#i need to get over it and i feel like if i saw him more often i might

[bi-writes]

anatomy of us (2) | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader

type: limited series, part 2 (7.2k) in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.

series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence, military criticism, protective!simon, dubcon (but reader does consent), possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving) 18+

PART 1

Tradition is not something you are fond of.

It’s something forced on you. When you question it, it’s offensive–how dare you question these things, made sacred over time? Why would you want to betray thousands of years of history? Time makes it definitive. Your being makes it natural. You submit because that is the natural thing to do, so in that sense, you submit to it all.

That is your duty. That is your calling. When you are claimed, you belong to them. You are property. Autonomy be damned–your place is on your knees, keeping your mouth shut, and any behavior against that is nothing short of a punishable offense, proper. Disobedient omegas make for troublesome households.

To keep you in line, you must be held at a short length from your alpha. It is what is done. It is what is expected.

Tradition.

Simon keeps a hand on you, curled at the base of your spine as he leads you back to where the sleeping quarters are. You know it’s for your protection, but the better part of you wants to smack him off of you whenever you feel his palm press just slightly against you. When you make it back into your room, Simon pauses in the doorway after he opens it for you. He looks nervous almost, sheepish. You turn to face him, looking him up and down. “You can come in if you want. I’m not gonna carry all my stuff by myself, you could probably carry a fucking tank looking at you.”

Simon finally comes inside, ducking his head a little to make it in. You know this room wasn’t meant to house an alpha, but it’s still startling to see him do it, taking up way too much space to be anything but claustrophobic. He watches as you pack your things, stuffing your clothes into your bags and picking up small trinkets around the bedside table and desk. After the bag starts to get heavy, you shove it into his arms as you look towards the bed. It’s a standard issue twin-sized, with barely enough sheets to keep you warm and a lumpy pillow that you hate. You make a face at it before turning around and putting more things into Simon’s arms as you empty the closet.

“Tha’ it?” Simon mutters, still able to peek over the mountain of items that he holds, and you shrug.

“That’s it.”

Simon’s own room is like a hospital room. It’s too clean–there’s nothing personal anywhere, no pictures or barely any clothes other than military issue fatigues. The only civilian clothes he has wouldn’t even make you think twice if you saw him in a bar–Simon will always look like a soldier, through and through, and his room stinks like it. It smells clinical, and nothing about it is cozy or warm. You stand in the middle of the room as Simon puts your things down. You ring your hands together nervously, eyeing the bed with one single, thin sheet on it. It’s too small of a bed for the both of you. It’s too small of a bed just for Simon–you don’t want to think about the kind of sleeping arrangements you’ll need to fit with him on it.

“Wot’s wrong?” Simon asks lowly. You look over your shoulder at him. He’s putting your things into the closet. He’s divided it in half already, and some of your clothes are already hung up next to his. You look back at the bed, pursing your lips.

“There’s not enough blankets,” you say softly. “A-And…And the pillows, here, I don’t like them.”

Simon turns back to your bag, picking up another shirt to hang. You glare at the back of him. It doesn’t do anything; he doesn’t erupt in flames like you might have hoped, but it does give you a moment to notice how well those jeans fit him.

Fuck. Keep it together.

“I’ll get you more blankets,” he shrugs. “And a different pillow.”

The answer is immediate. No fuss. You want to complain, to bite back at him for it, but you don’t know how you would explain your displeasure. You’re looking for a reason to tell your omega that she’s a scheming, hopeless, naïve little shit.

“...I don’t have to win you when y’r already mine.” Isn’t that what he had said? Isn’t that what he had said when he gripped you by the throat and made you realize that everything you had thought about alphas was true? Hadn’t he already shown you that none of them are redeemable?

Not Kate. Not John. Certainly not Simon–they’re all scheming, terrible fucking people, and you cannot wait until you can sink your teeth into Simon’s jugular and rip it out.

