as you both focus on eating for a few minutes. When you’re pleasantly full and satiated, you sit back with a contented sigh.

“Nando, that was hands down the best paella I’ve ever had.”

“You flatter me too much.” He waves a hand, but you can tell he’s pleased. “Just wait until tomorrow, when Chef Nano teaches you how to make the perfect tortilla Española, eh?”

The idea of getting to spend more time with Nando and being cooked for brings a genuine, untroubled smile to your face for the first time in days. This is just what you needed to start healing from your recent heartbreak.

***

As you help Fernando clear the dishes, a comfortable silence settles between you. He pours you both generous glasses of his favorite Spanish rioja and you retire to the plush living room sofas.

Fernando settles into the overstuffed armchair across from you, stretching out his lean legs as he takes a sip of wine. “So, pequeña ...” He fixes you with that warm, piercing gaze. “What is it you really want? In a man, I mean.”

You pause, considering his question as you swirl the ruby liquid in your glass. “I … I’m not sure I know anymore, to be honest. I thought I had it all figured out with ...” You trail off, unable to even say your ex’s name without a pang of hurt lancing through you.

Fernando reaches over to pat your knee comfortingly. “Hey, no more tears, okay? That pendejo is in the past. I’m asking what your ideal partner would be like going forward. What do you want, need, deserve from a man?”

You take a fortifying sip of the bold, peppery wine before responding. “I think … more than anything, I just want to feel cherished. Valued. Like I’m the most important person in his world.”

Fernando’s expression softens. “Oh, pequeña. You have such a big, beautiful heart. Of course that’s what you want — to be adored and treated like the incredible woman you are.”

You duck your head, warmth blooming in your cheeks at his praise. “I don’t know, Nando. Maybe I’m just being naive or asking for too much ...”

“Claro que no!” He leans forward, pinning you with an intense look. “You’re allowed to want those things, pequeña. You’re allowed to be selfish when it comes to your heart and what you need to be truly, deeply happy.”

His words resonate somewhere deep within you and you find yourself nodding slowly. “You’re right. I am allowed to want someone who makes me their whole world and never takes me for granted, aren’t I?”

“Exactamente.” Fernando reaches over to grasp your hands, his calloused fingers engulfing yours. “And let me tell you — any man who doesn’t give you that is un verdadero idiota. You deserve to be cherished, worshipped, put up on a pedestal every single day.”

His dark eyes burn with conviction, lips pressed into a serious line. You find yourself unable to look away, mesmerized by the sheer intensity of his words and manner.

“You deserve everything, pequeña,” he continues in a low, gravelly tone. “A man who makes you his whole priority, who loves you with every fiber of his being. Someone who will lay the world at your feet.”

Fernando reaches up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb stroking over the apple of your cheekbone reverently. The calloused pad of it sends a shiver racing down your spine.

“Someone who looks at you and can scarcely breathe for how lucky, how blessed they are to have you in their life ...”

His face is so close to yours now, his warm breath caressing your lips. You’re completely transfixed, body thrumming with barely restrained tension and … anticipation?

Fernando’s next words are barely more than a hoarse rumble. “I will cherish you, pequeña. Always. Allow me to show you how a real man adores the woman he loves.”

And then his mouth is on yours, hot and insistent and tasting of wine and desire. You gasp into the kiss, frozen for a split second before melting against him, kissing him back with equal fervor. Your hands slide up to tangle in the soft strands at the nape of his neck as he angles his head, deepening the heated exchange.

Fernando groans low in his throat, the vibrations shooting straight to your core. His large, nimble hands come up to frame your face, holding you in place as he takes his time thoroughly exploring your mouth, nibbling at your lips, stroking his talented tongue against yours in a way that has you whimpering into him.

He pulls away slightly and you chase his lips with a soft keen of protest. Fernando chuckles darkly, nosing along your jaw.

“Patience, pequeña,” he rumbles against the sensitive skin just below your ear. “As sweet as that gorgeous mouth is, there are so many other parts of you I’ve been longing to taste ...”

A full-body shudder wracks you at his words, at the sheer need and promise lacing his tone. Part of you is stunned by how quickly the atmosphere between you has shifted, how easily you fell into his passionate embrace.

But a much larger part — the part that has admired and idolized this man since you were knee-high — is utterly intoxicated. Delirious with the knowledge that the love you’ve secretly harbored for Fernando for years is, impossibly, reciprocated.

His mouth is trailing hot, openmouthed kisses along the column of your throat and you tilt your head back with a wanton moan, reveling in the rasp of his day-old stubble against your sensitized skin.

“N-Nando ...” You try to put a protesting note in your voice, but it comes out a pleading whine instead. “Are you sure about this? I’m … I’m just a kid to you.”

He rears back to pin you with a look so full of naked want it makes you squirm. “You stopped being a kid a long time ago, pequeña,” he growls. “I’ve been watching you grow into this gorgeous, fiery woman and it’s taken everything in me not to take you into my arms like this until now.”

His hands roam down to palm your waist, fingers flexing possessively against the dip of your sides. You’re breathless, dizzy, wondering if you’ve stumbled into some incredible, wildly realistic dream.

Because surely this — with your longtime crush, the older man you’ve harbored forbidden fantasies about pulling you flush against his strong frame and lavishing kisses up the side of your neck — cannot be real. Can it?

“It’s real, pequeña. So, so real,” Fernando croons, as if reading your mind. He frames your face again, searing you with another passionate kiss that steals your breath and chases away any remaining doubts. “Feel how real it is,” he murmurs, guiding your hands down to the firm evidence of his arousal straining against the soft denim.

You whimper into his mouth, tentatively palming the thick bulge. Fernando hisses in a sharp breath through his teeth and breaks the kiss to press his forehead to yours. His eyes are tightly shut, long lashes fanning across sunkissed skin.

“F-fuck, pequeña,” he chokes out in a ragged voice. “Been dreaming of those little hands on me for years.”

Something inside you shifts at his confession, like a dam of long repressed want and need cracking open. You suddenly feel bolder, empowered by the effect you’re having on this man — this god among men who you’ve put on a pedestal for so long.

Maintaining heated eye contact, you slowly drag your hand up the length of his erection in one firm stroke that has Fernando’s hips jerking up as he curses vehemently in Spanish.

“Like this?” You rasp, a blatant challenge in your tone as you repeat the motion.

Fernando’s eyes flash hungrily and then he’s surging forward again, capturing your lips in another punishing kiss that leaves you lightheaded and alight with lust.

“Just like that, mi amor,” he growls when he releases your mouth with a final nip at your lower lip. “Now it’s my turn to cherish you ...”

With that, he loops an arm behind your knees and rises in one smooth, powerful motion, hoisting you up into a secure bridal carry. You yelp in surprise, hands flying up to cling to his broad shoulders.

“Nando! What are you, mmph-”

Your protest is cut off by his mouth slanting over yours in another heated kiss. Fernando maneuvers you easily as he starts carrying you towards the staircase, hiking your dainty linen dress up around your thighs.

“I’m making good on my promise, pequeña,” he murmurs hotly against your swollen lips. “Bedroom. Now. Going to lay you out and cherish every sweet inch of that gorgeous body, just like you deserve.”

Unbidden, a soft whine slips from your throat at his heated words. You tighten your grip on his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle there as a fresh wave of arousal floods through you, hot and insistent.

Fernando chuckles darkly, adjusting his grip on you as he starts up the stairs. “That’s it, let me hear how much you want this too.”

You open your mouth to respond but only a needy whine escapes as Fernando hitches you higher in his arms, the movement causing delicious friction against your core.

“I want, ngh-” Your words dissolve into another needy noise as Fernando nips at the juncture of your neck and shoulder in reprimand.

“Use your words, pequeña,” he rumbles against your tingling skin. “Tell me what you want.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before he’s kicking open a door and striding into what must be the bedroom, depositing you gently onto the plush center of an enormous bed. Fernando looms over you, chest heaving as he rakes his heated gaze over your prone form in a way that makes you shudder.

“Nando, I … I want you,” you finally manage, fighting past your shyness to meet his burning stare. “Want you to cherish me, cherish every part of me, like you promised.”

Fernando’s eyes darken further at your words and he slowly, purposefully begins lifting his sweater, never looking away from you.

“Good girl,” he praises in that deep, gruff tone that has your thighs pressing together instinctively. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

He shrugs off the soft knit, revealing a toned, hair-dusted chest and abdominal muscles carved from years of intense athletic training. You can’t help but drink in the display of his powerful body as he reaches for the buckle of his belt.

Fernando doesn’t miss your frank appraisal, a cocky smirk tugging at his full lips. “Like what you see, pequeña?”

You bite your lip and give a small, shameless nod. His grin widens and with a few deft flicks of his wrist, Fernando’s belt is undone and sliding free of its loops. You watch, rapt, as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and boxer briefs in one smooth motion.

“Then no more teasing,” he promises in a low, heated rasp. “Tonight you’ll have as much of me as you can handle.”

With that, Fernando pushes his trousers and underwear down over his hips in one go, springing free in all his thick, flushed glory. Your eyes widen and you suck in a sharp breath at the sheer size of him, mouth going dry with naked want.

Fernando steps forward until he’s standing at the edge of the mattress, gloriously nude and incredibly aroused. He crouches down, bringing himself eye-level with your flushed face as he reaches out to gently take your hands in his calloused grip.

“Are you sure, pequeña?” He searches your gaze intently. “Because once I claim you, mark you as mine in every way … there’s no going back. I won’t ever let you go.”

His raw confession hangs in the heated air between you. You meet Fernando’s fiery gaze without faltering, threading your fingers through his in silent acceptance. His eyes blaze and then he’s surging up over you, capturing your mouth in another searing, all-consuming kiss as he slowly, reverently hikes your dress up and divests you of your last remaining garments.

You wind your arms around his thick neck, holding him close as Fernando settles between your splayed thighs with a low, guttural groan. He rears back just enough to pin you with another scorching look, stealing your breath.

“You’re mine now, pequeña,” he vows roughly, guiding his thick length to your slick entrance. “And I’m going to spend all night cherishing this sweet body, just like you deserve ...”

Fernando braces himself above you with one powerful forearm, using his free hand to grip your thigh and hitch your leg higher around his lean hips. You keen softly as the new angle allows him to sink even deeper, filling you up so deliciously.

He drops his forehead to yours, dark eyes locked on your parted lips as he starts rocking into you with slow, measured strokes. Each deliberate grind of his pelvis against yours has you whimpering, nails raking down the flexing planes of his back.

“That’s it, pequeña,” Fernando croons, punctuating his words with a sharp roll of his hips that has you crying out. “Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”

You try to muffle your sounds against his broad shoulder, but Fernando isn’t having it. He slides the hand not braced on the mattress up to cup the back of your neck, tilting your head so your mouths are a hairsbreadth apart.

“No, no … I want to hear every gorgeous, needy little noise,” he rumbles, lips brushing yours with each scorching word. “Want to hear you begging for more of my cock, stretching you so perfectly ...”

A desperate whine slips free at his filthy words, your walls fluttering around his rigid length in defiant response. Fernando rewards you by capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his talented tongue teasing against yours as he picks up the pace of his thrusts.

You moan brokenly into his mouth, legs locking around his narrow waist as Fernando sets a rhythm of steady, pounding strokes. Each slick glide has you building higher and higher, pleasure bordering on overwhelming. It’s so much after so much time without, yet somehow not enough.

You tear your lips from his with a ragged gasp, throwing your head back against the pillows. “M-More, Nando! Please … ah!”

Fernando grunts in approval at your needy plea, hips snapping forward to bury himself deeper. “As you wish, pequeña ...”

He sits up further on his knees, using the new leverage to drive into you with increased force and intensity. The lewd noises of your joining fill the air — skin slapping against skin, your cries of pleasure mingling with Fernando’s low groans of exertion.

Part of you feels like you should be embarrassed by the wanton sounds spilling from your lips. But a much bigger part is just reveling in the indescribable feeling of being taken apart so thoroughly by this incredible man’s skilled body.

Fernando hooks an arm under one of your knees, nearly bending you in half as he leans down to mouth hot, openmouthed kisses from your collarbone up the slender column of your throat. You keen wildly, fingers spasming against the rippling muscles of his back.

“Do you want it harder, pequeña?” He growls the filthy words against the racing pulse point under your jaw. “Want Papi to fuck you just like the needy little girl you are?”

A choked whimper is all you can manage in response, rendered incoherent by his merciless onslaught against that sensitive cluster of nerves deep inside you.

Fernando’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk against the side of your neck and then he’s driving into you with renewed vigor, hips pistoning in short, brutally powerful snaps that quickly have you keening. Your nails leave stinging welts in their wake as they drag down Fernando’s glistening shoulders and back, but he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“That’s it, taking me so well,” he grits out through clenched teeth, each word punctuated by a nasty grind of his hips that has you crying out. “Such a good girl for Papi, con esas caderas tan estrechas ...”

His dirty Spanish murmurs nearly do you in, shooting white-hot sparks of pleasure-pain arcing across your nerve endings. You swear your vision nearly whites out entirely when his calloused fingers find your swollen bud, stroking firmly in tight, rapid circles that have you keening.

That familiar, coiling tension is rapidly becoming too much to bear. You can feel your orgasm fast approaching, building and building with each punishing thrust into your greedy little hole and stroke against that hypersensitive bundle of nerves.

“Nando, Nando,” you pant, clutching desperately at his flexing biceps as your thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably. “I’m gonna, ah, fuck, I can’t-”

Fernando’s response is a series of harsh Spanish curses that would make a sailor blush. His mouth crashes against yours in a searing, messy kiss, swallowing your cries as he fucks you right through your release.

Wave after relentless wave of excruciating ecstasy crashes over you. You tremble and wail into Fernando’s mouth, pulled taut as a bowstring as he milks every last exquisite pulse from you with those sharp, unforgiving snaps of his hips.

Just when you think the pleasure searing along every nerve ending will break you into pieces, Fernando’s rhythm falters. He rears back, baring his teeth in a feral snarl that sends a fresh shock of desire arrowing straight to your core.

“Going to fill you up now, pequeña,” he grits out in a gravelly tone laced with strain. “Make you nice and, ah mierda, messy with Papi’s cum ...”

The sheer filth of his words, combined with his furious tempo draws animalistic whimpers from deep in your chest. You lock your ankles at the small of his back, taking him deeper as he starts to lose control.

“Please, Nando!” You beg shamelessly, reaching up to dig your fingers into the straining chords of muscle in his back and shoulders. “Please cum inside me, wanna be yours, wanna-”

Fernando cuts off your fervent cries with a harsh growl and then he’s slamming home one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spills molten heat deep in your convulsing channel with a stream of strained Spanish curses.

You shudder and cry out at the incredible sensation of being filled so completely, holding him flush to you while he pulses and throbs. Fernando captures your lips in another searing kiss, fucking his tongue into your mouth in time with the shallow rolls of his hips as he spends himself.

Just when you think the incredible intensity of his release will never end, the shrill trill of a ringtone shatters the sweaty, panting silence of the bedroom.

Fernando goes rigid above you, finally breaking the fevered kiss with a curse that shoots straight to your over-sensitized core.

“Fucking hell, now?”

His tone is one of pure annoyance as his darkly tousled head whips towards the nightstand where his mobile is ringing incessantly. One large hand flexes against the sheets beside your head, ready to simply ignore the call.

Until, that is, he sees the caller ID and his entire demeanor shifts from one of irritation to something more sheepish. He immediately sits up on his haunches, the movement tugging at your overstuffed, abused entrance in the most delicious way and drawing a helpless whimper from you.

Fernando fixes you with a heated look, plush lower lip caught between his teeth as he drinks in your disheveled, satisfied state sprawled wantonly across his rumpled sheets. Only then does he make a sudden, aborted movement to grab the still-ringing phone, gaze flickering down to where you’re obscenely joined.

“Don’t you dare pull out,” you pant in warning, clenching down hard around him as he shifts to reach for the mobile. Fernando groans explosively at the vice-like grip, arm falling back to brace himself against the mattress.

“Insatiable,” he accuses with a dark chuckle. He somehow manages to snag the still-trilling phone without dislodging himself and you shamelessly squeeze down even tighter in petty retaliation. Fernando tosses you a smoldering glare that makes heat lick along your nerve endings before he finally answers.

“Hola?” His deep voice is rougher than usual, gravelly from the thoroughly ravished state you’ve put him in.

“Fernando! Mate, it’s me.” Your father’s crisp Aussie tone immediately filters through the speaker and you inadvertently clench down again in panic.

Fernando’s lips peel back in a mild wince before smoothing back into that trademark smug grin of his. He drops his free hand to splay possessively over your lower abdomen, thumb rubbing idle circles into the soft, oversensitized skin there as he regards you with dark, hooded eyes.

“Mark!” He greets your father with forced nonchalance, even as the pads of his calloused fingers dip dangerously close to where you’re still intimately joined. “What can I do for you?”

There’s a pregnant pause during which you can practically picture the slight frown creasing your dad’s brow at Fernando’s strange tone. “Er, sorry to bother you, Nando. I was just ringing to see if my daughter made it to you alright?”

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes going wide as Fernando’s lips quirk up in a devilish smirk. Instead of answering right away, he drags the tip of one finger agonizingly slowly through your damp curls in a wordless warning.

Biting your lip to stifle a moan, you obediently stop clenching your internal muscles, allowing Fernando to sink that few extra incredible inches back inside you with a roll of his hips. His eyes burn with smug satisfaction when you keen softly at the feeling of being so deliciously full.

“She arrived safe and sound,” Fernando finally replies, voice gone low and rough in a way that has your thighs trying to clench instinctively. He holds you open by digging the heel of his palm against your mound, lips twitching when you whimper. “I’m taking very … very good care of her. You don’t need to worry.”

Another pause from your father’s end, this one even longer. You can picture the perplexed furrow in his brow deepening as he tries to figure out the strange undercurrent in Fernando’s tone.

“Right … well, good then. I just wanted to check in and make sure she got there okay after that whole mess with her asshole of an ex.”

You shudder at the memory, hips shifting restlessly against Fernando’s calloused palm in a plea for friction, pressure, anything. He simply watches you squirm with darkly glittering eyes, lazily rubbing his thumb in soothing little circles just below your navel.

“Trust me,” Fernando finally rumbles, voice gone low and graveled in a way that sends a shiver of desire arcing down your spine. “Your little girl is being very well looked after, in every way.”

Your cheeks burn hot at the blatant innuendo lacing his words. Fernando’s smirk widens, like he enjoys seeing you so flustered, before he continues in a tone of exaggerated innocence. “She’s been … quite the handful, really, but I don’t mind.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and you shoot him a betrayed look, clenching reflexively around the thick length still sheathed snugly inside you. Fernando arches one artfully sculpted brow as if in challenge, using his free hand to firmly grip one of your thighs and wrench your legs obscenely further apart in clear retaliation.

You muffle a whimper into the sheets as the new position allows him to grind deeper, that delicious friction quickly unraveling your will to stay quiet. You can already feel the coil of need building rapidly once more with each shallow roll of Fernando’s hips.

“What was that?” Your dad’s mildly bewildered voice suddenly crackles over the line, jarring you back to the reality of the situation.

Cheeks burning with a mixture of arousal and mortification, you blindly grasp for one of the pillows to muffle the series of pitiful noises now spilling past your lips as Fernando ups the intensity of his thrusts.

He leans in closer until the two of you are practically nose-to-nose, teeth sinking into that plush lower lip when you instinctively tighten around him like a velvet vise. Fernando’s eyes roll back briefly before fixing back on you, dark and fathomless as the depths of the Mediterranean.

“Nothing to worry about over here,” he pants through gritted teeth, one hand leaving its bruising grip on your thigh to curl around the back of your neck and pull you into a searing, filthy kiss designed to swallow any incriminating sounds. “Like I said. Just … taking very good care of your little girl.”

There’s one final confused little hum from your father before the line clicks off with a hollow beep. Fernando instantly drops the phone and slants his mouth hungrily over yours once more, all thoughts of the call instantly forgotten as he resumes fucking up into you with renewed vigor.

“My little girl, aren’t you pequeña?” He grates against your lips, punctuating each word with a scorching grind of his hips that has sparks bursting behind your eyelids. “Going to be a good girl and cum all over Papi’s cock again, sí?”

You can only nod wildly in agreement, nails raking down his broad back as that incredible tension inside you winds tighter and tighter. Fernando swallows your cries with his wicked, talented mouth, until finally you go rigid in his arms, back arched as your release rockets through you like a shockwave.

This time Fernando doesn’t even attempt to stifle your hoarse, animalistic keening, merely rearing back to watch in fascination as your complexion colors and your eyes roll back. He growls your name like a prayer, hips snapping erratically as he uses your convulsive flutters to chase his own high. Fernando’s chiseled features contort in pleasure, teeth sinking into his own lip hard enough to draw blood when you bear down with the vise-like strength of your release.

“F-Fuck … gonna … gonna fill you up again,” he grits out, thick cock jerking deep inside your molten depths. “Make you … gonna ah … make you mine forever this time, pequeña ...”

The gravelly promise in his tone somehow penetrates the sweaty, lust-hazed cocoon surrounding you. Your eyes fly open just in time to witness Fernando’s own clenched shut, jaw dropped in a growl as he buries himself to the hilt with one final, bruising grind of his pelvis.

You cry out at the incredible sensation of his release flooding your already stuffed channel with scorching ropes of thick seed. Fernando lets out a shuddering moan of pure gratification, hips working in short, shallow thrusts to pump every last pulse of his sticky essence into your greedy little womb.

When the last tremor of his climax has wrung through him, he drops bonelessly on top of you in a sweaty, panting tangle of sated limbs. You whimper quietly at the delicious feeling of his weight pinning you to the mattress, his softening length still lodged snugly inside as the two of you bask in the afterglow.

Fernando nuzzles into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, pressing lazy, opened-mouthed kisses to your slick, overheated skin. His talented fingers trace abstract patterns up and down your sides, touch reverent as his gravelly voice rumbles against you.

“Going to get you nice and full, pequeña. Fill you up again and again until my baby takes ...”

A violent shudder wracks through you at the filthy promise in his words. Fernando chuckles darkly, gathering you closer against his sweat-slicked chest as his hand drifts down to cup your lower abdomen with tender possessiveness.

“That’s it, let it sink in,” he croons, fingertips rubbing in gentle circles. “My seed taking root deep inside this sweet little womb, putting a baby in your belly ...”

He punctuates the words with a firm press of his palm that has you gasping, walls fluttering greedily around the thick shaft still impaling you. Fernando makes a noise of deep approval low in his throat.

“Going to keep you just like this,” he vows in a tone that brooks no argument, hot and heavy against the sensitive shell of your ear. “Barefoot and pregnant in my bed, that gorgeous body swollen and glowing with my hijo ...”

You whimper at the image his words conjure up — your belly rounded and stretched taut with Fernando’s child, heavy breasts leaking as you cradle his son or daughter. Fernando husks out a laugh at your reaction, nosing along the line of your jaw until you meet his heated gaze.

“You like that idea, don’t you pequeña?” His eyes glitter with a mixture of desire and predatory satisfaction. “Being tied to me forever, in the most permanent way possible?”

You can only nod dumbly, suddenly rendered mute by the depths of your own yearning. Of course you want that — to carry this incredible man’s legacy inside you for all the world to see. To belong to him, completely.

Fernando rumbles his approval against your swollen lips, cupping the back of your head to angle your mouth for a tender, lingering kiss. When he finally breaks away, you try to chase his mouth with a breathless whimper of protest.

“Shh, patience, pequeña,” he murmurs indulgently, thumb stroking over your slick lower lip. His eyes are dancing with dark promise. “You’ll have plenty of time to take your fill of me in the coming months while I breed you over ...”

He kisses the words into the hollow of your throat, teeth grazing the rapid flutter of your pulse point.

“... and over ...” Fernando rolls you onto your back in one smoothly powerful motion, settling his weight over you as he lips trail a blazing path down your abdomen.

“... and over again.” His tongue dips briefly into your navel before he nuzzles lower, nose nudging through your damp curls until his warm breath ghosts over your overstimulated sex. You suck in a ragged gasp, thighs trembling with anticipation as Fernando glances up at you from under those ridiculously long lashes.

“Until it finally takes,” he finishes with a wicked grin before ducking down to swipe one firm lick through your folds. You nearly black out from the electric shock of pleasure-pain, broken cries echoing through the bedroom as Fernando sets to work thoroughly mapping every intimate inch of you with that devilishly skilled mouth and tongue.

True to his filthy promise, Fernando keeps you until the first rosy hints of dawn are just beginning to lighten the horizon outside, thoroughly ravishing your helpless body over and over again until you’re boneless and incoherent with satiation.

It’s only when the first few birds have begun to chirp their morning songs that he finally relents, blanketing you with his solid weight one last time. Fernando’s lips are kiss-swollen as they trail up the line of your throat to find yours in one more long, thorough kiss that leaves you totally plundered.

“Sleep now, pequeña,” he rumbles against your parted mouth, gathering you close as his hand drifts down to splay possessively over the slight tautness of your lower abdomen. “Let my release take nice and deep inside you ...”

You slip into unconsciousness to the sensation of Fernando’s calloused fingertips rubbing soothing circles over your skin and the imprinted promise of his low, sleep-roughened vows.

“I’m going to put a baby in you, pequeña. Going to breed you so full of my children until you’re round and glowing with them … that’s a promise.”

***

Six Months Later

Fernando can’t keep the swell of pride and possessiveness from blooming in his chest as he guides you through the paddock with a supportive hand on the small of your back. His dark gaze keeps flickering down to admire the swell of your belly peeking out beneath the flowing summer dress you’ve chosen for today.

He feels like a conquering king surveying his latest prize as you waddle adorably at his side, the golden sunlight caressing your features and lending a rosy flush to your glowing complexion. Fernando has never seen a more beautiful, ethereal sight than you in this moment — rounded with his child, your body transformed by the life blossoming within.

His hand subconsciously moves to cup the subtle curve of your belly as you pause to allow a team member to pass. Fernando feels a fresh surge of scorching desire and smug satisfaction race through his veins when you instinctively cover his hand with yours, cradling his palm against the taut swell.

“Easy there, pequeña,” he rumbles with a wolfish grin, leaning in until his lips brush the delicate shell of your ear. “We’re in public, remember? Wouldn’t want to give these pendejos an eyeful of how insaciable my little girl has become since getting knocked up ...”

A delightful shiver visibly ripples through you at his words, those gorgeous eyes fluttering shut for the briefest of moments before fixed back on him blown wide and dark with rekindled want. Fernando lets out a low chuckle of approval, arm winding around your waist to pull you flush against his side.

Just then, a familiar figure comes striding around the corner, brows low and thunderous as they zero in on the embrace Fernando has you locked in. Mark Webber falters mid-step as he takes in the rather obvious changes to your body, chin dropping in a comical picture of dumbstruck shock.

Fernando can’t resist angling the two of you forward just enough to emphasize the prominent curve of your belly straining against the flowy fabric of your summer dress. He watches your father’s expression morph from surprise, to confusion, then slowly … realization as the pieces begin to click into place.

Within seconds, Mark’s eyes have narrowed to slits of rage, mouth curling back in a snarl of anger as he picks up his pace and stalks towards the pair of you. Fernando’s own smug expression slips, features settling into a hard mask as he angles his body slightly in front of yours on instinct.

“You motherfucking piece of shit-” Your father snarls, face taking on an alarming reddish hue as he rears back and swings at Fernando.

Fernando manages to sidestep the worst of the blow at the last second, feeling only a glancing impact against his left cheekbone before Mark closes in again with balled fists raised. Behind him, you let out a strangled cry of dismay, reaching out helplessly to grasp at the back of his shirt.

“Dad, no! Fernando, please-”

But Fernando is already sinking into a fighting stance, knees slightly bent and weight evenly distributed. He blocks another wild swing from Mark with ease, allowing the Australian’s momentum to carry him past so Fernando can land a swift, open-handed punch against the side of his head.

The sharp retaliatory crack has Mark stumbling sideways, snarling like an enraged animal. For one brief, wildly intense moment, the two former rivals simply square off — sizing one another up like they’ve done a hundred times before on various circuits when they were both still competing.

From anyone else, Fernando might have been able to laugh off this overreaction, shrug it aside as the misguided anger of a hotblooded father learning his young daughter is now expecting. But this is Mark Webber — a man who has proven himself as fiery and formidable an opponent as they come.

Fernando won’t admit it aloud, but a tiny thrill of excitement races through him at the prospect of a proper throwdown with his old nemesis turned friend. He throws you a quick glance over his shoulder, assessing if he needs to move you further away before the situation escalates.

You surprise him by shaking your head adamantly, those beautiful eyes blazing with protective fury of your own as you plant yourself squarely in between the two men.

“Fernando, don’t hurt him,” you plead, gaze flickering between him and the bristling Aussie now clambering back to his feet. “He’s just-”

“Being a bloody psychopathic bastard,” Mark spits, wiping a hand across his rapidly swelling lip. His hateful glare lands accusingly on the prominent swell of your middle. “Fucking hell , Nando. She’s just a kid-”

Fernando feels his own temper ratcheting up several notches at the venom and dismissal lacing the other man’s tone. He takes an aggressive step forward, forcing you back behind the shield of his powerful frame.

“Don’t talk about her like she isn’t here to defend herself,” Fernando growls, unconcerned that they’re rapidly drawing an audience from the swarm of crew personnel surrounding them.

He arches a challenging brow at your father’s scathing glower. “What’s wrong? Upset that while you were off galivanting around the globe, I was putting a baby in your daughter’s belly?”

Mark lets out an outraged roar, lurching forward to throw another wild haymaker that Fernando easily ducks under. You cry out in distress, hands coming up to grip at Fernando’s biceps from behind as you try to bodily pull him away from the furious Australian’s reach.

“Both of you, stop!” Your shrill voice cuts through the tense alleyway, causing both men to pause for a split-second and glance towards you. “Nando, don’t provoke him! And you-” You aim an accusatory finger at your seething father. “Lay one more hand on Fernando and I swear to god-”

Whatever heated threat you were preparing goes unvoiced as a sudden aura of pain visibly ripples across your features, brow furrowing and lips parting on a pained gasp. Your hands instinctively fly down to cradle your belly, entire body locking up with tension.

Fernando’s heart leaps into his throat as he recognizes the clear signs of distress from months spent doting upon your every subtle twinge and discomfort. Immediately, his previous temper fades into a dull, distant roar easily overshadowed by the all-consuming need to ensure your well-being.

“Pequeña?” He’s at your side in an instant, gripping your upper arms to steady you as a light sheen of perspiration blooms on your brow. “Breathe through it, mi amor … just breathe, okay?”

“I-I’m fine,” you manage in a tight voice. “Just a twinge. The excitement is probably too mu-ahh!”

You gasp again, nails digging punishingly into Fernando’s forearms as your knees threaten to buckle. All hints of masculine posturing flee his mind as Fernando smoothly sweeps you up into a secure bridal carry, heedless of the soft whimpers of discomfort now trickling past your parted lips.

He locks eyes with a stunned Mark over your bent crown, gaze impassive and steady. “You heard her. The excitement is too much. We’re leaving.”

Without waiting for a response, Fernando swivels on his heel and marches back the way you’d originally come with you cradled protectively against his chest. He keeps his strides measured and unhurried, but still manages to put a fair amount of distance between the pair of you and your father’s petulant anger in a matter of moments.

Once you’ve rounded a quiet corner alcove, Fernando gently lowers you to a relatively secluded stack of equipment crates, bracing your lower back and guiding you into a seated position.

“Wait here,” he murmurs against your hairline, dropping a fleeting kiss to the rapidly dampening strands stuck to your brow. Fernando’s fingers ghost down to cradle your belly once more, silently assessing for any areas of increased tension. “I’ll be back in just a moment with some water and a physio, alright?”

You nod weakly, squirming to rest back against the cool metal behind you as another pained grimace flits across your features. Fernando feels his heart clench at the wretched, lost expression clouding your eyes.

Cupping your cheek, he tilts your chin up until you meet his heated gaze. “Don’t look so afraid, pequeña. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

Fernando leans in until his nose brushes against yours, allowing the familiar closeness and the scent of his cedar and bergamot cologne to soothe you. “Our little one is just reminding us who’s boss, that’s all. But Papi’s here … I’ll take care of both of you, sí?”

You manage a weak smile at that, some of the tension bleeding from your delicate features as you nod against his palm. Fernando presses one more lingering kiss to your brow before reluctantly pulling away.

“I’ll be right back, mi vida. Just breathe deeply for me in the meantime.”

With one final reassuring caress to your belly, Fernando turns on his heel and strides back out into the bustling paddock area. His jaw is set in a tense line, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he mentally catalogs which team staff he needs to track down.

Rounding a corner, Fernando very nearly barrels straight into the rigid form of your father standing there with arms crossed, clearly waiting to waylay him. The Aussie’s expression is thunderous, eyes blazing with hurt and undisguised fury.

“So that’s it then?” Mark bites out in a tone of barely restrained aggression. “You’ve gone and knocked up my little girl. My own daughter, Nando ...”

Fernando holds up a dismissive hand, in no mood to allow your father’s misplaced anger to provoke another confrontation — not when you’re so clearly in distress. “Don’t start with me again.” His tone is low, brooking no argument. “Your daughter is safe and being well looked after, that’s all that matters right now.”

With that, he moves to sidestep around Mark, only to find his path blocked by the other man’s broad chest as he steps directly into Fernando’s space. The former World Champion narrows his eyes warningly, feeling his temper ratcheting back up in the face of such insolence.

“Look, you arrogant Spanish prick,” Mark growls, lips peeling back in a menacing sneer. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but-”

Fernando abruptly cuts him off with a harsh bark of humorless laughter, dark eyes glittering dangerously. “A game?” He shakes his head slowly, expression one of vaguely disbelieving contempt. “You really think that’s all this is to me? Getting one up on you by deflowering your little girl and leaving her pregnant, alone, and disgraced?”

The other man flinches almost imperceptibly at the crass words, clearly thrown by Fernando’s frank disdain. The Spaniard presses on relentlessly. “Any man who would treat a situation like this so flippantly doesn’t deserve to consider themselves a real man at all — let alone a father.”

Mark’s face has turned an alarming shade of puce, whether from shame or sheer unchecked rage Fernando neither knows nor cares. He simply crowds further into the Australian’s space, heedless of how their chests nearly brush with each harsh exhalation.

“Make no mistake, I love that woman and the child she carries more than life itself,” Fernando states with conviction, cadence low and gravelly. “If you’re asking whether I intend to be there for them both as a partner, as a father … my answer is simple.”

He pauses just long enough to allow the weight of his next words to truly sink in.

“For as long as your daughter and my children will have me, you couldn’t pry me away from their sides with a fucking crowbar.”

Fernando holds your father’s seething gaze for one final beat, satisfaction lancing through him at seeing the other man seemingly robbed of his righteous anger. With a curt nod, he finally moves to brush past the speechless Australian without another word —intent on fetching the physio like he had originally set out to do.

Because in the end, Mark Webber’s approval means less than nothing to Fernando. All that matters is rushing back to your side and ensuring your safety and comfort. You and the new life blossoming within you are his entire world now.

As if to reaffirm the point, you suddenly appear around the corner, one hand braced protectively under the swell of your abdomen.

“Nando,” you breathe in a tremulous voice, blindly reaching for him. “The little one misses you ...”

Fernando instantly abandons all thoughts of confronting Mark, or retrieving a physio, or anything else as he rushes to gather you up in his arms once more. He cradles you tenderly to his chest as your fingers twist almost convulsively in the fabric of his Hugo Boss shirt, dark eyes wide and pleading.

Fernando glances down at you cradled protectively in his arms, heart clenching at the distressed furrow of your brow and shallow, panting breaths.

Readjusting his grip, he dips his head to murmur a string of soothing Spanish endearments against your sweat-dampened hairline as he carries you through the winding labyrinth of the paddock. His strides are measured but purposeful, not rushing — he needs to get you somewhere quiet and comfortable to recover from the ordeal.

Finally, Fernando spots a secluded alcove tucked away behind a cluster of tires. He quickly guides you over and gently lowers you onto an emptied workbench, cocooning you against his broad chest.

“There, there, pequeña,” he croons, lips brushing your brow. “Just breathe nice and deep for Papi, just like we practiced ...”

You nod weakly, fingers reflexively flexing against the solid planes of Fernando’s abdomen as you struggle to pull in deep gulps of air. He deftly tugs the neckline of your summer dress aside to expose more of your flushed skin, using the hem to dab away the perspiration beading on your chest and throat.

“That’s it, mi vida,” he praises in that dark, soothing timbre. “Just like that, easy does it ...”

Slowly, the tension bleeds from your features as the worst of the discomfort subsides. Fernando doesn’t dare loosen his supportive embrace, nor does he tear his increasingly heated gaze away from your parted lips as each measured exhale puffs across his skin.

“Better now?” He murmurs, thumb tracing the delicate arch of your cheekbone reverently. A rosy blush stains your complexion when you nod meekly, lashes fanning across those glorious cheekbones.

“Good girl,” Fernando rumbles, helpless not to drink in the gorgeous picture you make — cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes glazed with lingering stardust. He grips your jaw in a firm caress, tilting your chin up until your gazes lock.

“Because I must admit,” he husks softly, gaze darkening to molten whiskey. “Seeing you like this, with my child safe inside you … has me feeling quite possessive, pequeña.”

You shudder visibly at his words, tongue darting out to wet those plump lips in a blatant show of want. Fernando doesn’t miss the subtle gesture, allowing his gaze to dip briefly to track the slick path your tongue carves before fixing back on your rapidly dilating pupils.

“Would you like that, hmm?” He lowers his voice to a sensual rumble, skimming his thumb across your lower lip in a wordless command for access. “Having Papi show you just how adored, how cherished you and our little one inside you truly are?”

A whimper catches in the back of your throat as you readily accept the gentle press of Fernando’s calloused digit between your parted lips. Your eyes flutter shut on a trembling exhale as he slowly begins to glide the thick pad of his thumb across that heavenly softness, careful not to scrape the sensitive skin with his nail.

“That’s it, pequeña,” he growls, a tad hoarse as desire visibly burns behind those long lashes. “Suckle for me, let me take care of you both nice and proper ...”

Fernando rocks forward ever so slightly, allowing the swollen curve of your belly to brush against his solid abs with each tiny shuddering breath you drag in through your nose. He keeps up the lazy, hypnotic strokes of his thumb until you’re completely transfixed — hips shifting restlessly against his thighs and soft, muffled mewls escaping past the seal of your swollen lips.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, voice pitched low enough to rasp straight through you and ignite every raw nerve ending. “So sweet and responsive for Papi … going to reward that gorgeous little mouth in just a moment, I promise.”

You whine wantonly around his thumb in response, eyes fluttering back open to reveal pupils blown wide with naked yearning. Fernando chuckles indulgently, thumb tracing the delicate bow of your lower lip one final time before retreating fully.

“So eager,” he tuts without any real admonishment. Leaning in close, he angles his head to brush kiss-swollen lips against the outer shell of your ear. “Don’t fret, pequeña. I’ll take such good care of both of you right here, right now ...”

Fernando drops a lingering series of kisses along the line of your jaw, letting his lush mouth trail lower and lower with each heated murmur.

“Will remind you exactly who you belong to … who made you … who put this child in your belly ...”

His final words are an exhale ghosting out across your thundering pulse. Fernando immediately latches on with his teeth, nipping and sucking a series of stinging, possessive marks into your sensitized flesh that has you arching against him with a strangled cry of pure bliss.

Out here, cloaked in the shadow of the paddock where anyone could stumble across the two of you — your father included — and discover just how thoroughly Fernando has claimed you. The taboo thrill of it all is utterly intoxicating.

As your trembling fingers find purchase in his clothes, dragging him nearer with insistence, Fernando feels that familiar molten lick of possessive pride unfurl deep in his core. You are his now, fully and completely — mind, body, and soon … family.

Just the way it was always meant to be.

[itneverendshere]

hiiii, i just read the school spirit fic with rafe AND ITS THE BEST FUCKING THING. i need a part 2 desperately please, i need rafe to play the best game he is ever played and everyone it’s like wtf but like omg. AND THE LAST GOL HE LIKE DEDICATES IT TO READER POINTING TO THE BLEACHERS. and then reader just goes with it and they fuck… please i need it

you ask and you shall receive! hope you enjoy <33

school spirit and all! - soccer!frat!rafe cameron (+18) - part ii

warnings: smut! paring: smart!reader x bimbo!rafe <3; pope being an absolute menace; read part i here; part iii word count: 4.7k

you were losing your fucking mind.

what were you thinking? oh, right! you weren’t.

the entire situation felt surreal, but there was no backing down now.

plus, when did some little dick hurt your feelings?

it was a win-win like you said before. if he won, you got laid after months without feeling a human's touch. if he lost, you wouldn't get laid and just walked away. either way, you’re not entirely disappointed with the outcome.

or at least that’s why you’ve been telling yourself.

as you walked to the stadium, your heart pounded in your chest, legs threatning to give out underneath you. yeah, you were a little nervous. but you blamed it on pope for giving you so much shit about the game.

he’d been insistent on you learning the rules, the players’ names, even memorizing their more common plays. it felt like he was trying to coach you into a small version of josé mourinho. 

everyone knew you were not the type to get invested in sports, let alone a college soccer match, but today was different and you were stupid enough to let your best friend convince you to wear a stupid jersey with rafe’s name and number on it.

13.

of course that walking disaster of a man would choose the unlucky number for himself. 

as you entered the stadium, the noise of the crowd was overwhelming. the chants, the cheers, the jeers—had you mentioned this was your first time watching a game? in real life? you knew people took this seriously, but it felt absolutely insane to witness it.

you could see the players warming up on the field, rafe among them.

he looked so different out there, focused and intense, very different to the reckless, unpredictable guy you were used to.

you followed pope like a lost puppy, and quickly found your seats in the stands, right in the middle of a sea of fans. some were dressed in the team's colors, others wore jerseys like yours, proudly displaying their favorite player's name and number. you felt out of place, a fraud among true fans, but there was no turning back now.

“turn that frown upside down, you gonna scare the bitches away.”

you rolled your eyes, “stop calling everyone bitches.”

from the corner of your right eye, you saw pope leaning closer, and without so much of a glance, you could tell he was about to spew out something stupid to piss you off.

“why are you so tense, hmmm? you’re getting laid tonight bro, cheer up!”

your hand instantly lifted to knock some sense into his head, “keep it down!” you hiss in his ear, “jesus.”

he just laughed, entirely unfazed by your irritation. “relaxxx, no one’s paying attention to us,” he said, casually draping an arm over the back of your seat. “they’re all too busy worshipping our soccer gods.”

you couldn’t help but glance around, noting the faces of fans who seemed to live and breathe for this moment. it was a different world, one you never quite understood.

you looked back at the field, your eyes finding rafe again. he was in his element, effortlessly moving through the warm-up drills, every motion proof to his athleticism. for a moment, you allowed yourself to appreciate the view. his jersey clung to his body, emphasizing muscles you hadn’t really paid attention to before…closely.

“hey,” pope nudged you, pulling you out of your reverie. “you’re drooling.”

“shut up,” you muttered, but couldn’t help the slight smile tugging at your lips, “i’m assessing the task.”

“don’t worry. rumor has it he’s big.”

you shot pope a glare, half-amused and half-exasperated. "do you ever shut the fuck up?"

pope just chuckled, shaking his head, “i’m dead serious.”

you were quiet for a minute. eyes drifting along rafe’s body, stopping—

“how big?”

“what?”

“how big.” you muttered under your breath, torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to smack your friend for his relentless teasing.

he only sent you a wink, “you’ll find out soon enough sweetcheeks, it’s okay.”

"you’re so annoying," you gritted trough your teeth, trying to keep your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your stomach, “so annoying.”

pope just grinned, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "the game’s starting, enjoy the view.”

the game started, and you tried to follow along, remembering pope's endless lectures. but rafe was everywhere, moving with a kind of grace you didn't know he possessed, toned legs carrying effortlessly across the field.

you watched him, transfixed, as he commanded the team, shouting orders and making plays. it was like seeing a different side of him, a side you couldn't reconcile with the rafe who caused so much chaos in the library. it was kinda hot. when he touched the ball, your heart leaped into your throat. you could see the determination in his eyes, the fire that drove him. 

then, it happened.

he dribbled past defenders as if they were mere obstacles in his way and then, he unleashed a powerful strike, the ball soared through the air, a perfect arc that left the goalkeeper rooted to the spot. time seemed to slow down as everyone watched with bated breath. then, the net rippled as the ball slammed into the back, and the stadium exploded.

"and cameron with an explosive start here! just six minutes into the game, and he's already showing us why he's a force to be reckoned with. that was a textbook example of skill and determination, folks! he saw the opportunity, he seized it, and he made it count! our boy is back!”

“holy fuck!” pope all but screamed in your ear as the crowd went wild, “what the hell did you tell him?!”

you turned to him, still sitting, momentarily speechless, as the realization sunk in that maybe, just maybe, your unconventional motivation had really ignited something within rafe. 

"i don't know," you managed to shout back, your voice drowned out by the crowd. but deep down, you knew. maybe it wasn't about the specifics of what you promised but the audacity of your offer that spurred him on.

as the game rolled on, rafe's presence on the field took over. every move he made sparked cheers and chants from the crowd, adding to the electric atmosphere. it was a far cry from your usual indifference to sports, but you couldn't help but get caught up in the excitement of it all.

in every pass, every interception, and every almost-goal, whenever he got the ball, the whole stadium seemed to hold its breath, as did you, waiting to see what he'd do next.

you were a hypocrite.

because he scored, again. 

when you thought, he was done showing off and making you eat your last week’s words up, you saw him turn to the stands after he celebrated the last goal with his teammates and your heart dropped to your ass.

there was no way in hell he was going to find you in that sea of people, right? you were safe. he was scanning the crowd, your section...searching for... you.

"shit," you muttered under your breath, trying to shrink into your seat. 

“yeah, that’s on me. sorry. told him your seat.”

if you weren’t about to puke, you would’ve punched pope in the face, instead you chose to keep your head down, eyes rooted to your beat up adidas, resisting the urge to bury your face in your hands.

“he’s coming up.”

you lifted your head, looking at pope incredulously, “he’s what?! pope, don’t fuck with me.”

“i’m sorry it was just too funny,” pope snickered, shaking his head, “he’s not coming, but he’s staring at you with those love-sick puppy eyes.”

you reluctantly glanced down to find him staring directly at you, chest heaving as he brushed a few stubborn strands of sweaty hair away from his forehead.

you almost, key word almost, gasped at you handsome he looked.

then a grin spread slowly across his lips. without breaking eye contact, he subtly raised his hand, a gesture only you could understand.

and it hit you. it was a callback to your shared sign language class in freshman year.

how the fuck did he remember that? you didn’t. not until he did it. 

hi beautiful.

you’d never felt the need to swoon over a man before. now you might. after what feels like an eternity, but were just mere seconds, you gathered your courage and raised your hand, mirroring his sign for a simple "hi" and adding a tentative smile.

it was an easy gesture, but it felt…different. rafe's smile widened in response before he turned to run back into the field.

pope, ever the instigator, nudged you again. "that was smooth.”

the glare returned to your face.

the rest of the game unfolded in a blur. rafe continued to dominate the field, scoring goal after goal with precision and skill that left you in awe. each time he celebrated, you found yourself holding your breath. 

when the final whistle blew and the stadium erupted in celebration, your jaw was nearly on the floor.

had he played like that his entire life? was this the same boy that you threatened to punch in the face if he didn’t get his life together? the team's victory was clear—a resounding 4-0 win.

"remember that name, folks—rafe cameron. he's not just a player; he's a game-changer. and with plays like that, he's proving why he's a standout talent on this field today!"

"well," pope finally managed to say, his voice tinged with disbelief, "looks like you're in for a ride."

you could only nod dumbly as you watched rafe celebrate with his teammates, the bond between them palpable even from a distance.

you swore you even saw him hug jj. 

as the stadium began to empty, you lingered in your seat, watching as rafe disappeared into the locker room with his team to shower. eventually, you gathered your belongings and followed pope out of the stadium.

“you gonna wait for him here?”

“i don’t know,” you groaned, itching to warm your freezing hands, “didn’t plan ahead.”

"so..." pope started again, "what's the plan now? going to find him?"

“i told—“ 

you were about to drill some common sense into pope when you feel something touch your back. not just something. a warm, blazing palm settling at the end of your back.

you froze, your heart racing as the warmth seeped through your jacket.

“cameron, nice game, for once.”

ignoring pope’s teasing, you leaned your head to the side, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. and there he was. looking at you with that same confident tilt on his pretty lips that had both infuriated and intrigued you countless times before.

"hey," rafe said, his voice slightly breathless from the intensity of the game and the excitement still coursing through him.

"hey," you managed to reply, your voice surprisingly steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

“oh okay. i get it.”

rafe glanced over at pope with a knowing smirk. "thanks for coming out, man.”

“you’re welcome by the way.”

rafe ignored the comment, eyes remained fixed on you. "glad you could make it," he said, his tone softer now.

“okayyy, i’m leaving. stay safe, byee!”

“pope,” you yelled out as he excused himself, “my doorm keys are in your car.”