Belonging to, being one’s own, fuck if you care. Simon can claim ownership all he wants, but he’ll never tame you. Your omega might be pulling the strings at the moment, but you’re going through withdrawals, you think. Your medication was your lifeline. It kept you from falling off the tightrope, and you just need to learn how to stay upright without it. You can. When you get it back, when it’s in your hands again, she’ll understand.

She has to understand that only you know what’s good for you.

Simon places the rest of your things on his desk. A couple personal things, like your jewelry and some knickknacks, and then your bag with the rest of your clothes to be folded and put away. You take a seat on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath. At least before, you could pretend like things were still a little normal. You could pretend that in your own room, you were simply waiting for another assignment, that you were just waiting for Kate to give you a call and move you somewhere new, somewhere safer.

“Am I just supposed to stay here and wait for you?” You ask finally. Simon shuffles around the room. He doesn’t look at you; instead, he takes a seat at a desk way too small for him and spreads a few papers around, frowning when he reads something that he doesn’t like. “Is that…is that my job?”

“Dunno.” Simon takes his phone out of his pocket, and he starts typing. “Don’t really feel like babysittin’.”

“I can take care of myself, you know,” you tell him. “I…I have combat experience. I was in training before this.”

Simon snorts, still focused on his phone. He shakes his head a little.

“Cute,” he mutters. “Tha’s cute.”

Patronizing shit.

“I bet I can shoot a target ten times better than you,” you spit at him. His fingers hover over the screen for just a moment, irritated, before he goes back to typing. “And I can hold my own. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Simon puts his phone back into his pocket. He crosses his arms over his chest, letting out a deep breath before coming over to stand in front of you. You tip your head back, and he reaches down with a hand to cup under your jaw, holding you there. Just like that–your omega has you. You lean in, just that much. Simon sees it in your eyes, and he sniffs, looking you over.

Maybe he thinks you’re pathetic. In some sense, you agree with him, because what the fuck is wrong with me? You get one look into Simon’s eyes, and something chemical in you fires. You bend, and you relax, and you know if he asked you to open your mouth so he could spit in it, it would take a tremendous amount of effort to tell him no. It angers you and excites you all the same, and the conflicting flashes under your ribs bring tears to your eyes.

You hate yourself. You hate yourself for not being able to say no. You hate yourself for being everything they said you would be. You hate yourself for being nothing like you thought you were.

You’re soft. Sweet. All bark, no bite, a spiteful kitten that deep down, aims to please. The only thing that really baffles you, though, is why you only feel this way with Simon.

Is it because they told you that you were his mate? Is it because he’s done something, that he’s projecting some kind of scent? Has he already unknowingly changed your very makeup so your body knows that you are bound to him? When you look into John’s eyes, you see alpha. You see big, salivating dog, and if you could, you’d rip the hairs of his beard out just to see him in pain.

But Simon–it’s like you can’t move. Every time you look at him, and he looks at you, he holds you there. Just like now, he’s got you, and you feel like he can read everything you’re feeling. He’s being fed your secrets, and you hate him for it, but I can’t look away, please look away, please don’t make me–

“Need to get you somethin’ to eat,” Simon says finally. “And it’s time to meet the rest of the lot.”

Simon is starting to get used to keeping a hand on you. It annoys you a little, to feel his hand at your back, but the annoyance dissolves when you realize this base is filled with sneering alphas. They holler and yell, and they are very large and angry, but they still are small compared to Simon. They quiet whenever they walk past you, and even the whiff of omega doesn’t deter them with Simon behind you.

In the mess hall, you see Captain Price sitting at a table with two others. When you get closer to the table, you cough a little, stumbling back, and Simon catches you around the waist to hold you upright. The stench of alphas hits you like a truck, and Simon grunts as he tells you relax, fuckin’ hell.

You give him a hard stare–how the fuck would he know? There’s four alphas in your close vicinity, and they’re all puffing their chests and smiling, and it stings to smell them all at once. You turn your head a little to shield yourself, and when you filter everything else out but Simon, it frustrates you a little how much of him seems to calm you down.