“that sounds like a you problem.”

you stared after pope, mouth slightly agape, as he disappeared into the crowd. you'd have to figure that out later. for now, there was rafe, standing so close that the air between you didn’t seem enough. 

"guess we're stuck together,” you said, trying to sound casual, mentally cringing at how stupid it sounded.

rafe only chuckled, the sound low and warm against your skin, "seems like it."

“sooo—“

before you could finish your sentence, his hand slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him. 

and then he kissed you

it was messy, sensual, and bruising all at once. his lips moved against yours with a hunger that took you by surprise, but you didn't pull away. instead, you matched his intensity, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as you kissed him back with just as much need. it felt like you were losing your fucking mind, but you didn't care.

he just felt so good.

his hands roamed up your lower back, pulling you even closer as if trying to merge you into him. his kiss was demanding, with a sense of deep-seated need that you hadn’t anticipated.

your fingers tangled in his hair, wondering if you’d ever get the chance to do this again after tonight. when you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, his forehead resting against yours as you tried to regain your composure. 

his thumb brushed gently over your cheek, “we’re leaving now.”

you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “now?”

“yeah, now.” rafe’s voice was resolute, leaving no room for argument.

he hoisted you up into his arms effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as if you weighed nothing. oh wow, you liked this.

“what are you doing?” you managed to gasp out, clinging to his shoulders for stability. he was so fucking strong it nearly made you want to eat him whole.

“taking you to bed,” he replied, his voice low, “we’ve got unfinished business.”

the walk to his dorm? you couldn’t remember.

you were acutely aware of the curious stares from other students, but you didn’t care. maybe the day after.

rafe cameron was carrying you on his arms inside his fraternity and when he finally reached his dorm, he kicked the door open with his foot, carrying you inside, before locking it. he set you down gently, his hands lingering on your waist as he stared into your eyes.

there was a fire there, an intensity that made your knees weak.

“that wasn’t fair, y’know."

your brows furrowed in confusion.

“tempting me for weeks.”

“well—i didn’t think—nmph!”

his lips were on yours again, the kiss just as desperate as before. you melted into him, your body pressing against his as you gave in to the sensation of his hands exploring your back, pulling you closer. your fingers fumbled to remove his shirt. he’d showered after the game but you were still wearing his jersey. he helped you, pulling it off in one swift motion, revealing the chiseled muscles beneath. you couldn’t help but run your hands over his chest, enjoying at the hard planes of his body.

his hands found the hem of your own jersey, “you’re gonna wear this to every game, you hear me?”

you tilted your head to the side, in mock confusion, “who said i'm going to your games?”

he chuckled, the sound deep and vibrating against your skin as his hands worked to pull the jersey over your head.

“oh, baby. you will. you won’t be able to stay away.”

“confident, are we?” you teased, even as your breath hitched at the way his hands roamed over your now-bare skin, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down your spine.

“you’ll see.”

he was kissing you.

again.

more insistent, like he couldn’t get enough of you, and you reveled in the feeling of being wanted so intensely. his hands slid down to your hips, gripping you firmly as he lifted you, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist.

you felt the hard press of him against you, a reminder of just how much he wanted this—wanted you. he carried you over to the bed, laying you down with surprising gentleness despite the urgency in his movements.

 he hovered over you for a moment, his gaze roaming over your body, “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted this,” he murmured, his voice low and husky as he trailed kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking as he went along.

you arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. “then stop talking and show me.”

that was the only warning rafe needed.

his hands were everywhere—tugging at your shorts, tracing the curves of your body, driving you wild with anticipation. he finally rid you of your remaining clothes, and you couldn’t help but shiver as the cool air hit your heated skin. but it didn’t last long, not with his body pressing against yours, his warmth enveloping you.

you lost yourself in the sensation—the taste of him, the feel of his hands gripping your thighs, the way he pressed into you.

“are you sure?” he asked, his voice a breathless whisper against your lips, his eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt.

“god, yes,” you all but mewled, your hands clutching at his sheets, needing him to just do something, “need you to touch me right now.”

his fingers trailed down your body with deliberate slowness, “tell me how.”

you could barely form a coherent thought, let alone articulate what you needed. your mind was a haze of want and need, every nerve ending screaming for him.

but somehow, you managed to speak, “everywhere.”

a slow, predatory smile spread across his lips, and he dipped his head to capture one of your nipples in his mouth. his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud, drawing a gasp from your lips. his hand moved to your other breast, squeezing and kneading as his mouth worked its magic. 

“like this?” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and tantalizing.

son of a bitch.

“yeah, oh, just like that,” you breathed, your fingers threading through his blonde hair, holding him close. “don’t stop.”

he didn’t.

his mouth and hands continued their relentless assault on your senses, driving you up the fucking walls. his lips trailed down your stomach, planting wet, open-mouthed kisses that left a trail of fire in their wake.

oh you needed to be fucked all right.

when he reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, his breath ghosting over your most sensitive area. 

“rafe,” you pleaded, your hips lifting off the bed in a silent demand, “don’t be a dick.”

he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin. “so needy,” he teased, but his voice was filled with reverent awe.

without further warning, he buried his face between your thighs, his tongue delving into your folds with a hunger that made you cry out. he licked and sucked, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place as he devoured you. 

this man ate pussy like the champion that he was and you loved it.

his tongue flicked against your clit with precision, with ease. rafe was relentless, his mouth working you to the brink, then easing off just enough to keep you on edge.

“fuck, rafe,” you gasped, your hips bucking against his face, desperate for more.

he growled in response, the vibration adding another layer of pleasure, and you felt yourself hurtling toward the edge. he must have sensed it, because his pace quickened, his tongue moving in perfect rhythm with the throbbing need building inside you.

your head was spinning as you looked down at him and met his heavy-lidded gaze searing a path straight to your core. you could only grab his bicep for stability, digging your nails into his skin.

and then, with a final, well-placed flick of his tongue, you came apart, your body trembling as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. rafe didn’t stop, didn’t let up, riding you through your climax until you were a boneless, quivering mess beneath him.

you never came so fast in your life. 

when he lifted his head, his lips glistened with your arousal as he crawled back up your body. he kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. you whimpered into his mouth, the sensation of his weight pressing you into the mattress grounding you as you came down from your high.

“holy shit,” you breathed when he finally pulled back, his eyes dark with lust and satisfaction. “good job, cameron.”

he grinned, a boyish, cocky smile that somehow made you want him even more. “glad you enjoyed it,” he murmured, his voice a rough, sexy whisper against your lips.

you reached down, fingers fumbling with the waistband of his shorts, desperate to feel him inside you.

“your turn,” you pulled his shorts down enough to free his cock. it sprang free, hard and heavy, and you couldn’t help but wrap your hand around it, stroking slowly.

oh wow.

so big big.

your hand moved around rafe’s cock lazily, feeling its weight and heat in your palm. he hissed through his teeth, eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into your touch. you couldn’t help but marvel at the sight of him—so strong, so utterly at your mercy.

“fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” rafe muttered, his voice strained with need. he watched your hand with hooded eyes, his hips thrusting slightly in time with your movements.

you felt a surge of power, knowing you had this effect on him.

you grinned up at him, loving the way his breath hitched with every stroke. “don’t like it?”

his laugh was breathless, shaky. “oh, i do. but this—” he broke off with a groan as you squeezed him a little harder, “—this is something else.”

without breaking eye contact, you guided him towards your entrance, positioning him at your slick opening. he paused, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. 

“condom?” 

you nodded, your heart pounding in anticipation. “yeah.”

rafe reached over to the nightstand, fumbling for a moment before retrieving a condom. you watched, heart racing, as he tore open the foil packet with his teeth, the sound sharp and thrilling in the quiet of the room. he rolled it on swiftly, his movements sure and practiced. with the condom in place, he positioned himself between your legs.

he pushed into you slowly, inch by inch, stretching you until you thought you might break. the sensation was overwhelming, a delicious mix of pleasure and pain that made you gasp, you were holding on for dear life as he filled you completely.

“god, you feel so good,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. he stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust to the size of him, his hands cradling your face tenderly. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you managed to say, your voice trembling with the intensity of it all. “’m good. just—move.”

rafe didn’t need any more encouragement.

he started to thrust, slow and deep, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him to go faster. his pace increased, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more frantic.

“can’t believe— fuck, oh, this is happening.”

“rafe,” you moaned, your voice breaking with every thrust. “just—don’t stop.”

his hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit with unerring accuracy. he rubbed it in tight, relentless circles, sending jolts of pleasure through your entire being. 

“fuck, that’s it,” rafe groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic, his grip on your hip tightening ,“so fucking beautiful.”

his lips found yours in an all-spit kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that matched the relentless pace of his hips. your fingers dug into his shoulders as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak.

"oh fuck," you gasped, breaking the kiss as the sensations overwhelmed you, “rafe,” you gasped, your fingers digging into his back, “i’m—”

“i know,” he cut you off, his voice strained. “me too.”

you could feel yourself teetering on the edge, every nerve in your body on fire. and then you were falling, your orgasm crashing over you, leaving you breathless and shaking in his arms.

your climax triggered his own, and seconds later with a few more powerful trusts, he buried himself deep inside you, body shuddering as he came, his moans low and hot in your ear.

you held onto him, feeling the rhythmic pulses of his release, the raw, primal intensity of it making your head spin.

for a moment, neither of you moved, both trying to catch your breath, your bodies still intertwined. then, rafe rolled to the side, pulling you with him so you were lying against his chest.

you could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath your cheek. you lay there in silence for a while, just enjoying the warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest. you felt strangely happy, considering everything that had led to this moment, but you didn’t want to question it.

“so,” his fingers trailed lazily up and down your arm, “does this mean you’re coming to my next game?”

“not sure.”

the sensation of rafe still inside you, combined with the aftermath of your shared orgasm, left you both in a haze of pleasure.

but you weren’t done yet.

there was a need within you that demanded more, a desire to push the boundaries even further.

you slid out from beneath him, leaving him lying on his back. his blue eyes widened slightly as he watched you, curiosity and anticipation written all over his face. you settled yourself between his legs, your hands tracing the defined muscles of his abs before wrapping around his still-hard cock, after you pulled and tied the condom, throwing it into the garbage can in the corner.

“w—what are you doing?” 

you didn’t answer right away.

instead, you focused on stroking him slowly, your hand gliding up and down his length, feeling the pulse of his desire beneath your fingers. rafe groaned, his head falling back against the pillows, his hips lifting slightly in response to your touch.

overstimulation was a bitch. so were you sometimes.

“you won, right?” you replied, your voice sultry. “here’s your prize.”

his breath hitched, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “are you trying—oh fuck. trying to kill me?”

you smirked, increasing the pace of your strokes, your thumb circling the sensitive head of his cock, spreading the pre-cum that had gathered there. “is that a complaint?”

“not even close,” he managed to say, his voice strained.

you could see the tension building in his body, his muscles tensing, his breaths coming faster. you leaned down, letting your tongue flick over the head of his cock, tasting the salty sweetness of him. he jerked, a guttural groan escaping his lips, his hands fisting the sheets beneath him.

“baby,” he groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as you took him deeper into your mouth, your hand still working the base of his shaft, “shit.”

you reveled in the power you had over him, the way his body responded to your every touch, your every movement.

you bobbed your head, taking him as deep as you could, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked him hard. his hands moved to your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, guiding you, but not forcing you.

it only made him hotter.

the sounds he made, the way he writhed beneath you, only spurred you on. you wanted to push him over the edge, to see him come again because of you. you pulled back slightly, your hand pumping him faster, your mouth focusing on the sensitive head, your tongue swirling around it, teasing him mercilessly.

“’m so close,” he gasped, his grip on your hair tightening. “please, don’t stop.”

you had no intention of stopping. 

you increased your pace, your hand and mouth working in perfect harmony, driving him towards his release. you felt his body tensing even more, his breaths coming in ragged pants, and then he was coming, his cock pulsing in your mouth as he spilled himself into you with a hoarse cry.

you swallowed every drop, savoring the taste of him, the satisfaction of knowing you had pushed him to this point. when you finally pulled back, rafe was a panting mess, his eyes half-lidded, his body trembling.

“you just made me fall in love with you, again.”

"what?"

[frehyun]

Cursed Eyes

medusa!hyunjin x fem!reader

warnings: mention of murder, petrification (hyunjin's really sweet i promise) (if I missed anything lmk!)

word count: 2,4k

divider by @kawaii-lau

author's note: this is the first full thing I've written in years and the first time I've published something, so I'm really nervous! i really wanted to get back into writing and actually put myself out there so i guess this is it! i hope someone out there likes this and feel free to let me know what you think :) also not really edited much lol

masterlist | Part 2

Ever since you were a child, the elders in your village weaved incredible and awe-inducing stories about the Gods and their benevolent deeds to those who chose to worship them. Stories of how a child miraculously survived an illness that the village doctor deemed as lethal and incurable, of how a farmer who had lost all his sheep to wolves instead found his fields growing the biggest and most luscious vegetables and fruits that would not only feed his own family but also anyone he chooses to trade with.

All these stories always fascinated you. You found comfort in them, believing that if you were as devoted to your Gods as the other villagers are, you could experience a miracle yourself.

As you grew older, the elders would also entrust you with much darker stories, telling of wars, demons and monsters that could even live amongst men.

There’s humour to be found in thinking about your childhood story times in a moment like this, desperately hiding amongst the broken pillars and bushes that scratched your knees up.

The warm midday sun shone through the crowns of the trees, making the tears streaming down your face glimmer in the light. Your eyes squeezed shut as you heard the hissing of snakes slowly creep closer.

One story was particularly popular amongst the elders and was retold many times over in the years you’ve spent alive. The story of an ethereally beautiful man residing in the nearby woods that could seduce both men and women alike to dare themselves to come closer to his domain. When they came closer however, they would soon realise that there was no new muse or lover to be found, only their demise, as the hissing of snakes swallowed any sound they could make before their entire body was encased in solid stone.

“You’re the first one to hide for so long, I have to say I’m impressed” – the sultry voice somewhere behind you said.

The delicate steps atop the shattered stone tiles came ever closer before halting. You’re sure he must be directly behind your pillar, your ears precise as ever.

“Unfortunately, I’m in no mood to hunt for an awfully long time today. Playtime’s over, sweetheart.”

A surprisingly warm hand snaked its way around your arm, yanking you upwards and into a solid body.

“It’s always the same with you” – the creature whispered before two strong, but slender hands cupped your face, yet you made no effort to defend yourself.

A long sigh left his lips as he gazed into your eyes, waiting for the curse to set in and turn you into a statue he could add to his collection. You would be one of the prettiest he had in his garden.

Yet even as the minutes passed and the sun started to set, nothing happened.

No stone that would slowly destroy and take over your delicate skin, starting from your eyes and outwards. No last words that were whispered into his embrace as his gaze slowly shifted from anger to sorrow.

You stood solid but softly against him, keeping your eyes locked on him but unfocused, he noticed.

The man’s brows furrowed and his grip on you softened.

“Tell me”, he broke the silence suddenly, making you jump in his hold, “is this a test? Has the village concocted something to counter this curse?”

His tone was curious, maybe a bit irritated, yet his voice wavered. It was almost as if the creature that everyone in your village was scared of whatever answer you would give him.

His eyes flitted between yours nervously, studying your face for any sort of sincerity, a sign for him that you were not here to ultimately bring him to his demise like all the others. He was tired. He didn’t want you to be just like all the others. The gorgon did not know how many more statues he could look at every day before his heart finally broke apart and the strength to continue on with this life would leave him.

You were confused at the question. Why did he sound so…sad? Was this really the monster that your village was so afraid of? If he was, why didn’t he kill you already?

It was true that your village had unceremoniously dumped you into the woods and gave you the mission of finding out whether you were immune to the monster’s curse. Seeing as you are still alive, you think you accomplished that mission. However, you didn’t drink any potion or ate anything extraordinary that could counteract whatever this monster was capable of. For some reason, you didn’t want to lie to him.

“Yes”, you breathed and you felt him tense up, his fingernails digging into your arms again, so you quickly continued, “but I don’t know why I’m… I didn’t want to.”

“You didn’t want to?”

You shook your head.

“I’m different from them, so they wanted to test their theory that I might survive an encounter with you and, I guess, use that knowledge against you.”

He let go of you, taking a few steps away from you to create a protective distance between the two of you. His soft footsteps resounded throughout the ruins you were standing in. He was pacing, you noted.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I really don’t”, you had hoped you could soothe his nerves – preserve your own life a little bit longer. Your panic from earlier had already dissipated and was replaced with an uncertainty as to how to deal with this situation. The monster that had plagued your village for years, terrified children, urged parents to strictly tell their offspring to never go near the woods, was pacing nervously in front of you, because you were a threat to him.

Hyunjin was too busy thinking of every single possibility, every single choice he could make and every consequence that could come from it to notice you approaching him. When your hand collided clumsily with his bicep his eyes flitted back to you.

That’s when some of the things about you made some sense, he thought as he looked into your eyes properly for the first time.

You weren’t really looking at him. You haven’t been for the entire time he’s been talking to you, but he was too consumed by his own weird mixture of fear and anger to notice anything about you.

Huh.

You were blind.

Is that what made you practically immune to him? Whoever gazed into his alluring eyes would slowly turn to stone. That’s how it’s always been. But you were clearly different. A threat. Someone he should take and destroy before anyone else finds out how to circumvent his curse and hurts him again. And yet he wavered as your soft fingers curled around his arm not to possess, hurt or take from him but simply holding him as if he would break if you dug your fingers too deep into his flesh.

Something in his fragile heart shattered.

You weren’t really planning on staying with him. Not really. But something shifted in his demeanor towards you, he seemed softer when he gently took your hand and told you to trust him as he guided you inside of the ruins.

“You know”, he starts, and you startle a bit, “you’re the first one that doesn’t try to run. Or hurt me.”

Your heart aches at the admission. For some reason that goes against your survival instincts, you squeeze his hand in silent support, too afraid to speak up and say something wrong that would put him back into a frenzy.

“Are you not afraid?”

“Not anymore.”

He hums and it’s a pleasant tone. Soft and melodic and you want to hear more of his voice.

“What’s your name?” – you cautiously ask.

“Hyunjin.”

“Hyunjin”, you test his name on your tongue and decide it’s a good one. “That’s a pretty name. Mine’s Y/N.”

He lets out a soft ‘oh’ as if he didn’t expect you to tell him your own name or the compliment. Or both.

Hyunjin is aware you cannot really see what he’s showing you, but he would like to do it anyway. That’s how you two find yourselves wandering around the garden that he so meticulously kept near the ruins where you first found him. He tells you of the flowers and vegetables that grow in certain areas that he takes care of. But he also tells you, in a much more careful and anxious tone, about the statues of people who tried to take his home or his life in the past.

It should scare you. He’s essentially killed all these people. You should run. But where would you even run to? Where could a blind girl whose village decided she was expendable go? And even if you did make it back to the village unharmed – you’re sure Hyunjin would not harm you, even if he knew where you were fleeing to – you would either have to make them believe the monster did not show up to take the willing sacrifice or sell Hyunjin out and lead him to his eventual death.

The gentle monster in front of you broke you out of your thoughts with a sigh.

“I also take care of all the statues… the people here. It’s not easy to keep the stone clean but it’s the least I can do for them until someone finds out how to break them free. I hope they like where I placed them.”

At his words you cautiously reached out a hand towards where Hyunjin was speaking to and were soon met with warm stone. It was pleasantly warm. The kind of warmth you experience on a beautiful, sunny day.

“I’m sure they do. I hope they know you’re not entirely at fault for what happened to them. You were only trying to protect yourself.”

A soft hissing sound came from Hyunjin’s direction, and he slightly jumped, murmuring something in a scolding tone seemingly directed at no one.

The man sighed again.

“Do you mind meeting someone else?” – he finally whispered.

You tilted your head at the question, wondering if he had someone like him living here.

At your hesitant nod, he leaned slightly towards you and soon after something you were entirely sure was a snake softly touched your cheek.

“This…um, is my hair...?” - he sounded as if he wasn’t quite sure of that himself as he said it. “They’re friendly, though!”

You giggled at his panicked state, reaching out to to gently pet the snake that had braved its way towards you. It was surprisingly warm and friendly. Maybe from his own body warmth?

Experimentally you lifted your hand to reach towards Hyunjin himself, reaching out to lay your hand against the side of his neck and although he jolts at the sudden touch, he soon relaxes in your hold and lets you caress him. A soft sigh escaped his lips as you cradle his cheek and he chases your touch as you move to lift your hand away, so you decided to keep it there, holding him. A small smile appeared on your face and Hyunjin thinks in this moment that you were the most beautiful thing to grace his cursed eyes.

Does he even deserve this kind of gentleness? Someone to pick up the pieces of his scarred and shattered heart and put it back together until he could allow himself to feel safety and softness?

Maybe he deserved to be selfish like this.

It had been a couple of days since you and Hyunjin started spending your time together, having decided that keeping you around was safer for the two of you. When you voiced your concerns over other villagers trying their best to take him down again, and potentially you by extension, he waved your concerns away, assuring you that he was more than capable of protecting the two of you, given his already existing track record of living through every single encounter with one of the so-called ‘brave warriors’.

Living with Hyunjin was better than you could’ve imagined. The forest was vast, and your hometown wasn’t the only village that resided at the ends of it.

Hyunjin eventually decided to tell you that there were only two villages that were actively trying to take down the evil that he was. The other two revered him and regularly gave him an abundance of food and other things as sacrifices, so they could continue to live in his good graces.

He was incredibly thankful to them, he told you as you two sat upon one of the stones that made up the broken temple that he lived in, the two of you enjoying a late lunch made up of a variety of fruits and cheese.

“I don’t really need to hunt for myself or think about stealing to sustain myself. I’m really glad that not everyone runs after me with spears and bows in hand just because of the way I was born” – his hand came to rest near yours on the sun-warmed stone and you desperately wanted to stretch your fingers to touch his.

“Did nobody ever offer to take you in? Or accept you as one of the villagers? They do seem to at least care an awful lot about you if they give you this much food every week.”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Your hand eventually came to rest over his. You weren’t sure if it was for your comfort or for his. When he didn’t move away and simply hummed under his breath, you became emboldened and properly took his hand into yours, tracing idle patterns into the back of it.

He moved his body around so that your legs were touching and Hyunjin wished for nothing more than to grab you by your waist and have you sit on his lap to hold you close.

“You’re a lot prettier than the flowers I keep here.”

“Oh yeah?” – you giggled, also taking his other hand into yours.

“Mhm. The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Have you seen many?”

“Does it matter?” – he grinned boyishly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering a second too long by your cheek.

You pouted at him for his vague answer, your jutted lips a perfect invitation for a kiss that Hyunjin doesn’t feel like refusing. He leans forward while his snakes purposefully start reaching out towards you as well, snuggling against the sides of your head. His plump lips touch yours in a shy chaste kiss, his arms encircling your waist as he pulls you closer against his body.

In the warm afternoon sun, you held a monster’s heart in your hands and promised to keep it safe.

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟓]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.1k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, reader is mentioned to be wearing a dress, descriptions of blood and injury

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. the slow burn is burning... kinich is a little slow to the punch though LOL. this chapter talks about turnfire night, i took a lot of ~artistic liberty~ with the banquet and such so don't hate on me pls. there's a bit of angst in the next few chapters, i'm sorry HAHAHA. pls lmk what you guys think, it's very motivating! i hope you enjoy <3 reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗥𝗢𝗢𝗠 (𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗛 𝗢𝗙 𝗠𝗘)

At some point, the flowers start to speak your name.

Kinich isn’t sure when the idea took root in his mind—it had been slow for sure, a snail crawling over a branch. Living together makes you a perpetual presence in his life, a certainty like the rise of the sun and the glint of the stars. He finds comfort in that knowledge, but rarely thinks on it more than that.

The day he realizes it, the sun is a bright yolk in the sky, honey-yellow and shining dutifully upon his back. A layer of sweat plasters itself to his forehead, and he scrubs it away with his wrist, panting. For as many years as he’s been a farmer, the work hardly gets easier; it still leaves him sore and aching every day.

Across the field, the front door of your home swings open—it’s you that peeks out, waving. Kinich nods back in reply, gathering the vegetables in his basket and jogging back over to you. He frowns when he notices a dark spot on one of his carrots, vaguely noting that he should toss that one out later.

“I ran you a bath,” you offer, leaning halfway out the doorway. Kinich extends a half-smile in gratitude.

“Thanks,” he replies, holding the harvest out to you. You take the basket with a small ‘thank you’, placing it down on your feet. Usually, you would take the vegetables inside right away to wash and cut them, but today, you’re lingering—there’s something on your mind.

But Kinich is nothing if not patient, so he merely waits, arching a brow.

“It’s Turnfire Night,” you finally admit, hands clasped behind your back. “Elder Leik invited us to the banquet, if you’re keen on going.”

Surprised, Kinich glances over his crops. He’s just about done here for the day, and he doesn’t have anything on the to-do list for tonight anyway.

“Do you want to?”

You’re hesitating, likely out of shyness—he watches you rock back and forth on your heels.

“I think it’d be nice,” you reply, short. 

You’re trying not to force him, he realizes. You know how much he hates crowded things like that. And usually, you would be right, but he thinks back on the last time he’d visited the village. It’s been long enough, he decides, and one day wouldn’t kill him.

“Sure, we can go.”

Your disposition brightens instantly, nearly ascending with joy. 

“Really?” you squeak, hands drawing to your chest. He smiles and nods, shaking his head with amusement when you disappear back inside, cheering. You’re easy to please in a lot of ways.

Kinich takes you up on your offer of a warm bath, then prepares one for you as well. Gone are the days that the two of you washed up in the river—a nicer bathtub had been one of your earlier investments, and Kinich had grown to appreciate the blessings of a warm place to wash at the end of a long day. It does wonders for his aching muscles.

Over the years, Kinich’s house had slowly grown into a home, right under his nose. Your presence had been a driving force in that process.

While his hair dries, he’s in the kitchen organizing a few of the cupboards when you emerge from your bath, footsteps quietly padding against the floor. You call his name, voice thin and uncertain. When he turns, his heart squeezes.

You’re wearing a lovely dress, a forest green with golden accents—he briefly notes that it matches his eyes, then wonders if you had chosen that on purpose. The thought leaves his head foggy.

“What do you think?” you ask shyly, giving a small twirl. Kinich’s gaze follows the flow of your skirt, the liveliness of it. He’s never seen you dressed up like this in all his years of knowing you, and the sight makes something take root in his chest. “I bought it at the market a while ago, just in case.”

There’s a beat of silence, but it doesn’t sit for long.

“It looks nice,” is all that crawls from his throat, thick. The words sound awkward from his lips, he thinks harshly. A heated flush surges up his neck, curling around his ears and resting there. You practically glow at his response, clapping to yourself. 

“I got something for you too,” you sing, disappearing into the bedroom. Kinich waits patiently until you return, gesturing for him to close his eyes. He indulges you, and it’s a few seconds before something soft brushes at his forehead, pushing his bangs aside.

A bandana.

When his vision returns, you’re standing inches away from his face—his breath hitches at the proximity. Your gaze is searching as it meets his, your lip twitching at the edge. The excitement nearly pours off of you in waves. 

You’re staring.

Kinich’s fingers brush his own cheek, self-conscious. “What is it?”

You lean impossibly closer.

“Nothing,” you hum, happy as a clam. “I just think it makes your eyes look even prettier.” 

You’ve always told him how much you love his eyes, the starburst of jade and gold. You have a tendency to notice things about him that no one else does.

“Does it look nice?” he asks quietly, thumbing at the cloth. He would recognize a product of your weaving anywhere—you must’ve been working on this for a while now. He wonders when you found the time, or even how you managed to do it without him noticing.

You nod, a fond smile gracing your face. “You look really handsome.”

Kinich feels a touch of jealousy at the ease with which the words seem to fall from your lips. Sometimes, he wishes he could speak his mind the way you do. He doesn’t usually hold back in his words—most people he interacts with can attest to that—but when it comes to you, his tongue grows heavy in his mouth.

Still, the idea that you think he looks handsome is…nice.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

You turn and skip back into the bedroom, calling over your shoulder about how the two of you should leave soon. He watches you leave, the dress flowing like silk over your form. He swallows.

It’s really, really nice.

Later on, Kinich holds you close as the two of you grapple toward the village, mountains and trees racing past you. Your giggles are warm against his ear; you love traveling like this, the adrenaline that pulses through your veins. Winking dots of light are already visible in the distance, a rousing cheer reaching your ears—the festivities have already started.

He lands neatly on one of the wooden walkways, taking in the scenery. The village is decorated with bright streamers and vases of blooming flowers, crowds of people maneuvering around the party. You maintain your grip on Kinich’s hand, unwilling to lose him in the crowd.

Two taller figures emerge from the swathe of people, greeting you by name. 

“Have you two been taking care?” Elder Leik asks warmly, Chief Wayna smiling at his side. The elders are concerned for the two of you, Kinich knows; they’ve tried many times to convince you to move back to the village. Their efforts slowly ceased as the two of you grew older—you’ve always been steadfast in your independence.

You nod enthusiastically. “We’ve been doing really well! Everyone’s seeking out Kinich’s work.”

Your compliment makes him feel a bit embarrassed—he feels an urge to deny it, but the elders only laugh and congratulate him, ruffling at his hair. He does feel a bit satisfied that they recognize his strength.

“That’s great,” Chief Wayna replies, genuine. “Just remember you can always come to us if you ever need anything. But also make sure you enjoy the party!”

He leaves the two of you with a wink, fading into the crowd, and you take the opportunity to grasp at Kinich’s hand, pulling him along. You’re the most excited person there, truly in awe of everything.

Kinich indulges in some of the food, laughing at the gusto with which you scarf down your own—he chuckles as he wipes crumbs away from your cheeks. Everyone’s spirits are high; the music is loud and roaring, an electrifying song that Kinich can feel in his veins. You perk up at the sound.

“Kin, can we dance?” you beg, eyes bright and lips pouted. 

He glances around. Really, he doesn’t want to, especially not in front of all of these people. But the music is slowing, and Kinich can never say no to you, so he sighs, pulling you close and placing a cursory hand at your waist.

“Is this good?” he asks, a murmur. You hum in content, resting your head at his shoulder.

“It’s great.”

A permanent grin seems to have plastered itself over your lips. Kinich absently thinks that it makes you look so much more beautiful—a flower in bloom.

“You’re really happy today,” he comments.

Your eyes flutter shut, delighted.

“I’m happy you wanted to come with me. And I was happy that you liked my dress, and that you liked the headband I wove for you. I’m just happy.”

A deep yearning fills Kinich’s chest at the feather-softness of your voice—he feels an urge to hide you away. Somehow, he wants this side of you to only be for him.

“I did really like it,” he confirms. “The headband, and…everything else.”

He likes spending time with you, he likes your dress, and he likes the warmth that permeates his body when you hold him like this. Everything else seems to fade into nothingness.

For a while, the two of you talk about nothing and everything. It’s a truly peaceful existence. Kinich tries to remember if he’s ever been to a Turnfire Night like this before; the last time he’d attended, he’d likely been too young to even remember the event. You just have a way of replacing his darker memories with pleasant ones.

The beat of the music picks up again, and Kinich feels an instant chill when you lift your head from his shoulder. Still, he sways to the music with you, smiling when you start to sing along to the energetic song.

“You’re a good dancer,” you observe, in awe. Kinich shrugs, smoothly spinning you again.

“It’s not that hard.”

Dancing with you is actually fun, he realizes despite his initial hesitation. Your laughter fades with the passing wind, dissipating into the night, and he can’t help but stare at the way the torchlight glimmers against your skin.

The two of you celebrate until the music dies to silence, until people start to yawn and retire to bed. By this time, the sun is already peeking in the distance, barely a whisper of light reaching you. 

Kinich carries you home, soft snores echoing from your place on his back—he decides he won’t tease you about it later.

Instead, he promises himself that he’ll keep taking you to Turnfire Night every year after.

(Then, he promises himself that he’ll always protect your smile.)

/

By the time he cries for the first time, Kinich is fifteen.

He feels that he knows the way the world works now—those with strength, with value, survive. It’s not that he has any interest in being one of the rich ones with towering houses that line the cliffside. Really, all he needs to be satisfied is a comfortable life with you at the foot of the mountain. And his needs—things like clothes and food—come with Mora, so he makes Mora. It’s a simple existence.

He spends more time with you. Slowly but surely, he starts to bring you on jobs and hunts with him. You’re eager to learn about the work he does, and even more excited to help—your medical knowledge does tend to make things go faster. Still, he feels extra layers of anxiety whenever he knows you’re coming along, his grip drawing tighter around his sword.

It comes on a day like any other.

At first, it doesn’t seem like a particularly difficult job—it’s a run-of-the-mill request, to subdue a Saurian that’s been attacking travelers near the village. Even still, Kinich is as thorough as always in the days leading up to the job, and you let him take the lead. He’s strict about these things when you come along, and you know better than to distract him.

The day of, the two of you encounter the Saurian in a clearing adjacent to the road. It’s sick, you mention quietly, hidden in the foliage nearby—it’s foaming at the mouth, erratic in its movements. Kinich mumbles back his agreement.

It starts to peck at the poisoned berries he’d left for it, movements slowing. He counts down the minutes—at this point, it should be incapacitated enough for the kill.

It’s only when Kinich creeps up behind it, greatsword in hand, that he realizes he’d been wrong. The Saurian seems to switch at the last second, beady eyes burning as it poises to strike. Kinich barely blocks the attack with the flat of his blade, teeth gritted.

“Kinich!” you cry out, running to his side. The Saurian perks up at the sound, tense.

Kinich’s eyes widen. “Wait, don’t come—”

It’s too late. The Saurian’s claw catches you in the stomach as it whips around, sending you flying.

A sickening crack echoes when your back smacks against a rock—you crumple to the dirt, hunched over. A cold breath hisses between Kinich’s teeth as he screams your name.

The Saurian doesn’t last much longer than that, not that he really remembers any of it. He swings his sword, cutting and slicing, sounds of battle piercing the air. It’s only when he sprints to your side that he returns to his senses.

A harsh gash is ripped through your shirt and the skin beneath, a pool of crimson already gathering on your stomach. The sight brings bile crawling up his throat.

“Kin…”

Your voice is weak, and Kinich hushes you quickly, an urge to save your strength. A striking fear has his blood freezing in his veins—he remembers his father’s corpse. Terror hovers over his body, leaving him breathless. He intertwines his fingers with yours, pressing the back of your hand to his lips. 

“That hurt,” you mumble, a touch of humor in your tone even now. “I’m tired.”

Your eyelids are heavy, stare unfocused. 

“Don’t close your eyes!” he demands. He palms at your cheek lightly, willing you to stay awake. It’s unlike him, the desperation in his voice. “Didn’t you say you’d always be by my side?”

You chuckle, a line of blood dripping down your chin. Kinich thumbs it away.

“I said that when we were kids, silly.”

He swallows, throat bobbing. Your eyes follow the motion unconsciously.

“We’re still kids.” 

His voice cracks as he says it, like his words can’t bear the brunt of their meaning. Your heart pulses, a burst of adrenaline coursing through you at his rare show of emotion. It’s only a moment, because the pain returns milliseconds later and a groan escapes your chest. 

Quickly, Kinich pulls his headband off, sliding it between his teeth to hold while he pulls the flask of water from his belt. He sets about cleaning your wound, gentle, but the stress is evident in his expression. His hands are shaking; you can feel the tremble against your skin as he eases your shirt up.

“It’ll be okay,” he breathes. Even he is unsure if he’s speaking to you or himself. You nod weakly.

“It’ll be okay, Kin.” You cough, and something in Kinich’s chest snaps when a spray of blood splatters over the hem of his shirt. A spray of your blood. “Don’t worry, okay?”

He can’t even really hear you anymore. He’s staring at the crimson mist, wondering how this had even happened. He’d assumed he was strong enough—strong enough to do this job, strong enough to protect you—and he had been wrong. There must’ve been an error in his calculations, or maybe he hadn’t prepared enough. 

He fastens his headband around your wound, stemming the blood flow. It’s almost an out-of-body experience—he hardly even recognizes the hands as his.

He’d gotten too comfortable, and you had paid the price.

Those with strength survive, but that day brings a sobering realization—Kinich is far weaker than he thought.

A cold tear slides down his cheek as he carries you home. 

You’re sniffling in pain at each step, the movement irritating your wound, and Kinich feels truly helpless. All he can do is whisper promises and apologies, that he’s sorry it happened and that he promises everything will be okay. It almost feels worse that you don’t seem to blame him at all—you’re apologizing too, telling him you’re sorry for being a burden on his job.

“You’re never a burden,” he spits. It comes out harsher than intended, so he sighs, softening. “You could never be a burden to me.”

You don’t reply.

A thick lump lodges itself in his throat as he feels your blood soak through the back of his shirt. It all almost feels unreal—he feels like he could return home to your warmth and smile and everything would be okay. You have a way of making everything okay.

“We’re almost there, okay?” he murmurs. You’re sweating from the pain, sticky against his skin. “Just stay with me.”

The house feels unnaturally cold when he kicks the door open. 

By the time he has your wound properly wrapped, the sun is gone, a distant memory. He sets you down in bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin—you’re already asleep, but your expression is unpleasant, tortured. You must be in pain, even in your dreams.

The thought makes him sick.

With a sigh, he stumbles out of the bedroom, collapsing onto the couch. His hands are still shaking from overuse and exhaustion. He’s not used to the tedious movements anymore like you are—you’re always the one patching him up these days.

A vase sits on the table. It’s full of Saurian Claw Succulents—you’d planted them yourself, cheery at the prospect of decorating the house a bit more. Kinich plucks one of the flowers from the vase by the thin stem, vacantly inspecting each petal.

He wonders what he has to change.

Those with strength survive. Kinich wants to survive. He wants to survive and live his days out with you.

But he’s not strong enough. If you can’t smile at his side, what good is he at all?

Your labored breathing is audible from the other room, the sound grating against his ears. If he had a Vision, or some other kind of power, things might’ve been different. If he had just been stronger—

He thinks back on his younger self, on his innocence, on his weakness. He’d discarded that side of himself long ago in favor of something more powerful, in favor of someone who could protect and take care of you.

There’s no turning back now, he thinks.

The stem snaps under his fingers, under the weight of it all, previous gentleness gone.

[toruro]

— ✧ back to december

a part of flower me with love ... an hhu unit x flowers collection !

genre: smut (18+ / mdni), fluff, angst (resolved!), best friends to strangers to lovers

description: it's been four months and twenty-two days since you've last talked to mingyu, however your mother still thinks you two are friends. you don't have the heart to tell her what really happened, and now you think it's time for you to move on. (un?)fortunately for you though, mingyu seems to have other plans.

inspired by back to december by taylor swift!

tags: miscommunication, unrequited love (not fr though), big dick mingyu, sex in a car >_<, riding, fingering, pet names (angel, pretty), creampie :3

w/c: 4.3k

a/n: happy birthday @gyuswhore!!! this fic is for em but if not em and ur reading it i hope u enjoy too. this is like 2/3 plot and 1/3 smut if anyone cares

Normality is bliss.

That’s what you used to tell yourself. That’s what you used to believe.

Normality was bright mornings, crisp air, slow walking down the main street, inhaling the ambrosial scent of freshly roasted coffee beans, and slipping under the fairy lights that hang over the door. It was the warm sound of the overhead bell ringing, permeating laughter in the cafe from all customers, and daisies in a pot by the entrance.

Normality was Mingyu. His bright laugh as you approach the counter, sweet voice as he playfully asks you what drink you’d like, to which you roll your eyes and respond with, “You already know, don’t you?” It was the chuckle he would let out, the wink he flashed at you, murmuring the words, “It’s on the house” (because with Mingyu, it was always on the house), the thanks you give him before stepping back.

Normality was the latte he handed you, rough yet ginger fingers brushing over your palm as he warned you, “Careful, it’s hot,” and the giggle you let out when you stepped back and asked how his morning was going. It was Mingyu telling you nothing special happened yet. It was Mingyu suggesting that you two hang out at the field after he’s done with work. It was you grinning and agreeing in an instant, but only under the condition that he picks you up after your class.

Normality was bliss until four months and twenty-two days ago.

Now, normality hurts like a bitch.

Your mother glances at you from the corner of her vision as you rummage through the fridge. “What’re you looking for?”

“Some bread,” you murmur. “Was really craving a tomato sandwich … Damn, we’re seriously out of white bread?” you ask, giving up with a sigh as you close the door and face her.

She shrugs. “If it’s not in the fridge then I guess so. We’re low on produce too actually … I’d be surprised if you find tomatoes in there too,” she says. You purse your lip, shuffling through the different rows of cabinets to find something to throw together to take for lunch as your mother continues to speak. “You think you could stop by the grocery store after class today and pick up some stuff?”

“Yeah sure,” you reply casually.

“Ah, I wish Mingyu still stopped by with the groceries,” your mother says, and the sudden mention of his name has you halting your movements as you reach for a croissant, before you inhale deeply and go back to doing your own thing.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, clearing your throat after the word comes out horsley.

“You know why he stopped doing that?”

You try not to think about how you still haven’t told your mother that you and Mingyu don’t talk anymore.

“Uhh, I guess uni’s been getting to be a lot of work,” you tell her. “We’re both taking way harder classes so, uh, I guess he doesn’t have the time.”

“Hmm, yeah makes sense. You’re always swamped up in that room of yours ‘cause of work too … haven’t seen you two hang out in a while actually.”

You chew on your lip, staring down at your little bag for lunch and the croissant that sits inside. You wonder if you’ll even have the appetite to eat anything today after this conversation.

“We’re just busy. It’s harder to talk now.” It’s not entirely a lie. Grabbing the bag and picking up your backpack, you turn to face your mother who’s scrolling on her phone. “I’m gonna go now. My first class is starting soon.”

Now, normality is huffing as you get into your car, wishing you had a coffee next to you, but being too full of cowardice to head over to the cafe.

(“Go to a different cafe!” is what common sense would tell you, but common sense doesn’t listen to a love that has been betrayed. No other latte tastes the same, but you know that’s only because no other latte has been made by Mingyu.)

You pick up groceries on the way home.

Now, normality is staring at the daisies that are on display as you walk through the front doors of the store and reminiscing. It’s wondering what once was, and what could have been, if you decided to keep your silly feelings to yourself.

Normality is regretting. Regretting ever opening your mouth and telling Mingyu four months and twenty-two days ago that you loved him, and that you had loved him for not one, not two, not five, but ten damn years, because that was when you two met, and you always loved Kim Mingyu, but you should have known that not once did he love you back. Not how you would’ve wanted anyways.

Normality is wondering. Wondering if Mingyu would still be dropping off groceries if you hadn’t told him that you loved him, if he hadn’t told you he didn’t know what to tell you. Wondering if he thinks of you now. Wondering if he has any regrets. Wondering if he’s okay, but you lost the chance to know the answer to that question four months and twenty-two days ago. Wondering if—

Tomatoes. You need to buy the tomatoes, and the bread, some green beans, spinach, bell pepper, and more cheese, milk, maybe some butter, and—what was it that your mother told you to get? Oh, some strawberries.

You need to get all of these things, but there were no daisies on the list, so how did a bouquet full of them end up in your cart? You tell yourself you picked them up because they’re on sale, but you know the real reason is because you miss Mingyu.

Directing your attention back to the list you were sent on your phone, you hum lowly to yourself as you push your cart through the aisles. Checking items off your notes app, you exist with just yourself, your tomatoes, and fresh daisies as you try and finish these groceries before it gets too late into the evening.

Staring at your screen, you almost don’t notice that the dairy aisle isn’t empty until you bump into someone. “Sorry,” you mutter quickly, “I—” The words get caught in your throat when you see just exactly who you’ve hit.

Averting your gaze quickly, you wonder if Mingyu will respond, but you choose to scurry away quickly instead, because as cowardly as it sounds, you’re not sure if you’re ready to hear his voice again.

You’re not sure why your heart beats so fast when you escape into another aisle. Maybe it’s because you couldn’t read the look on his face for the brief second that your eyes met.

(Ten years of being best friends and you somehow don’t know what he’s thinking. Can four months and twenty-two days really change a person that much? Or did you never know Kim Mingyu in the first place?)

When you get home, your mother asks you where you got the daisies from. You tell her Mingyu gave them to you, because you want to convince her that you two are still best friends, and maybe—just maybe—you’re trying to convince yourself of it too.

You decide to buy a latte five days later. Mingyu never worked the evening shifts, so you’re confident you’ll get one of the other’s as the barista if you walk in past 6pm. Seokmin’s always nice. He doesn’t make the latte’s as sweet as you like—more specifically, as sweet as Mingyu made them—but he’s kind and always cheery.

When you walk in today, the pot by the door is empty. There are no more daisies, and you wonder if this is what has become of normality.

Your eyes glaze over the familiar setting, breathing in the sweet, rusty smell of coffee, and you smile watching all the cafe-goers laugh along with each other in their seats. All is going well, and you’re telling yourself that maybe this new normal isn’t too bad. That you’ve lived with it for four months and twenty-seven days, and so you can live with it longer and—

Your heart plummets when you see who's working the register today.

Maybe you really never knew Kim Mingyu, because you swore he hated the evening shifts, but here he is with a neatly tied apron, smiling while he talks to some girl across the counter. And his toothy grin is so bright and you aren’t sure if you’re seeing things correctly because everything sound has turned to a white rush in your ears and your vision blurs because you are once again awarded the painful reminder that you are in love with Kim Mingyu.

You thought your heart broke right in two back in December, but you hear it crack in this moment and realize that this was the final blow.

There are tears in your eyes, and you don’t know how long you stand there, until you hear your name. Seokmin is calling for you, and when you look up there’s no girl at the counter and it’s just Mingyu and Seokmin staring at you.

And you wonder briefly if you should be glad that Mingyu looks concerned but you don’t have time to dwell on the fact because Seokmin calls for you again—“Hey, are you okay? You—you’re crying”—and fuck, you’ve just humiliated yourself, so with fat tears hitting the dark wood ground you turn on your heel and rush out the door.

You keep thinking and wondering and regretting and you hate it all because regret has become normality, but regret is not a bliss.

You walk down the street, and you keep walking and walking and walking until you realize you forgot where you parked the car but none of that matters because all you’re thinking about is Mingyu’s smile, and how he doesn’t smile at you anymore. And so you walk faster and cry a bit harder until you’re so far down the street you don’t even know where you are anymore but it doesn’t matter because you don’t know who you’ve become.

And there’s footsteps thudding behind you—are you going to get kidnapped now? Fuck, you’ve already had the most horrendous sequence of events that could possibly happen to you in the span of five minutes, and now it’s going to get worse? If this goddamn kidnapper could just target you any other day, then maybe you wouldn’t whip around with tearful eyes, shouting into the dark: “Please don’t kidnap me! I’ll go with you any other day but—Mingyu!?”

His tall figure is hunched over, hands over his thighs as he heaves for breath, craning his neck to look up at you. “Kidnap you? Why in the world would I kidnap you?” he asks through harsh breaths. “Fuck, you walk so fast,” he groans, finally standing up as you furiously wipe your tears away in an attempt to actually make sense of this situation.

“I—” You want to reply, but then it hits you that this is the first time Mingyu has spoken to you in four months and twenty-seven days, and the thought is dizzying. “I don’t know,” you tell him, because you really don’t know. You don’t know a damn thing.

Mingyu looks at you with a look that you, once again, can’t seem to read. “Sorry, I—I wanted to see if you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, and anyone would be able to see through the lie but you’re hoping that Mingyu doesn’t pry any further. He doesn’t move, nor does he say anything. “You can, uh, go back now,” you add, rubbing the back of your neck as you stare at the ground. “I’m okay.”

“You—you were crying.”

Opening your mouth to protest, you realize you can’t refute him now. Not when it was so painfully obvious. You choose silence instead, hoping that your apprehension will be enough to drive him away, although it only seems to egg Mingyu on.

You don’t expect the words he blurts out after a few moments of thickness.

“You don’t know how much I wish I could go back to December and change things.”

“Please don’t lie to me Mingyu,” you tell him, and he can just hear from the way you say his name that you are desperately pleading with him. When you finally look up at him with glossy eyes, he wonders how in the world he let things get this far.

“I’m not lying, I—I wouldn’t lie about this.”

“What do you mean by this, Mingyu? What is this?” You cover your face and begin to sob, but not without gasping out words between heavy breaths. “Please don’t do this to me, not again.”

And when you uncover your face and look at him again, he’s got some bewildered look on his face, and you can’t tell what he’s going to say next.

“The girl,” Mingyu starts to say. “That’s my cousin. She was visiting me at work and—”

“It’s not about the girl, Mingyu!” And that’s a bit of a lie because some part of it is about the girl but it’s mainly about you and it’s mainly about Mingyu—mainly about the two of you.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and speaks. “Sorry, I—you’re right.”

Silence once more, before you calm your breaths and shake your head. “You should head back, Mingyu.”

“No I—wait, I just—I’m not lying. I regret everything I did in December.”

“Ming—”

“No, please listen to me. I regret not telling you how I actually felt, but I was so confused,” he tells you, repeating your name. “I was confused and fucking terrified because if things didn’t work out for some reason, then I would’ve lost my best friend but—but I was fucking stupid and lost you anyways. And you know, I wanted to reach out. I wanted to talk to you so bad but then like last week, when I saw you in the grocery store, and—daisies.”