Smells so good. Get closer. Press your nose to it, I-I want more–

“I see you two are getting along nicely,” John comments, leaning back in his chair. You roll your eyes a little, and when you lock eyes with him, you purse your lips and try to look anything but pleased. Simon guides you to sit down; he motions to the bench, just to the left of where someone else is already sitting–a big, burly soldier with crazy blue eyes. He has a terrible haircut, short along the sides with tufts of curls falling down the middle and over his forehead. He’s wiggling his eyebrows at his lieutenant behind you. Across from him, there’s another alpha with dark eyes and soft skin, and he’s smiling like an idiot around the rim of his plastic cup. You’re a little nervous–you had spent most of your time on your old base surrounded by betas who barely gave you a glance, and now you’re off your meds and being hit with a million different sensations everywhere you go. Simon’s touch on your back eases your shoulders a little.

“Tha’s Johnny,” Simon points to the one next to you. “Tha’s Gaz. ‘n I’m sure ya had the pleasure of our Captain.”

“Yeah, looks like your beard is still in tact, so glad to see it,” you say curtly, crossing your arms over your chest. The two sergeants laugh, ducking their heads, and John raises a brow before looking at Simon with a clenched jaw. Simon just shrugs, stretching his arm out on the back of your chair, and you get the feeling this happens often–John giving Simon that look, and Simon merely brushing it off. You smile to yourself a little, looking at Simon from over your shoulder. When you meet eyes, he stares back, looking over your face. He lingers on your lips for just a second too long before looking back up again.

I bet he tastes good under that mask. Let’s find out.

“Hungry?” He asks, and you blink. Your omega has never been inside of your head like this. You nearly opened your mouth and asked him for it, asked him please, please–let me taste, I won’t look, just let me taste you. You swallow her down a little, and you just nod to keep yourself moving. Simon stands up to make his way towards where the food is, and you watch curiously as instead of standing in line, he pushes open a door into the kitchen and disappears behind it.

“LT’s been gettin’ ye special meals,” Johnny says with a full mouth. You frown a little, and not just cause he’s chewing with his mouth a little too open.

“What do you mean?”

“He has the cooks make you somethin’ special,” Gaz says as he takes a sip of water. He leans back, smiling again, and it irks you a little. Alphas are brutes, disgusting big things with too many hormones, and you hate that this one gets to be pretty, too. Not that John or his sergeant aren’t attractive, but this one definitely enjoys a good mirror selfie, and it shows. “Something not on the menu. He didn’t like that you weren’t eating much, at the beginning. Made a fuss, and now he gets you better food.”

“He can do that?”

“Well, would ye say no to tha’ big man?” Johnny snorts, dipping his crusty bread in sauce. You look back towards the door, and Simon comes out holding a tray. He sets it down in front of you, and you bite your lip looking down at it. It smells so good, and you pick up your fork gently, sticking it into the pasta and twirling it. When you take a bite and sigh, Simon takes a seat next to you, and you can barely hear the sweet rumble in his chest of satisfaction.

Providing for you. Taking care of you. He’s so capable, isn’t he? Look at what he does for you.

If Simon notices you scoot closer to him, he doesn’t say anything. You don’t react either–it wasn’t a conscious choice.

Simon’s shower has hot water. Not that the showers you’d had were cold, but the communal showers were just that–communal. Shared, and although your escort always made sure you were the only one in there while you showered, it was still feeding off a water heater that always had barely any juice left. Lukewarm showers, so you tried to finish quick.

Simon’s shower turns the water scalding. You giggle with relief when you stand under it, letting it loosen your sore muscles and relieve your aching bones. It feels good, and you take a little longer in there, taking your time and enjoying the heat.

When it’s time to wash your body, you realize you’re missing your own soap. You look around for something else, noticing the unlabeled bottle that rests on a ledge. You squirt a pump of it into your palms, and when you raise it to your nose, your eyes flutter shut.

It’s the eucalyptus you smelled on Simon. A little plastic aftersmell, which you know is from whatever backwater dollar store the military buys it from, but on Simon, it smells so good. You lather it in your hands and hold it up to your nose, and you sigh deeply.