“Daisies?” You furrow your brows.

“Daisies. You had a bouquet of them in your cart,” Mingyu tells you, taking a step forward. “And I know how much you love daisies. Your favorite flowers in the world. I saw them in your cart and thought to myself, fuck, I missed my chance, because I thought you had them for someone else and—”

“They weren’t,” you blurt out. “I-I even told my mom you got me them,” you add bashfully, “because she doesn’t know we stopped … yeah.”

There’s a silence that sits between you two, but you’re starting to realize that silence has become normality and you are no longer content with that.

“Mingyu, do you love me?”

He doesn’t hesitate to respond. “More than you love daisies.”

You laugh through your drying tears. You laugh so hard it makes you cry no longer because of pain but because of happiness, and you shake your head and throw your arms around him. “Kim Mingyu, that is a bold statement.”

“What can I say?” he grins. “I’m a bold man.”

“Where was that bold man for the past four months and twenty-seven days?” you snort.

Mingyu raises a brow. “You’ve been counting?” For a moment your expression falls but then he shakes his head and smiles. “Don’t worry—I’ve been too.”

You two are quick to head back, Mingyu begging Seokmin to hold the first alone for the weekend before taking the wheel of your car and driving you both to your favorite field of daisies.

“Are we going to have sex for the first time in your car?” Mingyu asks with a chuckle, climbing into the backseat from one end while you pile in from the other.

Giggling, you meet his lips for a kiss as soon as the door shuts behind him, arms winding around his thick neck to bring him close. “The way you said that insinuates there we’ll be having more sex after this,” you tell him with a smile before diving back into another tongue twisting kiss.

“Hell yeah,” Mingyu groans against your tongue as you adjust to situate yourself over his lap, hips pressing dangerously close to his. “Gonna fuck you every day if I can. If you can handle that,” he adds.

You roll your eyes, pulling back to help yourself out of the cardigan and shirt you’re wearing. “What makes you think I can’t handle it?”

He only flashes you a toothy grin and quickly glances down at his groin area before winking at you. “You’ll see.”

“Kim Mingyu, you are a little shit,” you conclude despite the way your tummy churns at his insinuation, throwing off your shirt as Mingyu helps you out of a bra.

“I’m not little, that’s for sure … fuck, you’ve got the prettiest tits in the world,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around your torso to pull you closer so he can plant his lips on the soft flesh. His mouth is warm, tongue tracing constellations over our skin before enclosing one of your nipples with his lips.

Slowly, his tongue traces circles around the stiffened nipple, teeth grazing over it ever so gently before biting down with slight force. “Ah!” you moan out, head thrown back as your hands travel up his neck and into his hair, fisting the thick, dark locks. “‘m sensitive, ‘gyu,” you tell him, shaky-breathed as he pulls his mouth off your tits with a slip popping sound.

“Sorry,” he says with a lazy smile. “Your tits are so nice,” Mingyu murmurs, bringing a hand up to squeeze over your other breast, tweaking the nipple in one hand as your hands begin to play with the hem of his tight fit shirt. “Fuck, can’t believe we didn’t fuck earlier. You know how much time we could’ve saved?” he says, pulling away just for a moment to peel the shirt off his body, revealing his firm, thick torso.

“I wonder whose fault that is?” You roll your eyes.

Mingyu frowns in response. “Don’t remind me … angel, take off your pants. Wanna finger you.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice, because in an instant your hands are at the waistband of your pants as heat rises to your cheeks upon hearing his words. Just the thought of Mingyu’s thick, longer fingers inside your aching cunt is enough for it to pulse around nothing as you throw your pants to the side and shove your panties to reveal your core.

“Atta girl,”  he murmurs under his breath as you readjust yourself over his lap so that he can have better access between your legs. Slowly, he brings one hand up to your exposed cunt, bringing his middle finger to circle around your gaping hole. “Shit, you’re so wet, angel … so wet for me.”

“Just for you ‘gyu, just for you” you gasp out when he sinks one finger in, rough pads rubbing against your warm, gummy walls.

Now Mingyu occasionally entertains the outrageous idea that he’s well composed, but he’d be a fool to deny that, even though he can turn you to mush in the palm of his hand, you also have him wrapped around your little finger.

You only have to beg him once or twice for a second finger before he’s giving in, wanting nothing more than to spoil you until you can’t even remember what you were asking for in the first place. And naturally, when you finally tell him that you’re ready for more—ready for his cock—he can’t help but grin and comply.

“You think you’re ready?” he asks, slipping his fingers out and shoving them into your mouth so you can taste yourself.

“You think I’m not?” you mumble around his fingers. You pout a little and Mingyu chuckles, leaning in to give you a wet and sloppy kiss before lifting his hips a little.

“You’ll see angel … help me take this all off,” he tells you, and you’re quick to grab at his waistband and yank his pants and boxers down at the same time.

“What are you talking ab—oh.” The words dry on your tongue when you see his cock spring out, from underneath his boxers, the thickness slapping against Mingyu’s abdomen.

It’s fat and long and veiny in all the right places, heavy balls resting at the base of it, the reddish-pink tip smeared all over with his shiny, translucent white precum.

“Yeah,” Mingyu says with yet another chuckle, watching your face as you gaze down at his cock in awe.

“I-is it gonna fit?” you ask incredulously, eyes glancing back and forth between the smirk on Mingyu’s lips and the long length of his cock. Mingyu just shrugs and smooths his hands over your hips, your stomach, and then your neck, pulling you into a deep kiss.

Your stomach flutters, cunt growing more and more needy and wet as the seconds tick by, and the way Mingyu’s tongue flicks against yours only heightens the feeling. When he pulls away, he settles his hands over your waist and directs you right over his cock, and something in you swells with pure arousal with the next words he says.

“Don’t worry angel, I’ll make it fit. You trust me?”

“Yeah,” you breath out, steadying your position as Mingyu uses one hand to guide his heavy length so that the tip points upwards and presses right against you.

“Fuck yeah,” he hisses, and you moan as you feel him sliding against your folds in a slippery, sticky mess. “old onto me, yeah angel? If you want to stop just—”

“Say the word,” you finish for him, placing your hands on Mingyu’s bare shoulders as an attempt to steady yourself, breath hitching as his length pushes into your entrance. “Oh shit, ‘gyu!" you cry out as you begin to sink down on him.

Tears pricking at the corners of your eyes—you can’t even fathom how, even after all his prep, Mingyu still feels like he’s nearly splitting you in half.

“Fuck, pretty—you’re so fucking tight,” Mingyu grunts, helping you nearly impale yourself on his cock. “Fucking fitting inside you so well,” he praises as he bottoms out inside of you, letting your forehead fall to his shoulder as you take deep breath.

Mingyu knows he’s big—knows it’s hard to fit him inside of you—and he’s feels so fucking lucky that he has you—so willing to take all that he’s giving—sucking him in and whining for more. He waits a few moments, only listening to the way your heavy breaths start to grow lighter, until you’re whimpering a soft, “‘gyu.”

He wastes no time in jerking his hips upward, shifting inside of you and battering the inside of your soft walls. You bite down on his shoulder as you push your hips down to meet his thrusts, choking back soft sobs as you feel his cock kiss your cervix with each movement.

“Holy shit,” Mingyu grunts as you begin to bounce on his lap, his length slipping out of you halfway before being plunged right back in with a sopping mess growing on his thighs.

You whine loudly at the overwhelming pleasure that takes over your body, lifting your head up so you could look at Mingyu with your mouth agape and hair stuck all over your burning face, a sheer layer of sweat starting to envelope both your bodies.

Soon, both of your movements begin to grow erratic and sloppy, hips jamming into each other so hard you’d be surprised if you even have the ability to walk tomorrow. You now know why Mingyu was concerned about fucking every day.

“You g’na cum soon pretty? Cum all over my cock? I can feel it angel, can feel your pretty cunt squeezing me.”

“Fuck, Mingyu,” you manage to gasp out, “Yeah, ’m gonna cum—feels so good, so full, so—fuck!”

Mingyu’s cock pulses inside of you and that’s when every detail seems to be heightened to a thousand—as your orgasm racks through you, you seem to feel every curve, every vein, dragging in and out of you to such detail that it has your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you scream out his name.

Mingyu watches you fall apart, surrendering to bliss, and the way your hips are sporadically swiveling over his, your pussy’s wetness coating and creaming his cock has him going into a frenzy. Frantically, he begins to snap his hips faster up into you, your soft moans of overstimulation pushing him to his end faster than he can ever imagine. Watching the way he slides in and out of you is enough to have him cumming, shooting his hot, sticky load inside your warm cunt.

Riding out the last of his orgasm with soft rolls of his hips, Mingyu sighs contently at the feeling of you milking him dry, the both of you looking down at the wet, dirty mess you’ve made where the two of you connect, his cock still throbbing inside of you.

Both of you finally look up at the same time, grinning at each other, and you flop forward resting your head on his chest as he slowly combs his fingers through your hair, other hand running up and down your back.

“Why’d you start working the evening shifts?” you ask Mingyu after your breath has finally leveled. “I thought you hated those.”

“I did, but you stopped coming in the mornings, and I figured it was because of me. I hoped that maybe you would start coming in the evenings so I asked my boss to change my regular shifts just in case.”

“Oh wow, you really do love me.”

“I already told you I do! Even more than you love daisies, remember?”

[kakiastro]

Jupiter + the type of husband you will have

Hey yall! It literally took me a couple of weeks to make this post because I believe I’m experiencing burnout 😫 I think I’m going to take a mini break😅anyway, I hope you had a an amazing holiday!! Today I’m going to be talking about the traits and type of husband you will have based on your Jupiter.

Jupiter traditionally rules the husband. For those who are seeking a husband or husband-like partner, Jupiter is the planet to look at.

Look at your:

1. Jupiter sign

2. Jupiter degree

3. Jupiter house placement

4. Jupiter aspects

Also look at your Jupiter persona chart for deeper details as well!

Jupiter sign and house breakdowns:

Aries/1h

- may love to wear athletic brand outfits, have tattoos, prominent forehead, may have bangs or hair just cover their forehead, thick eyebrows, strong sex appeal to them

-their bold and confident

-may work in military, law enforcement, medical field dealing with lab work(blood draws, blood disease researcher), entrepreneurship and being the boss, welding or anything dealing with metals, butcher, working in a gun store.

-could be athletic or loves the gym

-loud or outgoing

-may lack impatience and tend to be impulsive

-always on the go, they have to always be doing something

-loves hot or spicy food

-may love debates and may come off as argumentative

-risk takers, they make quick decisions based on impulse. This can can either back fire or work in their favor LoL

Taurus/ 2h

-may have Venusian look to them so curly hair, smooth skin, very pretty. They may look like they can be a model, they look good on camera. Might have a mole, birth mark or a tattoo on their neck, something about their neck stands out. They’ll have an attractive voice

-money matters such as dealing with money by working in a bank. Working in the culinary industry so owning/working in a restaurant, working for a company that deals with food. Working in real estate or in the housing industry, working the arts such as fashion, painting.

-may be stubborn and like to take their time in doing things

-loves going out to eat especially to their favorite restaurants. If food is involved, they’re going!

-very sensual, loves to wear good smelling fragrances, dressing nice. These are the type of husbands that loves to buy flowers for you just because.

-loves physical touch such as holding hands, cuddling, arm around the shoulder types.

-very charming, may have a lot of friends but only a few close ones.

-loves passion and romance

-listening to lots of music

Gemini/3h

- you may meet them through a close friend, siblings, someone close to your neighborhood, library, school, they can be a former or current classmate

- they may have a unique laugh that catches your attention, may have smile that appears mischievous, may wear glasses for reading or prescriptions, messy hair do

-loves to talk as long as it’s airy and fun

-speaking of fun, they’re down for whatever, very outgoing person.

-may have lots of friends or know lots of people

-loves to read or write books or blogs

Cancer/4h

-may have a prominent chest, moon face that’s round or crescent shape, pouty lips, big round watery eyes. They may be wearing comfy clothing

-can come from a close knit family or they are family oriented. Can be close to his mom or has motherly figures in their life.

-may prefer to be at home

-may be proud of their ancestral roots and would want that displayed in there home

-loves home cooked meals

-very private person

Leo/5h

-Leo energy has a strong aura, they give A list celebrity energy so you may noticed them right away due to that, something about there hair may stand out to you. Likes dressing and looking good

-have a lighthearted warmness to them like their ruler the Sun

-may be well known, not necessarily famous (although they could be) but they have a lot of friends or they’re known for something.

-really artistic and love the arts such as theater, entertainment, dancing. They could also work in these fields

-may be intuned into there inner child, not necessarily childish but they know how to have fun

-may love children. Work with children or children is apart of their lives.

-may be overly dramatic about certain situations in their life

Virgo/6h

-may work in the medical field or is interested in medical stuff

-daily routines are important! These are the type of husbands who have a scheduled routine everyday lol

-may be workaholics, work is important to these hubbies. Now work doesn’t always have to mean their career/job either, working around the house, doing a project, fixing a car. They’re always doing some type of work!😅

-just like Gemini, virgoes love to read as well. The difference is Virgo loves to read things that has lots of detail. They need to know the who and why while Gemini just need the overall story and they can fill in the details themselves lol

-can be critical and judgy, mostly of themselves though, they can project on others if they’re not self aware.

-health is important to them! They may read up on different dietary recipes that can improve help.

-they either love animals to a fault or run away from them. There’s no in-between 😆

-could be managers or have a lot of co-workers as friends

Libra/7h

-very elegant and put together. May wear cologne or nice smelling body wash

-very charming indidvial, know how to swoon you

-flirtyyyyyy

-don’t ask them where they want to go eat because they don’t know😫it’s best to just remember their favorite food and go from there Lol

-may be business oriented or wants to own a business

-partnership is very important to them. Libra is a people person so close relationships are ideal

-doesn’t like unfairness at all. If you’ve been mistreated, they are the type to defend you if they feel like you’re being treated unfairly. They’re very much social justice warriors

-having some sort of balance in there life is key!

- may also like fashion things

-family may also be important

Scorpio/8h

-intesnse stare. You may feel intimidated by them at first but really are sweethearts when you get to know them

-there really private people, they don’t trust others easily at all. Once you have their trust then then you have there heart forever

-power dynamics with friends, family, lover may be themes

-they have sexual appeal

-they may have strong jealous tendencies. If they are self aware and put in the work to address these feelings then they are fine not if their the crazy jealous type, that’s not good and leave

-money may also be a theme, shared finances

-loves the color black

-may work in mortuary science, funerals, graveyard, taxidermist, finances, psychology, therapy, detective, forensics

Sagittarius/9h

-may be from a different culture, city or country from you

-may work in overseas, as a judge, historian, in a church, as a pilot/airline employee , cruise ship, writer, professor

-loves traveling, may have a lot of knowledge on different cultural backgrounds

-religious or is interested in religion. They could study theology

-these people love adventures, no matter how big or small it is the adventure is. Going to target can be an adventure because they’ll make it one 😅

-love reading books especially books that educational or something that broadens their minds to different ideals and ethics

-May have some good lucking legs 🦵. They may have a history of doing track or love running/jogging

Capricorn/10h

-there may be an age gap and it doesn’t have to be a huge one. Maybe a few years older. They can also be very mature or has a lot of life experience for someone their age.

-very ambitious, they don’t climb ladders, they climb mountains and will make it to the top every time

-respect and status is important to them. It doesn’t always mean fame status but status in a “I just want people to look up to me in a respectful way.” They may be managers or bosses, they can just carry that energy as well

-they may look put together, clean clothes that matches, hair groomed. They just look like they have their life together even if it’s currently a mess😅

-they have a jawline that was crafted by the Gods 🤌🏾

-family is important to them as well! Building a solid foundation that can be passed on to the next generation is a huge thing for them. They may be the patriarch of the family

-very close with their grandparents especially grandma. If their still alive and well, You’ll probably meet their granny before their parents

Aquarius/11h

-may have started off as acquaintances, then really good friends, not thinking much about dating until feelings starts to develope

-yall could of met while on a dating app.

-this is a cute, adorable, quirky, and weird husband. They may have different interest than you but that’s what you love about them!

-these partners are the type who will give you your space if you need it, they’ll actually encourage it!

-they may know lots of people and you’ll meet lots of new people through them.

-rules? What’s that? Lol they don’t mind breaking a few if they feel the need too. These people definitely live their life by the beat of their own drum.

-may be involved with humanitarian work, tech, science, astrology

Pisces/12h

-your connection my feel “divine” or like this person was handpicked for you specifically. There’s a spiritual connection between you two. You may dream a lot about each other.

-may also be from an unknown or foreign culture or country.

-water related things may be a theme such as the beach/swimming in the ocean, taking a cruise, kayaking, yacht, traveling to a water based city like Venice, Italy

-spiritually discussions can be part of your relationship

-creativify such as singing, writing songs or filming could be careers. Also being a healer like a spiritual teacher

-you may worship the ground they walk on and put them on a pedestal. Just try to make sure you don’t wear colored glasses and see them for who they are right now and not who you want them to be

-telepathic connection

Any married people here? Does some of this describe your hubby?

I’m not married yet but when I do, I’ll reblog this and let yall know 🫡

[alesandraelin]

𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚍 - 𝙰𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚆𝙵𝙲 𝚡 𝚃𝚎𝚎𝚗!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Description: reader's parents kicked her out and she is struggling. The team is always there for her.

awfc x teen!reader Kim Little x teen!reader

*Homophobic parents, self worth issues, angst with a happy ending

Kim was the first to notice. Kim is always the first to notice if something is wrong, especially when it is something to do with her protégé.

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when Y/n trudged onto the football field, her heart heavy with the weight of the previous night's events. Her parents' harsh words still echoed in her mind, each syllable a reminder of the home she no longer had. The field, usually a place of solace and escape, felt foreign and unwelcoming today. She tried to shake off the feeling, but it clung to her like a second skin.

As the team gathered for their morning warm-up, Y/n forced a smile, hoping it would mask the turmoil inside. Her teammates chatted animatedly, their laughter ringing out in the crisp morning air. Y/n moved through her stretches mechanically, her mind elsewhere. She was grateful for the routine, something familiar to hold onto amidst the chaos.

Jonas blew the whistle, signaling the start of a new drill. This one involved quick footwork and passing accuracy, requiring each player to move swiftly between cones while maintaining control of the ball. Y/n took her position, determined to push through the haze of her thoughts. She moved with the group, her feet dancing around the cones, but her usual grace was missing. The ball slipped away from her, rolling out of bounds.

"Come on, Y/n! Keep your head in the game!" Jonas called out, his voice carrying across the field.

Y/n nodded, forcing herself to concentrate. She retrieved the ball, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. As she resumed the drill, she caught sight of Viv and Beth, her teammates and a couple, working together seamlessly. Their movements were in sync, a testament to their understanding of each other both on and off the field. Y/n felt a pang of envy mixed with admiration. The ease with which they expressed their love was something she had always longed for, yet it was the very thing that had driven a wedge between her and her family.

Nearby, Katie and Caitlin, another couple on the team, were laughing as they practiced passing the ball back and forth. Their joy was infectious, and Y/n couldn't help but smile despite herself. Yet, the sight also served as a stark reminder of her own situation. While her teammates were embraced for who they were, she had been shunned by her own family for loving women. The injustice of it all gnawed at her, threatening to overwhelm her composure.

Jonas called for a water break, and Y/n gratefully took the opportunity to catch her breath. She sat on the grass, sipping from her water bottle, trying to steady her racing heart. Kyra and Vic had both attempted to talk to the girl only to be met with annoyed mumbles and blank stares. Teyah got the same treatment when she tried.

Kim watched on with a frown on her face, Jen coming to check on what she was so worried about.

"Just look at her, it like every bit of light has been sucked out of her. I can't bear it." Kim sighed as she watched you zone out, kicking at the ground aimlessly.

"You know her better than anyone Kimmy, go talk to her after practice." Jen encourages before they are all called back onto the pitch.

Training didn't get any better for the remainder of the day. Poor passes, sloppy in possession and way off target when shooting. It just wasn't good enough and Y/n knew that. The words of her parents from the previous night going through her head with every failed attempt on goal, every time she lost possession by making a silly mistake.

All the girls saw it, they noticed how sloppy her play had become. A stark contrast to her normal 110% effort every time she trained. It worried them all. They all made an effort to try and boost her up with pats on the back and words of encouragement but they were met with silence and no improvement.

Training ended as the afternoon air came in. The girl made their way off the pitch and back into the locker room. Y/n lingered back as she watched them all converse. Beth & Viv walked hand in hand into the locker room in front of y/n. This made her chest pang, it was jealousy, it was longing, it was sadness.

All the girls chatted as they got changed and packed up their stuff whilst y/n sat in her cubby trying her best not to cry. She was approached by Leah who knelt down to her height in her cubby.

"You alright chick?" The blonde asked, her brows furrowed in worry.

Y/n looked up at Leah, putting a small smile on. "I'm alright, I slept really rough last night thats all, I'm sorry for not being at by best today Lee."

"Don't apologise y/n, we all have off days. Try and get some sleep so we can get our happy girl back yeah?" Leah patted the girls shoulder as she stood up to go home.

With Leah gone, y/n looked around the locker room spotting no one there, she let her guard down and broke. Tears streamed down her face as she replayed the harsh words of the night before. Her parents' anger and disappointment had cut deep, leaving her feeling raw and exposed. She hugged her knees to her chest, seeking comfort in the small, enclosed space she had created for herself.

What y/n didn't know was Kim hung around to talk to Jonas about something and had just reentered the change rooms as y/n was crying. Kim quickly made her way over to the small girl, wrapping her arms around her, pulling her close.

"Y/n?" Kim's voice was gentle, filled with concern. "What's going on sweetheart?"

Y/n quickly sat up, wiping the tears away from her eyes. "I'm fine, just tired." She tried so reason as her voice cracked and tears continued to well in her eyes.

Kim shook her head, squeezing her a little tighter. "You don't have to pretend with me. I can tell something's wrong. Do you want to talk about it?"

Y/n hesitated, the words lodged in her throat. But the kindness in Kim's eyes coaxed them out. "My parents... they kicked me out last night. I finally worked up the courage to come out. They don't love me anymore Kim." The last sentence broke her as she cried again.

Kim's heart ached at the vulnerability in Y/n's voice. She reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Y/n's back. "I'm so sorry, Y/n. That must be incredibly painful."

Y/n nodded, her tears flowing freely now. "I just don't understand why they can't accept me. Seeing everyone else so happy and accepted... it just makes it hurt more."

Kim nodded, understanding the depth of Y/n's pain. "You deserve to be loved and accepted for who you are. And you are, Y/n. By all of us."

Y/n looked up, her eyes searching Kim's face for reassurance. "But where do I go now? I don't have anywhere else, I'm 17 I just want my parents."

Kim's expression softened further, her resolve clear. "You can stay with me, as long as you need. You're not alone. The team loves you and I love you. You are so incredibly brave and strong."

The offer hung in the air, a lifeline extended in Y/n's darkest moment. Gratitude surged through her, mingling with the sadness. "Thank you, Kim. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Kim smiled, her own eyes misty with emotion. "We're a team, Y/n. We look out for each other. Arsenal is a family. You're part of our family."

Y/n leaned into Kim's side, drawing comfort from the warmth and solidarity. The locker room, once a place of routine, had become a sanctuary—a space where she could be herself without fear of judgment.

"You're so strong, Y/n," Kim continued, her voice steady. "And we'll get through this together. You've got a whole team behind you, ready to support you every step of the way."

[theuntoldstorythatneedsawriter]

Meet and greet 📫⚽️ pt.1

Alexia Putellas x Reader

warning : fluffy 💭💗

Summary :

A simple meet-and-greet turns into an unexpected connection when you meet your football idol, Alexia Putellas.

You stood in the queue, heart racing as the line moved slowly forward. The meet-and-greet with the Barcelona women’s team had been on your calendar for weeks now, but no amount of preparation could have readied you for this moment. Ahead of you, one by one, people chatted, posed for photos, and got autographs from the players. But there was only one person you truly cared about meeting today: Alexia Putellas.

From the first time you saw her play, something about her had captivated you. It wasn’t just her skill on the ball, or her leadership on the field. It was the way she seemed to carry herself with confidence and humility at the same time. She was everything you aspired to be.

The line inched forward, and you could now see her clearly, sitting at the table, chatting with the fans in front of you. Your palms felt clammy, and you wiped them on your jeans, trying to keep your cool. You weren’t sure if it was from the anticipation or the fact that your heart had been pounding in your chest since you arrived.