He’s just outside. Why don’t you call for him? I bet he’s listening. I bet he’s waiting for us.

You slide your hands down your arms. With the heat of the water, the whole bathroom starts to smell like it, and you let your hands slide down further, over your waist, between your thighs. When your fingers touch your puffy clit, you’re nearly jolted back into reality.

“Fuck–” You gasp, reaching for the level, shutting the water off. The last of the water curls down the drain, and you cough as you look around. You curl your toes, grounding yourself, and then you get out of the shower and reach for the towel. When you look into the mirror, your pupils are blown wide, and you feel like you don’t recognize yourself. You drop the towel and dress yourself, trying to keep your mind occupied with menial tasks.

Get your shit together.

When you open the bathroom door, Simon is back from his little errand he had run. He’s carrying a few blankets and a thick comforter, and there’s a few new pillows on the bed with it. You use the towel to keep drying the wet strands of your hair, and Simon turns around when he hears you walk in further.

You pass by him wordlessly as you reach the bed. You put your hands on the blankets that he put down, and you close your eyes when you feel how soft they are. Threaded cotton and fleece, lots of thick feathers in the comforter to make it nice and fluffy. When you turn to look over your shoulder, Simon does a terrible job of pretending like he wasn’t just staring at your ass in the little sleep shorts you’re wearing. You want to snap at him, but your omega pinches your tongue.

Take them off. Take them off. Take them off.

“So, what…” You clear your throat. “How are we supposed to sleep in that bed? T-Together?”

Simon tilts his head to the side. You start to despise the mask. You hate that you can’t tell what he’s thinking, not even a little, and after the rather joyous conversations you’ve had with Simon (barf), you can’t say you’re entirely excited to be in this close of a space with him.

“Don’t worry,” Simon murmurs. “I’ll be good.”

Oh, that totally makes you feel better.

Prick.

He makes you get into bed and turn facing the wall as he turns out the lights. He pulls at the edge of his mask uncomfortably, and you realize he doesn’t want you to see his fine. Fine, you think to yourself, throwing the sheets back with a huff, bet you’re fucking ugly mug would blind me anyways.

You cuddle under all the blankets, snuggling into the new pillow that sinks under your head. You hum gently, closing your eyes, and you aren’t able to see Simon rubbing his chest warmly as he watches you. He sucks on his teeth, not truly understanding what he feels, but knowing that it’s soothing the beast in him to take care of you.

It rattles him. Simon isn’t used to this. He’s not used to feeling like he doesn’t have control. He resisted this for so long. He tried so hard to fight, he said no to Kate over and over and over again.

Omegas to Simon were liabilities. To care was to have a target on your back. To be mated meant having something to lose.

Ask Price, is what he told her, ask the fuckin’ sergeants, anyone but me, but she wouldn’t hear it. It had to be him, it had to be, and then she locked him into a room with her, and she leveled with him.

She told him that you are special. That you are precious. That omegas like you don’t exist, that you are one in a single generation, and there isn’t anyone else in the world that will do except for him.

Price, married to the field. The sergeants, immature and might as well be titled barracks bunnies. But Simon–purebred, quiet, controlled. Terrified of himself and what he is. His unofficial pack that he defends with his entire being, that is the only alpha worth giving to you.

Kate had thought about it before. What it might be like to push the hair away from your neck and sink her teeth there. As easy as putting her signature to paper, she could have the CIA running laps to keep you protected, but she knew that wasn’t the life for her. It couldn’t be.

In every situation, Kate would have to choose that lesser evil, and in her world, it would mean her choice would unlikely be you.

Simon? Simon answered to no one. Unlike his sergeants, he cared little for authority; he wouldn’t blink twice saying no to his superior. Unlike his Captain, Simon didn’t mind choosing the bloody way out. He was the first with his finger on the trigger, and the last to sweep a room. Kate knew–if Simon had to choose between the greater good and the omega he claimed?

Fuck the greater good. That, she could count on.

If Kate only asked for one thing, it would be this. She did promise you. She promised she would keep you away from it all. She promised that she would make things right. She promised that she would protect you, but even Kate answers to others, and the reality of this kind of world is that the only way to really protect you was to give you away.