Finally, it was your turn. You took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“Hola,” Alexia said, smiling up at you with those kind, warm eyes you’d seen countless times on TV. She had that natural confidence that made you feel both in awe and, somehow, comfortable at the same time. “What’s your name?”

You stammered, unable to stop the nerves creeping into your voice.

She nodded and reached for the poster you had brought with you, ready to sign it. "Nice to meet you. Have you been a fan for long?"

You laughed nervously. “Yeah, for a while now. Since you started playing with Barça, actually.”

Alexia paused, looking up from the poster, clearly impressed. “Really? That’s amazing. You’ve been here through the highs and lows, then.”

You nodded, the nerves starting to ease as you found yourself in an actual conversation with her. “It’s been incredible watching the team grow over the years. Especially you, you’ve been such an inspiration.”

Alexia’s eyes softened at your words. “That means a lot. Thank you.” She paused for a second, then added, “It’s fans like you who make all the hard work worth it.”

You felt a flutter in your chest at her sincerity. It wasn’t just a generic response, it felt genuine. She finished signing your poster and handed it back to you, but instead of moving on to the next fan, she tilted her head slightly, studying you for a moment.

“Have I seen you at games before?” she asked, her tone thoughtful. “You seem familiar.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Uh, yeah, I’ve been to a few matches this season.”

She smiled, a bit brighter now, and it felt like she had somehow remembered you. It was impossible, right? There were thousands of fans at every game, and yet…

“That’s great,” she said, her voice warmer now, more personal. “I always try to spot familiar faces in the crowd.”

You couldn’t believe what was happening. Was she saying she had noticed you?

Before you could respond, one of the event staff stepped in, reminding you that the meet-and-greet needed to keep moving. But Alexia didn’t seem in a rush. She glanced over at them, nodded, and then looked back at you with a small smile.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a little quieter now, just for you. “Thank you for your support. I mean it.”

You swallowed, your heart racing again. “Of course. You’re… incredible.”

Alexia chuckled softly, and then, in a move that left you completely stunned, she reached out and placed her hand on your arm for a brief moment, a small gesture, but it sent a wave of warmth through you. “I hope I’ll see you at more games,” she said, her eyes lingering on yours just a little longer than they needed to.

You nodded, speechless again. “I’ll definitely be there.”

She smiled, a real, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat. As you were getting up, Alexia stopped you in your tracks. She hesitated for a moment. “Actually… do you mind if I ask something?” Her tone was casual, but there was something curious in her eyes.

“Of course,” you said, barely containing your nerves.

“Would it be okay if I got your number?” she asked, catching you completely off guard. “I know it’s not the usual thing at these events, but… I’d love to chat sometime, outside of all the noise.”

Your heart nearly stopped. Alexia Putellas was asking for your number? You blinked, trying to make sure you weren’t dreaming. “Yeah, sure! I mean… yes, I’d love that.”

Alexia pulled out her phone and handed it to you, and your fingers trembled slightly as you typed your number in. “Here you go,” you said, handing it back, your face flushed with disbelief. She looked at the screen, gave a small nod, and flashed you a smile that made your heart flutter. “Great. I’ll text you soon, and maybe we can grab a coffee or something?”

“Yeah, that sounds perfect,” you replied, somehow managing to keep your voice steady.

You walked away in a daze, the signed poster clutched in your hand like it was a lifeline. As you stood off to the side, watching the rest of the event, you couldn’t stop replaying the conversation in your head.

As you were about to leave, Alexia caught your eye from across the room. For a brief second, your gazes locked, and she gave you a small, knowing smile before returning to the fans still waiting in line. Your heart raced as you walked out of the meet-and-greet. That smile.

Later that evening, as you sat on your bed staring at the poster she had signed, your phone buzzed. You opened it to see an unfamiliar number with a message that read:

Hi (Y/N), it’s Alexia. I hope this is the right number. I really enjoyed meeting you today. Would you like to grab coffee sometime? No pressure, just thought it might be nice to chat without the crowd :) – Alexia

You blinked, your heart leaping into your throat as you read the message again, just to make sure it was real.

Alexia Putellas had just asked you out for coffee.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and then typed out a reply.

I’d love that.

pt.2 ; pt.3

[januaryembrs]

YOU'RE ALL I EVER WANTED | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [bonus chapter]

Description: The one where you realise you like Spencer.

Length: 6.2k

Warnings: mention of when Penelope got shot, but other than that not much. Mentions of sex + body count though there is NO judgement OR SHAMING. Bugsy could be Bisexual/attracted to women if you choose to read it that way, but you don't have to!

authors note: this little bonus chapter is set the week before Emily 'dies' so right before the final second of Chapter Two. Or you can just read this if you'd like to see two morons dancing around their love for one another. Since I’m uploading today, I realised you needed to read part of this for the next big chapter so that is going to take an extra day or so but it is coming! I hope this satiates the bugspence cravings!!

‘You’re the one, you’re all I ever wanted,

I think I’ll regret this,’

It was warm considering it was one of the last days of Winter, one of the warmest Virginia had in years.

Caseload had been ramped up with the amount of children out on the streets with their friends where any nefarious hands could simply snatch them, or young adults got drunk, or worse, in preparation for Spring Break, their inhibitions lowered to zero making them prime prey. And yet, on a random Saturday at the end of February, the sun peeked out from the dishwater grey clouds, the wind died down, and their phones stayed quiet with the promise of a real day off. 

And how better to spend a day away from their office than to meet their co-workers in the park for a game of soccer. 

“Morgan, quit marking me,” Bugsy yelled, dribbling the ball down the small field they’d commandeered as a pitch, four water bottles stood upright on either end as goal points. But Derek’s laugh was menacing, and she heard his footsteps pounding behind her, advancing on her as if they were kids in a playground, and before long he had swooped in front of her, despite her hand waving out in his direction to shove him away.

Emily was about to call her out for contact, not that she expected her little sister to give a shit, but Derek was too fast for even her where she sat on the side lines with Penelope. The ball went careering away from her, Morgan’s quick feet keeping it under much better control than she’d been able to, even with her hot on his heels, and before long he was shooting to where Aaron stood as goalie, just about rolling it past Hotch’s muscled legs into their goal. 

Derek whooped, Will jogged over from the other end of the pitch to fist bump his team mate as the younger woman huffed, her college jumper and shorts clinging to her sweaty body. 

“Sucks to suck, baby Prentiss,” Morgan jeered, shoving her shoulder lightheartedly when she glared at him, “Guess you owe me that drink, which I will be redeeming at the next convenience-” 

“It’s easy to win when you’re two hundred pounds of muscle and your opponent is a girl who hasn’t done sport since high school,” She snapped, her expression grumpy as she fingered the hem of her fleecy top. Derek chuckled, Will returning to sit with JJ as Henry climbed over her legs wanting to play with her long strands of honey blonde hair. He shoulder bumped the girl, hoping to perk up her mood, but she shoved him back as hard as she could, not that it did much since she’d said herself she was sort of out of shape compared to his rock hard abs. 

“Oh, come on now, Bug, don’t be like that,” He said, unphased when she damn near threw her whole body against his, trying to even knock him in the slightest off his feet, her face screwed up in annoyance. “Bugsy.” Derek tried again, only for her to ignore him and try even harder. He didn’t so much as flinch, “Bugsy, you’re being unreasonable,”

She huffed, drawing away from him and glancing at him with a scathing glare. “Okay, terminator, you won this time but I swear one day I’m going to make you pay for taking advantage of such a fragile little woman like me,” 

Emily scoffed, handing her sister a water bottle, “Didn’t you take down an unsub alone yesterday? I mean you didn’t even have cuffs until Spencer showed up-”

“Oh, whose side are you on?” Bugsy snarled, downing a gulp of water and walking back over to where Spencer and JJ were relaxing on a picnic blanket, the former laying on his back with a book spread open using only one of his spindle-like hands. 

“Good game?” He mused, trying to hide his smirk when she groaned in response, throwing herself down on the grass beside him. She wrestled her sweater over her head which left her in a band tee, her chest still rising with panting breaths as she lay down to his right, glaring at the clear sky. 

“Remind me to never play him in sport ever again. The man is a Spartan Warrior,” She huffed, barely glimpsing to where JJ chuckled at her defeated expression. 

“Did you know that the Spartans were actually banned from the Olympics for some time for violating the peace treaty between Sparta and Athens? But one of their athletes entered a chariot race pretending to represent Thebes, a city above Athens in Boeotia, and only when he won did he announce his true identity,” Spencer asked, his nose still buried in his book like he was reciting the very same information off the page. Bugsy’s lips quirked in interest. 

“That’s pretty cool,” She murmured, head flicking over to him where he glanced back at her, finally ripping his attention away from his novel. She blinked at him, his ‘boy band’ hair as so affectionately named by their unit chief, swooping over his forehead with a few soft, chocolate curls that she moved to fix almost immediately. 

She missed the way his eyes rounded in puppy love as she did so, a camouflaged smile twitching at his lips, an onset reaction of the butterflies that swarmed his chest. 

“I like your hair like this,” She said, even though she’d told him a dozen times already his new hair was dashing, as she’d put it, “It makes your eyes look really pretty,” 

He cleared his throat, his cheeks heating up because he couldn’t handle his reactions when she was so forward, “Really? I always thought they were the colour of dirt,” 

Her mouth dropped open, and she shuffled up onto her elbows so they were similar heights, “Spencer Reid, you take that back right now,” 

“Wow, the government name. I must be in trouble,” He mused, gaze falling to the grass beneath them, dropping his book into his lap even though he felt her annoyance poking holes in his skull.

“They are not the colour of dirt, I’ve never heard something so ridiculous,” She scoffed, nudging him with the back of her hand in a soft chide and he snickered, looking back up to where she was staring him straight in the muddy hues of his very plain hazel eyes. “They’re like, they’re like-” She tried to come up with an answer, squinting in the soft sunlight that turned the brown shades into liquid honey running off a spoon, her face  leaning towards his to catch a closer look at the exact pigment of them, “They’re like looking up at a forest on a Summer’s morning, you know? Like when you can see every single one of the leaves because of the light,” 

He nodded wordlessly, because no one had ever said something quite so poetic about any part of him before. He fought the urge to look away, wasn’t sure he could even if he tried because for a second they were both in a trance, dissecting the other’s gaze like they were imprinting their colour palettes to memory. 

“Buggy!” Her head whipped away from him as the blonde headed child came running over to her as fast as his chubby little legs would carry him. He launched himself at her stomach, and her hands quickly caught him before he could wind her, his cheeks rosy behind his bumble bee pacifier. She giggled as he slid down her side, his knees staining with grass as he reached muddy hands out for her face. 

“Woah, not so fast mister. Who knows where these grubby little paws have been,” She teased, and he laughed behind the plastic sucker, his bluebell eyes a near match of JJ’s blinking over at her. 

Spencer watched her and his godson with besotted eyes, imagining for a split second what she might be like as a mother, if she ever chose to be. He knew she would be soft and yet not lose one drop of the Bugsy playfulness he cherished, just instead parting everything that made her extraordinary onto a mini her. 

He saw it, like a flicker of a dream, like deja vu, a girl with her hair, her skin, her smile; the one that was impish and guilty like she had a secret, giggling behind a ladybug dummy the way Henry was doing when she forced his dirty hands together to clap; “Clap your hands if you smell like fairy farts- Henry!” 

The child laughed harder, so hard his pacifier dropped out his mouth with a little dribble, his milk teeth pearly with and tiny in the sun. His chest seized with giggles, his face turning pink as he panted to catch his breath, “You’re so silly, Buggy,”  

JJ swooped in to grab his dummy, giving his hands a quick once over with a baby wipe and packing the sucker back into his bag. Henry’s gaze quickly slid up his mother’s arm to where she lingered over his pack, and he was eager to make himself comfortable leaning against Bugsy’s stomach, legs stretching out onto the blankets, his shoes brushing against Spencer’s trouser leg. 

“Juice, mama!” He shouted, his little voice sweet knowing just how to wrap everyone around his pinky finger, “Juice and Bi’kits!”

“What do we say, Henry?” Will reminded gently, holding the Ben 10 satchel open while his partner rooted around the bottom of it with a loving smile. 

“Please, juice and bi’kits,” The boy replied politely, his feet knocking together out of excitement when JJ produced two red pouches and animal shaped cookies. Stepping over where Spence lay sprawled out, watching Bugsy idly stroking over the back of his godson’s white blonde curls, JJ handed the two of them a drink and snack each, Bugsy’s eyes flying up to the woman in interest. 

“For me?” She asked dumbly, wondering if she was to give the second helping to the boy once he’d finished his first or if it really was hers.

JJ shrugged, moving back over to sit beside Will where he wrapped a lazy arm around her waist, squeezing her gently, “I always pack extra for the other kids,” 

Bug’s face flattened into something unamused as Henry handed Spencer his juice pouch for him to push the straw in, “I’m twenty six, I’m not a kid,” She grouched, ripping open the packet of biscuits and shoving a lion in her mouth, “God, whoever invented these animal shaped pals is genius. Like, why does everything taste so much better when it looks like a monkey smiling up at me?” 

The three of them chuckled at her, Emily and Penelope starting up a new game of soccer with Hotch and Derek, David reffing from the sideline. Penelope was ofcourse with Morgan, looking a little pale where she stood in goal, as Emily ran at her in full force with the ball skipping between her feet.

Spence handed the drink back to the boy, picking his book back up as the two of them crunched on their goodies happily. 

“Story time, Uncle Spencer,” Henry demanded, pointing to the copy of War and Peace in between bites of a zebra cookie. 

And instead of telling his godson that he would almost certainly hate the complex, adult writing of Leo Tolstoy, Spencer smiled down at him, feeling Bugsy’s eyes roving over his face.

“Yeah, storytime, Uncle Spencer,” She jeered, her elbow getting dirty where it dug into the grass as she rolled onto her side to watch him properly, “Never too early to teach the kids about French invasions,” 

Flicking her a smirk, he cleared his throat theatrically, and pretended to read from his book, “Charlotte’s Web by E. B. White,” 

“That’s a real magic book you got there, Spence,” The woman snickered, and he smiled into the pages, not daring himself to look at the devilish look she had on her face. 

“Chapter One; Before Breakfast,” Spencer ‘read’ clearly, his memory still clear as a bell when his mother had read it to him when he was five, “‘Where’s papa going with that axe?’ said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast,” 

Bugsy felt Henry’s head slump against her hip, the boy slurping on his juice pouch happily as she punctured a hole in her own carton to take a sip, the two of them listening intently to Spencer recounting the children’s book to a scary degree of accuracy. 

His slender arms looked good with his sleeves rolled to his elbow, she thought offhandedly, his right elbow taking the brunt of his weight as he leaned on it, the other flicking through the Tolstoy novel as if it were the real thing, his long fingers splayed out on the back of the book to keep it open. His eyes kept darting up over the top of the page to see if they were both still listening, which they were, though Bugsy suspected Henry was starting to get tired as his head felt heavy against her skin. 

Propping her head on her hand, her eyes scanned over the profile of his face. She’d always known he was attractive, ever since she opened her dorm room door at John Hopkins and saw him and Morgan waiting for her. Her stomach twisted thinking about how long ago that seemed, that she couldn’t remember quite what her world had centred around when it had just been her at college; her mother and father were distant as ever, her sister was a stranger that had all but raised her, boys were just a passing face if she ever let them through her door. She’d had her books and maybe two friends, acquaintances would probably be the better term, and her coffee. And that seemed to have been enough, or at least it was enough that she couldn’t outright complain about how lonely she felt.  

And then she met Spencer. And that feeling had disapparated entirely.

Her heart swelled when she looked at him, recounting the beginning of chapter two by now, his forest hues glancing up at Henry’s sleepy, round eyes that watched him in interest. She thought for a moment that whoever his kid was going to be was going to be the luckiest boy in the world. She let herself imagine a boy Henry’s age already devouring books twice his reading age, one with wild, almond curls he’d let grow around his neck like JJ did with Henry’s. She imagined how he would sit him on his lap and let him read the books for himself, so that if he got stuck his dad would be right there to help him behind a proud smile. Spencer; a father. She realised how out of field the thought was before she shook it out of her head, though it had planted itself right in her hypothalamus the second she’d seen the vision of it. 

A small smile twitched at her lips, a warmth in the pit of her stomach flickering as she sipped the juice, giggling when Spencer changed his tone slightly so Henry knew someone new was speaking, seemingly enjoying the book almost as much as his audience was. His eyes snapped to her when he heard her, a devious little smile creeping up his lips like they shared the same thought. She wished she could do this every day, lay on picnic blankets and listen to him read, his voice was heavenly, and she thought she might never get tired of hearing him tell her things. 

Every part of her was consumed when she thought of him like this. It had happened once or twice, like when she’d driven him home from the doctors after they’d cleared his MRI’s, when she’d held his head in her lap on his couch and stroked his scalp, a cold compress over his eyes because his head writhed with a pain he couldn’t squash out. When she’d heard his soft snores as he finally dropped off to sleep and she allowed herself to look at his resting face, perhaps even more angelic than usual, a small indent right between his brows where his expression had been scrunched in discomfort for weeks, one she smoothed over with the soft pad of her thumb. She’d felt something then, like her whole body was full to the brim of him, her chest spasming with a feeling like she was coming down with a cold but one that made her feel good, but she’d brushed it off as seeing him vulnerable and soft compared to the quick as a whip FBI agent she was used to these days. She’d do just about anything for him, anything to make him feel better, anything to just make him happy.

Or when they’d eat breakfast together at his desk, her chair rolled up beside his as they sat together, taking it in turns to do crossword puzzles together because they realised they got competitive when they were allowed to answer all of them at the same time, and Bugsy did not like losing. There had been one morning when they’d descended into madness because they were both trying to write the answers as fast as possible, their hands smashing together over the boxes, her hand shoving his lithe body away as he had called her a cheater through red cheeked laughter. Rossi had confiscated the paper when things had gotten too physical and she’d pulled the lever beneath his chair, lowering his seat quick enough he nearly slipped right out. His coffee spilled all over his desk as his arm flew out to grab his desk, and the sight alone made her laugh so hard she almost peed. He’d pretended to be annoyed at her for all of two minutes as they cleaned up the mess together, but he too had found himself laughing hard enough he was almost in tears because she could barely get two words out without creasing over and holding her stomach in aching barks of noise, the two of them leaning against one another for support. She thought then, if she had breakfast with him every day, whether it be with quizzes or coffee or even a plain bowl of oatmeal, she’d wake up every day happy. 

And she thought it then, her heart swelling fat enough to burst as he looked up at her over the top of the leather binding again. Even in the split second he did so her skin had turned to gooseflesh, like he’d grabbed her at her soul and squeezed her whole being affectionately. And it was like she remembered every time he’d made her feel like that, times she thought of it as the fact a girl who received little to no attention growing up was of course going to revel under the gaze of an attractive man with a heart sweeter than cotton candy, it was just psychology. One big Freudian-slip of nonsense. At least that was what she shoved it off as. 

But looking at him, his hands big enough to grab her face whole, his body long and lithe as he spread out on the blanket, his hair falling so delicately, his tone soft and pandering to the little boy who was dropping off to sleep against her stomach. His whole essence was so Spencer it made her feel at home, like this was what she was created to do, feeling so fulfilled sat with him sipping on a juice pouch as he read to her she could die tomorrow and feel accomplished for only twenty six years. 

She knew in her gut that wasn’t what friends felt for each other; the thought creeping up her spine and over her shoulder like a virus that seized her brain as its own, her expression unwavering as she watched him with adoring eyes. 

She knew it was wrong, but with him she felt worth something. She felt complete. Like she had everything she ever needed, everything she’d ever wanted on the nights loneliness had snuck in and she’d felt like no one would ever understand how the muddied water of her mind worked. 

But he did. He always had. 

And it was like she heard a screech in a track record as it came to a stop, her head working overtime with the thought of it. 

She bit her lip in guilt, as he continued reading, hoping she wouldn’t ever ruin whatever it was that she’d felt, because she might not ever be able to forgive herself if she did. 

–

“It’s over one and below a hundred, and that’s all you’re getting,” Bugsy said with a teasing smile, her fingers resting on the rim of a very sweet Cosmo, as Penelope and Derek sat opposite them, Spencer to her right with a beer on one of the few times she’d ever seen him drink. But it had been a good day, and what would be the harm in topping off the day with a cold beverage, “Besides, it doesn’t matter anyway, it’s not like they meant much,” 

“We know it doesn’t matter, baby Prentiss, we’re just being nosey,” Derek chimed, his fingers wrapped around his own bottle of beer, courtesy of Bugsy which she had paid for with a grumble, a tipsy glint in his dark eyes. 

It was just the four of them this evening. Will and JJ had taken a sleeping Henry home so they could spend some rare time together seeing as their son was entirely knocked out. Hotch had taken Emily home after David had given her a red card for trying to tackle both Aaron and Derek multiple times during their game, because apparently competitiveness ran in the family. He had tried to gently remind her Aaron was also on her team, but had received a glare that would make any agent cower, and Hotch had suggested maybe it would be best if they got her home rather than fill her with alcohol. 

Rossi had excused himself home after hearing the colourful things the oldest Prentiss woman called him in Italian, likely contemplating if she meant any of the threats she was making. 

“Any guy would be lucky to make it to your magic number, honey bee,” Penelope added, her pastel painted lipstick making a cute rim on the straw to her own Margarita, “Or girl! Any girl would be too,”

Bugsy shied away at that, blanking for perhaps the first time because the whole topic of her romantic endeavours was suddenly embarrassing when Spencer was sat right beside her. She had spoken to them before about her college days, and had never once made an effort to hide the fact she knew she had a charm about her that meant she usually could take someone home if she wanted them. 

So why was it suddenly so difficult to admit in front of Spencer? She knew why, she knew why every single one of them suddenly felt miniscule in the grand scheme of things because they hadn’t meant much to her, not when he was sitting boring holes into the side of her head with an unusually tight expression. 

“What does it matter if there were girls, none of them really meant much,” She brushed them off, her face heating up when she finally looked at Spencer, his long fingers picking at the label on his beer with a tight lipped smile.

“We’re just teasing, Bug, there’s nothing wrong with any number you could give us. Besides, I guarantee mine is higher than yours,” Derek reassured, squeezing her wrist gently, his eyes sliding to where Spencer seemed to be trying to avoid all eye contact like he wanted the seat to swallow him whole, “Same with you, Kid, there’s no judgement at this table, we’re all human,” 

“I bet you were a real ladies man by that third doctorate,” Bugsy teased, nudging his shoulder with her own because she hated when he went quiet. 

He looked at her like he was expecting her to be cruel, except she didn’t look it, not one bit, instead she seemed a little skittish, no doubt from having the spotlight on her. “What makes you say that?” 

She bristled, “I mean, come on, Spence, you’re very good looking, you’re the smartest person I know, you’re funny and there’s like not a single bad bone in your entire body,” She said, becoming increasingly aware of the weight of her words the more she spoke. But it was like the cocktail had loosened her lips, had made it seem entirely normal to essentially tell him how lucky a girl would be to date him, how she had thought about all the reasons she would find him a worthy sexual partner. She watched him blush, granting her a flustered smile, and she looked to Penelope desperately for help, “Pen, would you tell him?”

“She has a point, Reid. You are the full package,” Penelope conceded, her smile illuminating the whole bar as she reached over to hold both their hands in hers, “It’s a shame you’re both strongly planted in the friend zone otherwise the four of us could have really been something beautiful,” 

They all chuckled, Bugsy shaking her head and leaning against Spencer’s side when he seemed to ease up, just to remind him she had meant no harm by what she said. In fact, she’d meant entirely the opposite.  

She felt his hand lean under the table to squeeze her knee, because he knew what she was thinking, and she felt herself relax at the feel of his touch. 

“Alright, here’s a question; winner gets a free shot on the next round. What was your worst date?” Morgan poked, noticing how the two youngest agents seemed to scooch towards one another almost as if they hadn’t realised, as if they were working off their own orbit, until they were pressed right up against one another, their elbows brushing against one another, “Doesn’t have to be sexual, could just be bad table manners,” 

“I haven’t really been on a date before,” Spencer tried to weasel his way out of the question, Bugsy’s head whipping to him in surprise, “There was that one time I met that girl Austin for coffee, but that was pretty great,”

She bit her cheek in annoyance. She’d forgotten about Austin, the bartender that she’d told Spencer to go after, because she was so sure that a good looking doctor like him deserved someone kind and attractive like Austin had been. She remembered how she’d seen her ocean blue eyes roving over her friend, how at the time it hadn’t meant much to her, because she couldn’t really blame her for thinking he was hot, how now it stirred something in her tummy that she feared felt like jealousy. 

She dared herself to stop the bombarding thoughts of what ‘pretty great’ entailed exactly, and busied her face by looking to Morgan for his turn. 

“My man,” Derek said with a wicked grin on his face, watching Spencer cower away from the attention though there was something guiltily proud in the smirk that grew on his face that said Spencer was somewhat pleased with his answer. In the scheme of things, he’d gotten lucky, pun intended. The only woman to ever say yes to a date with him had been sweet, even if he’d quickly made it clear he wasn’t looking for anything more with her, and even then she’d been understanding. 

“Your turn, Morgan,” Bugsy reminded, trying to be as cool as possible despite the fact her stomach felt flipped upside down at the sound of a woman she hadn’t thought about in two whole years. She didn’t know what had gotten her so territorial in a matter of seconds, but she hated every moment of it. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know ladies, that someone has in fact put Derek Morgan in his place before,” Derek said, with a clap of his hands, and Bugsy and Penelope shared an amused eye roll. 

“Who knows how big your ego might be if this goddess among women hadn’t acted when she did,” Bugsy drawled, Penelope giggling into her lime wedge as Derek laid a hand on his chest in faux hurt. 

“I’m telling you, I’m a changed man. I tasted my own medicine, Sugar, and it was bitter,” He said melodramatically, and even Spencer shook his head with a laugh, because Derek was a diva when he’d had a few to drink. “We go out to a lovely restaurant, I pay ofcourse, being the gentleman I am, and then we decide to go for some drinks after to round the evening off,”

“Any girl's dream come true,” Penelope jumped in, giggling when Derek wrapped an arm around her shoulder, like they were on a date themselves. 

“That was exactly my thoughts, babygirl.” Derek flirted, taking a swig of his beer, “Anyway, I maybe have a little too much of the good stuff, nothing particularly worrying. We’re laughing, we’re vibing, and then we go back to my place,” 

“Here we go, the real good stuff,” Bugsy chimed in, nudging Spencer with her elbow as the two of them snickered like tweedle dum and tweedle dee. “Fifty Shades of Morgan,”

“Pipe down, lover girl,”  Derek barked through laughter, Penelope barely making it through a sip of her own drink without smiling, “So as I was saying, I’m feeling a little worse for wear, she’s a little drunk too, so we move past it, and then we get to my room,”

“Bow chick a wow wow,” Bugsy sang teasingly, to which Spencer chuckled and taking a sip of his own drink. 

���Well, you would think, honey bee, since I am known to the women for my experiences in bed, some may call electric,” Derek slurred, holding her hand gently over the table to which she laughed even harder. 

“Huh, I must have missed that email,” She teased back, taking a long final sip of the dregs of her drink. 

“You wound me,” He replied, shaking his head, and turning to look at Penelope seriously, like he was sat in a confession booth, “So anyway, we’re in my room, about to get jiggy with it, only when I take my boxers off I find my soldier is sort of-” He paused, swallowing and looking at Spencer’s red face where he was trying desperately not to break, “You know. Unable to stand to attention,” 

Bugsy spat her drink across the table, the action alone making Penelope laugh so hard tears sprang to her eyes, the younger girl coughing as she choked on her drink, and Spencer patted her on the back until she reclaimed some composure. 

“Oh, god,” She gasped, her hand thumping her chest as she tried desperately to get a hold of herself in between the loud cries of glee and winding herself, “Derek-”

“Hey, laugh it up, Bug, it worked out alright in the end. Our second date really was electric,” He replied with a smug smile, as the girl finally caught a breath, her lash line watering with tears as she grabbed for some napkins on the table to clear up her mess. 

“If you say so,” She said, her voice croaking as Spencer offered her a sip of his drink to wash her throat out. She took a small mouthful of beer, handing the bottle back to him with a grateful smile, and she tried no to think about the fact that germ wise, they had essentially just kissed. 

“Your turn,” Spencer said, something amused in his eyes as she looked at him somewhat betrayed, “What’s been your worst date?” 

She sighed, wiping beneath her eyes with her sleeve, “If you must know, and because I really do want that shot,”  She started, clearing her throat one final time, “I was seeing this guy in New York over Spring break, Sean something,” 

“Sean something?” Derek asked, “You didn’t know his last name?” 

She shrugged, fighting the urge to crawl into a small ball of embarrassment because surely what Morgan said had set the bar for judgement high, “We didn’t exactly do much talking when we saw each other,” 

Spencer hid his frustration in a fake smile, though one look at his furrowed brow would have given him away instantly. Luckily, they had their eyes on her long enough they didn’t catch a glimpse of his expression. It wasn’t that he would ever think less of her for being with someone else, who wouldn’t want her, but hearing about it made his inside boil with jealousy he didn’t even know he would have ever felt. 

“Anyway. I felt like a change of scenery and my mother was bothering me for a lunch date since she was in New York for the month, so I took him and two of his friends out to Italy for a long weekend,” She went on, ripping up a napkin for something to do while she spoke, and she felt Penelope staring at her agog. 

“You took a casual fling to Italy for a change of scenery?” The bubbly woman asked, her mouth dropped in shock, “Can I sleep with you?” 

Derek laughed, and Spencer went bright red when he jumped to ask the same question though he knew it was entirely coarse. Maybe it was the beer loosening his tongue, or maybe it was the fact he wondered what the two of them sitting in a sunny vineyard like a rich old couple would look like, he wasn’t sure. 

“Play your cards right, Princess,” Bugsy teased, clearing her throat to continue, “Anyway. We’re there for two days and the final evening Sean and I get into a bit of a disagreement over something dumb; I think him and his friends were being too loud and we were getting complaints. Anyway, we kiss and make up for the evening, we go out to a club. We go back to the hotel, get jiggy with it as you put it, and when I woke up the next day, the bastard had taken the bag with all our boarding passes and came back to America with his friends without even waking me up.”

Their mouths fell open, Spencer’s brows shooting into his hairline in worry, “That sounds awful, Bug,”

She shrugged again, messing with the pile of ripped up paper she’d created, “It’s nothing. I spoke the language so I got by okay, and luckily I kept all my cash in my purse so I hitched a ride to the airport and got on the next plane, except the only available one landed me in California so I had to wait for a transfer over to Baltimore. By the time I got back, his roommate said he was with some other girl,”

“What an asshole,” Derek said, shaking his head as he said so, but Bugsy raised her shoulders again. 

“I really know how to pick them,” She said, swirling her lime piece around the bottom of her glass, “Anyway, the hotel staff felt bad for me and gave me a free bottle of Pinot Noir on them so it didn’t work out all bad,” 

Sensing it was somewhat of a sticky subject, Penelope jumped in with her usual wit, “As much as I would love to give you the shot, buttercup, this gal took a bullet on her last bad date so I will be collecting that prize if it’s all the same to you,” She said, her bubbly attitude quickly throwing metaphorical glitter over the subject, collecting Bugsy's empty glass and her own together as her and Morgan moved to shuffle out of the table for another round. 

Bugsy’s eyes widened, “What?” She stopped, and she looked at Spencer to see if they were playing some sort of joke on her only to see him unsurprised, “What!?” 

“I’ll tell you about it some other time, sweet cheeks. Right now I have a tequila, salt and lime with my name written all over it,” Penelope chirped, waltzing up to the bar with her muscle two paces behind her as he drew out his wallet to put down for the next round of drinks. 

“Well, I suddenly feel like an asshole for complaining about being left in a nice hotel alone,” Bugsy said, her head resting on her hand as she looked over at Spencer who ran his finger over the emerald green bottle. 

He snorted, “Tell me about it, I said that my last date went wonderfully,” 

They met eyes in the dark lowlights of the bar and shared an amused grin, like they knew it was cynical for them to laugh except they really did feel like morons for complaining about how bad they had it when Penelope had all but joked about her situation. 

“I am sorry that happened to you, though,” Spencer said, his hand creeping over the leather seat to where hers sat on her thigh, “That must have been really scary. Why didn’t you call Emily?” 

Bugsy’s face tensed, “We weren’t really speaking then, and I knew if I told her or my mother I’d get the same lecture about being irresponsible and careless. I think I thought I’d rather do it alone,” 

Spencer pouted, braving enough to move his hand up to take hers in his own. Maybe it was the second bottle of low percent beer, or maybe it was because she’d flickered with something genuinely saddened when she’d said it, and Spencer thought that in every  instance of her story she’d had little to no one to turn to for help.

She had been alone, and the thought of it crushed him. 

He grabbed her hand, her head snapping to him and praying she didn’t find pity there because she hated that. Except she just saw him, those mossy eyes looking rounder and more lovely than ever when she regarded him. 

“You don’t have to feel alone ever again, you know that right?” He asked earnestly, giving her fingers a little squeeze, and she felt her tummy do that stupid turn all over again. It was like she had an upset stomach except that was a complete antonym of what it was, like her stomach was so unbelievably overjoyed that she could barely even hold it together without wanting to ask him what it was he had done to suddenly turn her into some sort of feral creature for every little movement he made. 

Except there wasn’t just one thing, it was everything about him. Everything. 

She smiled at him, more bashful than she had ever felt for him, and against her own instincts she slipped her fingers in between his own so they had their every digit laced together, and it was suddenly so much bigger than two friends chatting in a bar. 

She knew it then, felt it realer than ever, like a stop sign slapping her clean across the face and shattering every bone in her skull. 

She just hoped she wouldn’t regret it. 

-

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[satellite-evans]

Look at the stars

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: Benedict and his Y/N spend a joyful day picnicking and stargazing with their children <3

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: tooth aching fluff

A/N:

This was a request from @pear-1206 , I hope I did your request justice, love xx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The sun was warm and golden, casting a gentle glow over the lush countryside. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the sound of birds chirping merrily. It was the perfect day for a picnic, and Benedict Bridgerton couldn't have been happier to spend it with his wife and children.

Benedict and Y/N had always shared a mutual disdain for the relentless scrutiny of society. From the moment they met, they found solace in each other's company, both preferring the quiet beauty of nature and the simplicity of family life over the pomp and circumstance of high society. Benedict was hopelessly devoted to Y/N, captivated by her spirit and the way she saw the world. She had a way of grounding him, reminding him of what truly mattered.

Today, they had chosen a secluded spot in the picturesque countryside of Kent, a place far enough from their estate to ensure complete privacy. Nestled under the shade of an ancient oak tree, the spot offered a breathtaking view of rolling hills and a gently flowing brook nearby. The grassy field stretched out before them, a sea of wildflowers swaying in the breeze. Their children, a boisterous five-year-old boy named Thomas and a giggling two-year-old girl named Violet, were already darting about, chasing butterflies and exploring the wonders of nature.

"Thomas, be careful!" Y/N called out, laughing as their son sprinted after a particularly fast butterfly, his little legs pumping furiously. He stumbled over a small mound of earth but quickly picked himself up, his laughter ringing out across the field. He waved back at his parents with a wide grin, dirt smudging his cheeks.

She turned to Benedict, her eyes sparkling with joy and a hint of motherly concern. "He's going to wear himself out before we've even unpacked the basket."

Benedict smiled, his heart swelling with love as he watched his family. "Let him. It's good for him to have space to run and play." He set down the picnic basket and spread out the blanket, patting the spot next to him. "Come, love. Sit with me."

Y/N joined him, resting her head on his shoulder as they unpacked the basket together. They had prepared all of their favorite foods: fresh sandwiches with a variety of fillings, ripe strawberries, an assortment of cheeses and crackers, a freshly baked loaf of bread, and, of course, a bottle of fine wine. Benedict carefully laid out each item, ensuring everything was in easy reach for their little picnic.

"I can't believe you managed to pack all of our favorites," Y/N said, smiling as she unwrapped a loaf of bread still warm from the oven. "It's like you read my mind."

Benedict chuckled, leaning in to kiss her temple. "I had a little help from our cook, but I wanted today to be perfect for you and the children."

Violet toddled over, her tiny hands reaching for a strawberry, and Benedict handed one to her, laughing as she eagerly bit into it, the juice dribbling down her chin. "Delicious, isn't it, my sweet?" he asked, wiping her chin with a napkin.

Violet nodded, her eyes wide with delight. "More, Papa!" she demanded, holding out her hand for another strawberry.

Benedict obliged, giving her another juicy berry. "Here you go, darling. Enjoy."

Thomas ran back to the blanket, breathless from his adventures. "Mama, Papa, look!" He opened his little fist to reveal a handful of wildflowers. "I picked these for you, Mama."

Y/N's eyes softened as she took the flowers from Thomas. "They're beautiful, Thomas. Thank you." She arranged them into a small bouquet and placed them in a little jar they had brought along. "They add the perfect touch to our picnic."

Thomas grinned, proud of his contribution. "Can we eat now, Papa? I'm starving!"

Benedict laughed, ruffling Thomas's hair. "Of course, my boy. Let's see what we have here." He handed Thomas a sandwich, watching as his son eagerly took a bite.

Y/N began to serve the cheese and crackers, arranging them on a plate. "This cheese is from that little shop in town, isn't it?" she asked, recognizing the distinct aroma.

"Indeed it is," Benedict replied. "I know how much you like it."

She smiled warmly at him. "You always remember the little things."

As they ate, they talked and laughed, sharing stories and memories. Y/N recounted a humorous incident from their last family outing, making Benedict chuckle. "I still can't believe you managed to get us lost in our own backyard," she teased.

Benedict shook his head, a mock expression of horror on his face. "I maintain that it was all part of the adventure."

Thomas piped up, his mouth full of sandwich. "Papa, are we going to play tag later? I want to show you how fast I can run!"

Benedict nodded, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Absolutely. But be warned, Thomas, I’ve been practicing my tag skills. You might not be able to catch me."

Thomas giggled, clearly relishing the challenge. "We'll see about that!"

Violet, not wanting to be left out, clapped her hands and babbled excitedly. "Tag! Tag!"

Y/N laughed, her heart full. "Looks like you have two little competitors, Benedict."

After they finished eating, they played a spirited game of tag. Benedict and Y/N took turns chasing the children, their laughter echoing across the field. Thomas was a blur of motion, his little legs pumping as he dodged and weaved, while Violet toddled around, giggling whenever someone pretended to catch her.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the landscape, they gathered up their things and made their way back home. After a quick supper and baths for the children, they all headed outside again, this time with a blanket and pillows to lie on as they stargazed.

Benedict carried a sleepy Violet in one arm and a basket with their essentials in the other. "Do you think the stars are brighter tonight, or is it just me?" he mused aloud, looking up at the clear night sky.

Y/N smiled, holding Thomas's hand as he skipped alongside her. "Maybe they're shining just for us," she replied, her voice filled with contentment.

The night sky was clear, a tapestry of stars twinkling above them. They spread out the blanket on the grassy hill behind their home, arranging the pillows for comfort. Thomas immediately lay down, pointing up at the sky with excitement.

"Look, Papa! I see the Big Dipper!" he exclaimed, his small finger tracing the constellation.

Benedict chuckled, lying down next to him. "That's right, Thomas. And do you see that bright star over there? That's the North Star. Sailors used to navigate by it."

Thomas's eyes widened with fascination. "Did they use wishing stones too, Papa?"

Y/N laughed, settling Violet in her lap. "I think they relied more on maps and compasses, love. But a wishing stone could come in handy in a pinch."

Violet, still clutching her pebble, looked up at the sky with wide eyes. "Stars! Pretty!"

Benedict pointed out another constellation, his voice a soothing rumble in the stillness of the night. "There's Orion," he said, tracing the shape with his finger. "And over there is the Great Bear."

Thomas stared up in wonder, his small hand clutching the wishing stone. "Can I make my wish now, Papa?"

Benedict nodded, his eyes meeting Y/N's. "Go ahead, son."

Thomas closed his eyes, whispering his wish softly. When he finished, he placed the stone on his chest and sighed contentedly. "Your turn, Mama."

Y/N closed her eyes, holding Benedict's hand as she made her wish. She opened her eyes and smiled at him, her heart full. "Your turn, my love."

Benedict took the stone, closing his eyes. He didn't need to wish for anything; everything he had ever wanted was right here with him. But for the sake of tradition, he made a wish anyway: for endless days like this, filled with love and laughter.

Thomas squirmed, curious. "What did you wish for, Papa?"

Benedict grinned, ruffling his son's hair. "If I told you, it wouldn't come true, would it?"

Thomas pouted playfully. "That's not fair! I bet you wished for more wishing stones."

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. "Knowing your father, he probably wished for more of your mama's cooking."

Violet clapped her hands, clearly enjoying the banter. "Wish! Wish!"

Benedict leaned over to Y/N, his voice low and filled with warmth. "I actually wished for moments like this to last forever."

She rested her head on his shoulder, her voice soft. "I love you, Benedict Bridgerton."

He kissed her forehead, his heart overflowing with happiness. "And I love you, Y/N Bridgerton. Always."

Thomas, ever the inquisitive one, looked between his parents. "Does that mean you wished for more picnics and stargazing, Papa?"

Benedict chuckled. "Something like that, Thomas. I wished for more time with my favorite people."

Thomas grinned, satisfied with that answer. "I like that wish."

Under the vast, starlit sky, surrounded by the warmth of their family, they knew they had everything they could ever need. It was a perfect ending to a perfect day, and as they drifted off to sleep, they dreamed of many more days just like this. The gentle sounds of the night filled the air, and the stars above seemed to shine a little brighter, as if in agreement with Benedict's silent wish.

[sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts]

omggg imagine marcus acacius teaching a reader, his wife how to ride a horse🥺❤️ and are on a horseback ride and having their spicy moments in the grass 🤤

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Marcus Acacius x Wife!reader | WC : 6k | Proof read : NO | Navigation | Notifications | asks : OPEN | Under a False Alter

Summary: see ask above

Warnings: DUB-CON (Forced/Arranged marriage), p in v, Oral F and breeding

A/n: simple and sweet i hope you like it

Marcus had ridden you both out to a secluded field, far from the estate's bustling life. The sky stretched endlessly above, a deep cerulean canvas dotted with lazy clouds, and the sun bathed the rolling green hills in a golden glow. The rhythmic thud of the horse’s hooves on the soft earth was the only sound accompanying your thoughts. You could feel the warmth of Marcus’s body pressed against your back, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he guided the horse with a practiced ease that you couldn't help but admire.

He slowed the horse to a gentle stop near a large oak tree that stood like a sentinel in the middle of the field. Its branches spread wide, casting dappled shadows on the ground, providing a perfect spot for what you assumed was a simple, tranquil picnic. But as Marcus dismounted and offered his hand to help you down, there was a gleam in his eyes that hinted at something more.

You accepted his hand, your feet touching the ground with a lightness that belied the nervous fluttering in your stomach. His touch was warm, and steady, and for a moment, you were reluctant to let go. He seemed to sense your hesitation, his grip lingering just a heartbeat longer before he finally released you.

“I thought we could do more than just eat,” Marcus said, his voice rich and low, carrying the weight of an unspoken promise. He began unpacking a basket that you hadn’t noticed before, revealing an assortment of your favorite foods, but he paused, his gaze lifting to meet yours with that same mischievous glint. “I’m going to teach you to ride properly today.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in plans. “I know how to ride,” you began, but the words felt hollow even as they left your lips.

Marcus chuckled, the sound deep and resonant, stirring something inside you. “Do you now?” he teased, a smirk curling his lips. “Because if I remember correctly, the first time we met, you didn’t seem quite so confident in the saddle.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, the memory still fresh in your mind despite the time that had passed. “That wasn’t my fault,” you shot back, trying to sound indignant, though the embarrassment was evident in your voice. “I was being chased. I didn’t exactly have the luxury of a leisurely ride.”

Marcus’s smirk widened into a full grin, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Ah yes, fleeing from your own wedding. Quite the dramatic entrance, if I recall. You nearly gave those guards heart attacks.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest in a show of defiance. “I had to do something! I wasn’t going to just sit there and let them hand me over like some... some prize to be won.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the banter. “A prize, hmm? Is that how you saw it?”

You huffed, turning your gaze away to avoid the intensity of his stare. “You know what I mean. I wasn’t ready to be anyone’s bride, least of all yours.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you immediately regretted the harshness.

But Marcus didn’t seem offended. If anything, his smile softened, a hint of something warmer flickering in his eyes. “And yet, here we are,” he said quietly, his tone more thoughtful now. “Fate has a funny way of bringing people together, doesn’t it?”

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond. The truth was, you had been terrified that day—terrified of the future, of the unknown, and of the man you had been promised to. But as you looked at Marcus now, the memory of his calm, reassuring presence in that chaotic moment surfaced. He hadn’t been the monster you’d imagined; he had been... kind. Even then, when you were just a terrified girl thrown from a horse, he had treated you with a gentleness that you hadn’t expected.

“You were different from what I imagined,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts.

Marcus tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. “And what did you imagine?” he asked, his tone laced with curiosity.

You hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. “I thought you’d be... cold, distant. Like everyone said you were.”

His expression darkened slightly, a shadow passing over his features. “Everyone says a lot of things,” he replied, his voice carrying a hint of bitterness. “But you didn’t run from me that day because of what others said, did you?”

You met his gaze, surprised by the sudden shift in his demeanor. There was something raw in his eyes, something that made your chest tighten. “I was scared,” you admitted, the confession slipping out before you could stop it. “Not just of you, but of everything. It all felt like too much. Like I was losing control.”

Marcus’s gaze softened again, the edge in his eyes melting away as he took a step closer. “And now?” he asked, his voice gentle but probing. “Do you still feel that way?”

You swallowed hard, the sincerity in his question catching you off guard. The truth was, things had changed since that day. You had changed. The fear that had once driven you to flee had slowly been replaced by something else—something you weren’t entirely sure how to name yet. But it was there, simmering beneath the surface, growing stronger with every shared glance, every touch, every word.

“No,” you finally said, your voice trembling slightly. “Not like before.”

A slow, satisfied smile spread across Marcus’s face as if he had been waiting for that answer. “Good,” he murmured, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. The touch was brief, almost fleeting, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you, igniting a warmth that spread from your chest to the tips of your fingers.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten how you practically laughed at me when I fell,” you added, trying to inject some lightness back into the conversation.

Marcus’s grin returned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Laughed? I seem to remember being quite concerned for your well-being.”

“Oh, really?” you shot back, arching an eyebrow. “Because from where I was lying, it looked like you were struggling not to burst out laughing.”

He shrugged, not even bothering to hide his amusement now. “Perhaps I found your determination to ride a horse you clearly had no control over... endearing.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Endearing? That’s what you call it?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, his tone playful. “It’s not every day you see someone so fiercely determined to escape their own wedding. And on a horse, they could barely manage, no less. It was... impressive.”

You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. “Impressive? I nearly broke my neck!”

“But you didn’t,” Marcus pointed out, his smile widening. “And that, my dear, is the point. You took a risk, you fought for your freedom, and you survived. That’s more than most people can say.”

There was a sincerity in his voice that caught you off guard, and for a moment, the playful banter faded away, replaced by something deeper. Something real.

“Maybe,” you said softly, your eyes locking onto his. “But I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Marcus’s expression softened, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by a warmth that made your heartache. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said quietly, his gaze never leaving yours. “And you don’t need anyone to tell you that.”

The air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken words, the tension building once more. But this time, it wasn’t the kind of tension that made you want to run. It was the kind that made you want to stay, to see where this path might lead.

“You’re wrong,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the gentle rustle of the wind. “I do need someone.”

Marcus's eyes bore into yours, the intensity of the moment making it feel like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you. His breath was warm against your lips, his presence overwhelming, and you could feel the steady thrum of your own heart echoing in your chest.

For a moment, it seemed as though time itself had stopped. The air between you crackled with unspoken words and emotions too powerful to name. He was so close, close enough that you could see the storm of emotions swirling in his gaze—desire, longing, something deeper that both thrilled and terrified you. You thought he might kiss you, and a part of you desperately wanted him to.

But then, just as the tension reached its peak, Marcus’s expression softened, the corners of his lips lifting into a small, knowing smile. The intensity in his eyes ebbed, replaced by a gentle warmth that eased the pressure in your chest.

“As much as I’d love to continue this,” he said, his voice husky but laced with that familiar teasing tone, “we should probably eat something before the food gets cold.” He stepped back, breaking the spell, though his hand lingered on your cheek for a moment longer, a silent promise that this wasn’t over.

You blinked, trying to refocus as the world around you seemed to slowly come back into view. The wind rustled through the grass, the sunlight filtered through the leaves of the oak tree, and the scent of the picnic spread tickled your nose, reminding you of the meal Marcus had so carefully prepared.

It was a strange contrast—the almost overwhelming intimacy of the moment and the sudden return to something so mundane. But there was a comfort in it too, in the way Marcus shifted gears so effortlessly, guiding you through the ebb and flow of emotions as if he had always known exactly what you needed.

“Right,” you said, your voice a little breathless as you tried to regain your composure. “Food. Yes, that sounds like a good idea.”

Marcus chuckled, the sound easing the lingering tension. “I thought you might agree,” he said, turning towards the picnic spread. He motioned for you to join him, and you couldn’t help but smile as you followed.

The blanket was spread out beneath the shade of the oak tree, the basket sitting beside it, filled with an assortment of delicious-looking foods. You marveled at the care Marcus had put into everything—the fresh bread, the ripe fruits, the selection of cheeses, and even a small bottle of your favorite wine. It was a simple meal, but it was perfect in its simplicity, a reflection of the thoughtfulness that had gone into planning this day.

You settled down on the blanket, and Marcus handed you a plate, his fingers brushing yours in a way that sent a familiar warmth coursing through you. The two of you fell into an easy rhythm, passing food back and forth, sharing a quiet conversation that felt surprisingly natural given the charged moment you had just shared.

But even as you ate, there was an undercurrent of anticipation, a sense that this was merely an interlude before something more. Every time your hands touched, every time your eyes met, you could feel the tension building again, like a storm gathering on the horizon.

“So,” Marcus said, breaking the comfortable silence as he poured you a glass of wine, “after we eat, I’m going to teach you to ride properly.” There was that teasing glint in his eye again, the one that made your heart flutter. “No more dramatic escapes, just good, solid horsemanship.”

You laughed, taking the glass from him. “I think I can manage that,” you said, though there was a part of you that still felt nervous at the prospect. Riding had never been your strongest skill, and the memory of that first disastrous attempt still lingered in the back of your mind.

Marcus seemed to sense your hesitation because he reached over and took your hand, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Don’t worry,” he said softly, his tone reassuring. “I’ll be right there with you the whole time. You won’t fall. And even if you do,” he added with a grin, “I’ll catch you.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the knot of anxiety in your chest loosening a little. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?” you teased, taking a sip of the wine.

He shrugged, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “It’s a gift,” he said lightly, but there was a sincerity beneath his words that you didn’t miss. Marcus had a way of making you feel safe, of grounding you even when the world seemed to spin out of control. It was a quality you had come to admire, though you hadn’t realized just how much until now.

The meal passed in a comfortable blend of laughter and light conversation, the earlier intensity replaced by a sense of camaraderie that felt both new and familiar. And yet, even as you enjoyed the food and the company, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting between you and Marcus, something that had been building ever since that fateful day when you first met.

As the last of the food was cleared away and the wine glasses emptied, Marcus stood, extending a hand to help you up. “Ready for your lesson?” he asked a playful challenge in his voice.

Marcus's smile widened at your response, a mixture of pride and mischief dancing in his eyes as he led you toward the horse. The animal stood patiently, its dark coat gleaming in the afternoon sun, a gentle giant in stark contrast to the wild stallion you had once ridden in a desperate bid for freedom. There was a certain serenity to this horse, a calm that you found reassuring as you approached.

“First things first,” Marcus said, his tone taking on that authoritative edge that both irritated and intrigued you. He came to stand beside the horse, his hands resting on the saddle as he looked up at you. “Before you can ride, you need to understand the horse. It’s not just about controlling it; it’s about working with it.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re not going to give me a lecture, are you?” you teased, though you couldn’t deny the flutter of nerves in your stomach. Riding had never been your forte, and the memory of your last attempt still made your palms sweat.

Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. “Not a lecture, just some advice,” he said, his voice softening. He reached out, gently taking your hand and guiding it to the horse’s neck. “Feel that?” he asked, his hand resting over yours, guiding your movements. The warmth of the horse’s skin beneath your palm, the steady rise and fall of its breath—it was strangely soothing.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I do,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

“Good,” Marcus said, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in closer. “That’s where it all starts. Trust the horse, and it will trust you. The rest will follow.”

His words were simple, but there was a depth to them that resonated with you. Trust. It was something you had always struggled with, something that had been difficult to come by in your life. But standing there, with Marcus’s hand over yours and the horse’s steady presence grounding you, it didn’t seem quite so impossible.

“Now,” Marcus continued, stepping back slightly to give you room, though his hand remained on your waist, a steadying force. “Let’s get you up there.”

With his guidance, you placed your foot in the stirrup and swung your leg over the horse’s back. It was an awkward motion, and you felt a momentary rush of panic as you wobbled, but Marcus was there, his hands steadying you, his voice calm and encouraging.

“Easy,” he murmured, his hands firm on your waist as you settled into the saddle. “You’ve got this.”

You took a deep breath, focusing on the feel of the horse beneath you, the strength of its muscles, the rhythmic motion of its breathing. Slowly, the panic ebbed, replaced by a tentative sense of confidence.

Marcus mounted behind you with an effortless grace that made you a little envious. His arms came around you, his hands gently taking hold of the reins, his body pressing against yours in a way that was both comforting and disarming.

“Now, hold the reins like this,” he instructed, guiding your hands to the proper position. His breath was warm against your neck, sending shivers down your spine as he adjusted your grip. “Not too tight, but firm enough that the horse knows what you want.”

You nodded, trying to focus on his words and not the intoxicating closeness of his body against yours. “Like this?” you asked, turning your head slightly to catch his eye.

“Perfect,” Marcus said, his voice a low murmur that sent a thrill through you. “Now, give the horse a gentle nudge with your heels.”

You hesitated for a moment, then did as he instructed. The horse responded immediately, moving forward with a smooth, steady gait. You felt a surge of exhilaration as the ground began to pass beneath you, the wind teasing at your hair.

“There you go,” Marcus said, his voice filled with pride. “See? You’re doing it.”

You couldn’t help but smile, a genuine, unguarded smile that you hadn’t felt in a long time. The feeling of control, of freedom, was intoxicating, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to get lost in it.

“Don’t get too cocky,” Marcus teased his tone light but laced with affection. “We’re just getting started.”

You rolled your eyes, though the gesture was more playful than annoyed. “Oh, please,” you shot back, your confidence growing with each passing moment. “I think I’ve got this under control.”

Marcus chuckled, the sound vibrating through you. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock skepticism. “Then let’s see how you handle this.”

Before you could respond, Marcus gently urged the horse into a trot, the sudden change in pace catching you off guard. You let out a surprised yelp, your hands tightening on the reins as you tried to adjust to the new rhythm.

“Easy,” Marcus said, his hands guiding yours, his body steadying you as the horse moved beneath you. “Don’t fight it. Just go with the flow.”

You took a deep breath, trying to relax as Marcus had instructed. The horse’s movements were more fluid than you had expected, and as you began to match its rhythm, the initial panic started to fade, replaced by a growing sense of control.

“That’s it,” Marcus murmured, his voice a soothing presence in your ear. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

You couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride at his words, though you tried to hide it. “I told you I could do it,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, though the excitement was evident in your voice.

Marcus laughed, the sound warm and full of affection. “I never doubted you,” he said, his tone sincere. “But it’s nice to see you proving me right.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, your bodies moving in sync with the horse’s steady gait. The sun was warm on your skin, the scent of wildflowers filling the air as you rode through the field. There was a peacefulness to the moment, a sense of connection that went beyond words.

“Marcus,” you said after a while, your voice soft as you turned your head slightly to look at him. “Thank you.”

He tilted his head, his eyes warm as he met your gaze. “For what?”

“For this,” you said, gesturing to the scene around you. “For teaching me, for... everything.”

A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes softening with affection. “It’s my pleasure,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “You’ve always been stronger than you think, and it’s an honor to help you see that.”

You felt a warmth bloom in your chest at his words, a deep, abiding affection that you hadn’t quite realized was there until now. “You know,” you said, a teasing lilt to your voice, “for a man who was supposed to be this cold, distant lord, you’re actually quite sweet.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a mischievous grin. “Sweet, am I? I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted.”

You laughed, the sound light and carefree. “Flattered,” you said, giving him a playful nudge with your elbow. “Definitely flattered.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. “Well, I’m glad to know you think so,” he said, his voice softening. “But don’t get too used to it. I still have to maintain my reputation, you know.”

You rolled your eyes, though there was a smile on your lips. “Of course. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’ve gone soft.”

Marcus’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Perish the thought.”

The two of you rode in comfortable silence for a while longer, the horse’s steady gait lulling you into a sense of peace. But as the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the field, Marcus gently pulled the horse to a stop.

“You’ve done well,” he said, his voice filled with pride. “I think you’re ready to ride on your own.”

You looked at him, a mix of excitement and nerves fluttering in your stomach. “Really?”

He nodded, his smile reassuring. “Really. But first...” He reached out, his hands settling on your waist as he effortlessly lifted you off the horse and onto the soft blanket of grass below. The sudden movement caught you off guard, and you let out a surprised laugh as you landed with a soft thud.

“Marcus!” you exclaimed, trying to sound indignant, but the laughter in your voice betrayed you.

He grinned, dismounting and joining you on the blanket, his eyes glinting with mischief. “What?” he asked innocently, though the playful glint in his eyes told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

You narrowed your eyes at him, though you couldn’t keep the smile off your face. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

He shrugged, his grin widening as he leaned in closer, his hands finding their way to your waist once more. “Maybe,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “but you seem to like me that way.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words caught in your throat as Marcus’s hands slid up your sides, his touch light but deliberate. The playful atmosphere shifted, the air around you thickening with anticipation as his gaze locked onto yours.

“And besides,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “I’m hungry for more than just food.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as his words sent a thrill through you. There was a heat in his gaze, a hunger that matched the fire burning in your own veins.

Before you could respond, Marcus closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer as the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of warmth and desire.

As Marcus's lips moved against yours, the world seemed to melt away, leaving only the heat of his body pressed against yours, the roughness of his hands as they traced the curves of your figure. The slow burn of desire between you was almost unbearable, every touch, every kiss stoking the flames higher, leaving you breathless and trembling in his arms.

His fingers deftly untied the laces of your tunic, not tearing it away, but easing it open, just enough for his lips to find the sensitive skin of your collarbone. He kissed you there, slow and deliberate, his teeth grazing just enough to send a shiver down your spine. You arched into him, your breath catching as his tongue traced the line of your throat, his mouth trailing down to the hollow at the base of your neck, where he placed a soft, lingering kiss. The sensation sent a ripple of warmth through you, pooling low in your belly as his hands slid beneath the fabric, palms warm against the bare skin of your waist.

You could feel the roughness of the grass beneath you as the blanket shifted, the cool breeze whispering over your exposed skin, but all that registered was the heat of Marcus’s touch, the way his hands moved over you with a gentleness that belied the hunger in his gaze. He shifted, his body pressing you down into the earth, his weight a delicious pressure that grounded you even as his lips and hands drove you to the edge of control.

He moved slowly, almost reverently, his lips brushing over the swell of your breast, his breath hot against your skin. His hands slid lower, pushing up the fabric of your skirt, exposing more of your thighs to the cool night air. But where the breeze should have chilled you, all you felt was the searing heat of Marcus's touch as he explored every inch of you with deliberate care.

You shivered, your fingers tangling in his dark curls as his mouth found the curve of your breast. He took his time, teasing you with slow, open-mouthed kisses, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp, make you writhe beneath him. His hands followed the path his lips had taken, sliding over your ribs, down your sides, until they found the edge of your undergarments.

He paused there, his fingers toying with the delicate fabric, as if savoring the moment, the anticipation. You could feel the tension building between you, the need for more, but Marcus seemed in no hurry. He lifted his head, his gaze locking with yours, and in that moment, the world held its breath. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire, but there was something else there too—a tenderness that made your heartache, that made the slow burn between you all the more intense.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, his voice rough with restraint, his hands stilling on your hips as if giving you one last chance to pull away.

You nodded, your throat too tight with emotion to speak. Instead, you reached for him, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, drawing him down to you for another kiss. This one was different—slower, deeper, a promise of everything you wanted, everything you were willing to give.

He groaned softly against your lips, his hands tightening on your hips as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a sensual dance that left you dizzy with want. Slowly, achingly slowly, he began to pull your undergarments down, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your thighs, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core.

The fabric slipped away, and you felt the cool air against your bare skin for just a moment before Marcus’s hand was there, his touch warm, almost reverent as he traced the line of your thigh. He moved with agonizing slowness, his fingers teasing the sensitive flesh, making you squirm, making you ache with need.

“Marcus,” you breathed, your voice trembling as you clung to him, desperate for more, for the release you knew only he could give.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you, making your skin tingle with anticipation. “Patience, love,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear as his hand slid higher, teasing the edge of your desire. “I want to take my time with you.”

His fingers brushed against your center, a light, teasing touch that made you gasp, and made your hips lift off the ground in search of more. But Marcus was in control, his touch maddeningly gentle as he explored you, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles that had you teetering on the edge of sanity.

You were trembling now, your body taut with tension, every nerve ending on fire as he played you like a finely tuned instrument. His thumb found your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you cry out, your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for release.

But Marcus wasn’t finished with you yet. He shifted, his body pressing against yours, and you could feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh, the heat of his arousal seeping through the thin fabric of his trousers. The knowledge of how much he wanted you, how much he was holding back, only heightened your own need, making the slow burn of his touch all the more unbearable.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath, your body trembling with the force of your desire. “Marcus, please…”

He let out a low growl, his self-control fraying as he pulled back just enough to remove the last barriers between you. The cool air was a shock against your heated skin, but it was nothing compared to the jolt of pleasure that shot through you as Marcus finally, finally, pressed against you, the hard length of him sliding between your thighs, teasing your entrance.

He didn’t move right away, just held you there, his body trembling with the effort of restraint as he looked into your eyes, his gaze dark and intense. “Tell me what you want,” he demanded, his voice rough with emotion, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to maintain control.

“I want you,” you whispered, your fingers digging into his back, your nails biting into his skin as you pulled him closer. “Please, Marcus, I need you…”

That was all it took. With a low, primal sound, Marcus finally gave in, his hands gripping your hips as he slowly pushed inside you. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious stretch that filled you completely, made you gasp, made you clutch at him as if he was the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

He moved slowly at first, his thrusts deep and deliberate, each one designed to drive you higher, to make you feel every inch of him as he filled you, stretched you, took you apart piece by piece. You could feel the heat building inside you, a slow burn that threatened to consume you as Marcus moved within you, his body pressing you into the earth, grounding you even as he made you soar.

His hands were everywhere, one sliding down to where your bodies were joined, his thumb finding your clit with a practiced ease that had you crying out, your hips bucking against him as the pleasure built to an unbearable level. The world around you blurred, the only reality the slow, sensual rhythm of Marcus’s body moving against yours, the overwhelming heat of his touch as he drove you higher and higher.

“Marcus,” you gasped, your body trembling as you clung to him, your nails raking down his back as you fought to hold on, to keep from falling apart completely. “I’m going to—”

But before you could finish, the orgasm crashed over you, a wave of pleasure so intense it left you gasping for air, your body clenching around him, your muscles spasming as you rode out the waves of bliss. Your vision blurred, the world spinning around you as you lost yourself in the sensation, the only anchor the solid weight of Marcus’s body pressing you into the earth.

But Marcus didn’t stop. He kept moving, his thrusts more urgent now, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps as he chased his own release. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he trembled with the effort of holding back, of drawing out the moment as long as possible.

And then, with a final, deep thrust, Marcus let out a low, guttural sound, his body tensing as he found his own release. You could feel the heat of him spilling inside you, the sensation overwhelming as he held you close, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm.

Marcus’s lips lingered on yours, the softness of the kiss a stark contrast to the intensity of what had just transpired between you. His breath was warm against your skin, mingling with the scent of earth and grass, a moment of peace that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. But as the haze of passion began to fade, you noticed the slight tremor in his hand as he cupped your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression shifting from contentment to something more somber, more serious. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret. “I lost control. I didn’t mean to—”

You shook your head, placing a finger over his lips to silence him. “Don’t apologize,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the lingering tremors in your body. “I wanted this, Marcus. I wanted you.”

His eyes softened, but the worry in them didn’t entirely fade. “Still, I should’ve been more careful. I didn’t want to rush things, to make you feel—”

“You didn’t rush anything,” you reassured him, your hand moving to rest over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath your palm. “I’ve never felt more sure about anything.”

He exhaled, the tension in his body easing slightly, but his gaze flickered to the horizon, where the last light of the day was slowly giving way to the deep blue of twilight. “It’s getting late,” he said softly, his tone reluctant, as though he was loath to leave this bubble of intimacy you’d created together. “We should head back before it gets too dark.”

You nodded, understanding his concern even if part of you wanted to stay here with him, wrapped in the warmth of this moment a little longer. The reality of the world outside this secluded field seemed distant, but you knew you couldn’t stay here forever.

Marcus helped you to your feet, his hands steady and reassuring as he adjusted your clothing, his touch lingering just a little longer than necessary as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go. You mirrored his actions, straightening his tunic and brushing stray blades of grass from his hair, the simple domesticity of the gesture bringing a soft smile to your lips.

As you began to gather your belongings, the silence between you was comfortable, filled with the unspoken understanding that something had shifted, and deepened between you. The sun was almost entirely below the horizon now, the first stars beginning to twinkle in the darkening sky, casting a gentle glow over the landscape.

Marcus took your hand, leading you back toward the horses, the warmth of his palm grounding you as you walked together. The field around you was quiet, the only sounds the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze and the distant call of a night bird, creating a peaceful backdrop to the thoughts swirling in your mind.

Once you reached the horses, Marcus turned to you, his eyes searching yours as if seeking reassurance. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern.

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “I’m more than all right, Marcus,” you replied softly, your heart swelling with affection for this man who had somehow become so important to you in such a short time. “Thank you….”

He seemed to relax at your words, his shoulders losing some of the tension they’d been holding. “I just want you to be happy,” he said, his tone sincere, almost vulnerable in a way you hadn’t expected.

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin against your lips. “I am,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to see the way his eyes softened, the tension finally melting away completely.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Good Luck Charm

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: At a Dodgers game, you meet Tim Bradford, who thinks you're a good luck charm for the Dodgers.

Warnings: pure fluff!

Word Count: 1.4k+ words

A/N: @bradleybeachbabe inspired me to write this (as well as Eric Winter posting about the Dodgers)! I hope you enjoy the game you're going to soon, Rachel!!!💙

Today’s date has been circled on your calendar for months. The Dodgers are playing at home in LA, and you got tickets behind home base. Since scoring the tickets, you’ve been counting down the moments, using this game to get you through tough days and long nights. Now that it’s finally here, you can forget about everything else for the evening and enjoy the game, hoping for another exciting evening like the tiebreaking two-run homer you watched on TV last week. Dressed in your favorite Dodgers shirt, you leave for Dodgers Stadium happier than you’ve been in weeks. Something in the Los Angeles air makes you think it will be a great night.

“Lucy, if I had an extra ticket, I’d sell it,” Tim sighs as he parks at Dodgers Stadium. “If you want to be at this game so badly, ask Thorsen. If anyone can get you a last-minute ticket, it’s him.”

“But he’s already at the game,” Lucy laments over the phone.

“So am I!”

“Yeah, but that’s different.”

“How is that-“ Tim stops and shakes his head. “Lucy, I hope you can figure something out. If not, I’ll tell you all about the game at work.”

“Ugh, you’re such a man.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

Tim ends the call before Lucy can explain that she did not mean that as a compliment. It’s been a tough week at the Mid-Wilshire station, and Tim wants to watch a good game, cheer for his team, and unwind.

Tim smiles as he makes his way to his seat: an unexpected but highly appreciated upgrade to home base. Coming into Dodgers Stadium feels like coming home, and Tim thinks tonight will be a good game. At least until he sees that the seat beside him, which he expected to be empty, is occupied by a woman scrolling on her phone rather than enjoying the pre-game activities. He ignores his disappointment at being in the section with a disinterested neighbor as he watches warmups.

You look up from the detailed roster file you keep on your phone. Gavin Lux, an infielder who is a left-hand batter and right-hand thrower, is wearing his glove on his right hand for warmups. As you scroll through your newest notes, glancing up at the team every few swipes, someone sits beside you.

“Left, right,” you murmur to yourself.

“Excuse me?” the man asks.

You lift your gaze from your phone, then freeze when you see the attractive man occupying the seat to your right.

“Sorry, I’m talking to myself. Lux is just… never mind, sorry.”

As you turn back toward the field, he asks, “Lux is?”

“He’s warming up with his glove on his throwing hand.”

The man looks out into the field, locates Lux, and nods. “He is. Any idea why?”

You shake your head. “I thought maybe I was remembering his stats wrong, but I double-checked and he’s warming up opposite.”

“Interesting. Think we can win with him off his game?”

Pursing your lips, you shrug. “I don’t think he’s the player that makes or breaks a game. Unless he tries to bat right-handed, we should be okay.”

“I’m Tim,” he introduces, offering his hand.

You shake his hand as you tell him your name, surprised by how he holds your hand in his just a moment longer than is usually acceptable. You don’t mind, especially when he smiles and asks if you’ve noticed anything else.

“Is this your usual seat?” you inquire after a few minutes of discussing the players and their techniques.

“No, my season pass gets me over first base,” Tim answers. “You?”

“One-night only. I’d love to get a season pass someday.”

“If we win tonight, they should give you one on principle.”

You laugh as you ask, “Why?”

“If we win tonight after that tenth inning save last week, with our infielders off their game, and you just happen to be in the crowd? You’d have to be good luck.”

“Maybe it’s just a good day,” you counter softly.

Tim smiles as he agrees, “Maybe.”

“Stop letting the ball play you!” someone behind you yells. “This is why they should have left you in the minors!”

You stifle a laugh at their enthusiasm but agree with them. Tim sighs beside you and checks the score.

“Just one can of corn, is that too much to ask?” Tim grumbles.

“Wow,” you exclaim. “You really just used that term.”

“You disagree?”

“Not at all, just haven’t heard someone younger than Babe Ruth call it that.”

“Then, what do we do? We’re going to lose at this rate.”

You shrug and offer, “Guess I’m not very good luck, after all.”

Tim wants to disagree but decides that it’s not his place. If the Dodgers win, then he’ll tell you that he’s impressed by you, drawn to you, but otherwise, you’ll go your separate ways, never to see one another again.

“I don’t want to watch this, Tim,” you say with a pout.

The Dodgers are tied in the bottom of the ninth in a concerning parallel to their previous game. You don’t trust them to get the ball where it needs to be to win, not after their lackluster performance in the first few innings.

“Wish them luck,” Tim encourages, standing beside you as the crowd roars. “C’mon, give into the superstition once. What’s the worst that happens?”

“We lose, and my night of relaxation becomes me wondering if you put a curse of the team by saying good luck in these sacred walls.”

“I never thought I’d be the one to say this, but it’s a baseball game. It’s not that serious.”

You try to ignore Tim, but the smile on his face is too hard to look away from. To appease him and partially because you love hearing him say you are good luck, you whisper a wish of good luck, boys through the net separating you from foul balls.

And, somehow, between when you speak and when the stadium silences, Mookie Betts hits a homerun that echoes throughout Los Angeles, and the Dodgers perform another walk-off.

“You did it!” Tim yells as the crowd erupts into cheers.

He pulls you into his arms, completely forgetting his prior hesitance to tell you how much you affected him, and you throw your arms over his shoulders as he spins you. When your feet are on the ground again, you cup Tim’s jaw and smile.

“We won!” you cheer as fireworks boom overhead.

“You really are good luck,” Tim replies.

“Maybe you’re the good luck."

Tim shakes his head and leans closer to you. The stadium around you is completely forgotten, entirely focused on the man before you. His hands are on your waist, yours are framing his face, and you can’t wait to hear what he says next.

“Will you go out with me? I think we could both use some more good luck,” he proposes.

Your smile widens as you nod. “I’d love to.”

Tim pulls you against his side, his arm warm and steady over your shoulders as you cheer for your home team and yourself.

Bonus:

“So, how was the game, Tim?” Lucy asks before roll call.

“It was great, after we caught up, at least,” Tim answers. “Did you watch it?”

“Yeah, Aaron pulled through and got me a ticket. Over the outfield but still better than anything I could’ve gotten on my own.”

Tim nods, but she doesn’t move out of the doorway so he can walk inside.

“What?” he asks.

“I saw something else at the game. Someone made it onto the jumbotron,” Lucy sing-songs. “You’re trending on ClipTok. Everyone’s talking about the mystery couple who celebrated the win.”

Tim narrows his gaze at Lucy, who shrugs and invites him to check for himself before she enters the roll call room. He pulls his phone from his pocket, surprised to see a text from you.

We’re trending. I don’t know if I should be more upset by all the people shamelessly looking for us or that they’re calling you ‘gorgeous’ and I’m ‘that girl hugging him.’

Tim rolls his eyes and answers:

Wait until they find out why we won.

You don’t acknowledge the implication that he’ll tell someone (Lucy, who will undoubtedly put it on ClipTok); instead, you tell him you’re looking forward to dinner tonight. What was supposed to be a relaxing evening at a baseball game for you and Tim turned into something so much more. If that’s not good luck, you don’t know what is.