To put you into the same world that you had only begged to be kept away from.

Nobody likes playing matchmaker, but maybe putting together the most stubborn and angry people in the world might save you from yourselves. At least she hoped so.

You’re nearly asleep when you feel Simon come to bed. All the lights are off, and it’s pitch black in the room. There’s some shuffling around the room, and then you feel the blankets move. All of the sudden, a heat stronger than you’ve ever felt takes up the entire bed. Pressed against your back, a solid chest, and then a huge arm falls over your waist.

“We cuddling now?” You mumble sleepily, and Simon breathes out slowly, not responding. When you fall asleep, it’s unnervingly easy. Your omega purrs, digging her nails into you, and when you turn your head in the dark and feel the brush of his unmasked face against yours, she preens.

He’s right there–just a little taste. Just a little. Please, please, please–

Omegas cannot claim, but they can bite. It takes everything inside of you not to sink your teeth into him.

“You smell that? Smells like fuckin’ sweets, mates.”

You take off your headphones and safety glasses, looking over your shoulder. There’s a few recruits a few lanes down from you, wiggling their eyebrows and licking their lips. One of them crudely grabs his crotch, winking at you. You make a face.

Gross.

“Let me see you, baby. Smell so good.”

You holster the gun you’re holding, leaning against the counter with your hip. You raise a brow, tilting your head to the side.

“Are you done?” You ask, and they take that as their cue to start walking closer. An invitation.

They don’t get very far. You smell him before you see him. On instinct, your shoulders relax with that whiff of charcoal. You push off the counter just in time for him to come up behind you, and you feel the heat of his chest as it presses against your back. The recruits in front of you stop immediately, and you feel a disgusting sense of satisfaction when Simon bends over your shoulder to look at you.

“‘n wot’s this?” Simon growls. You shrug, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I don’t know. They wanna have a dick-measuring contest, but I think they’re afraid they’re gonna lose,” you say. You let out an annoyed sigh, turning again to put your safety glasses on. You put the headphones back over your ears and take the gun out of your holster, turning the safety off as you line it up with the paper targets near the back of the course. “You know. Cause my dick is way bigger.”

You unload the clip just for fun. You’re supposed to be practicing on accuracy, which for you meant slower, spaced-out shots to try and hit the same spot over and over, but the sound of the gun going off again and again helps distract you from the laughing, untrained dogs that are littered across the shooting range.

When you put the gun down after emptying the magazine, Simon is salivating. The paper target head is obliterated, each bullet almost next to its last. When you turn around, Simon tilts his head to the side. You holster the gun, starting to walk, and Simon lets his eyes drop to the sway of your hips as you pass by him. It’s not a conscious decision, the way his fingers curl into fists and squeeze hard.

“Told you,” you say to him. “Huge dick, right, baby?”

Something flares in Simon’s chest when he hears it. Like a switch, his legs start moving, following you, and when he passes by a recruit that is standing much too close to you, Simon shoves the recruit back so hard, they smack their nose against the wall and curses from the impact, blood dripping under their bruised nose.

The rest of the day, you don’t see another rookie walk even five feet into your vicinity. Even without a mark on your neck, you are claimed, and right before you leave your room for dinner, Simon is fitting a dark hoodie over your head. The smell overwhelms you. It’s soaked in his scent, and you turn to face him, looking at him suspiciously. Your omega keeps you from questioning him. She wants you to start walking, because she knows he’ll touch you when you do.

It’s that night that Simon asks John for you to join them. All Simon does is slide the shredded paper target across his desk. John picks it up, tacking it onto the wall. He chuckles, shaking his head. It’s an impressive piece of paper, but being a good shot isn’t the only reason someone is cleared to work with them. Even besides that, it’s forbidden.

“Omegas aren’t allowed in the field, Simon,” John reminds him. “You know that.”

“Think tha’s why we should take her,” Simon mutters. “She’s a distraction. A good one.”

“A weapon,” John frowns. He can already hear Kate screaming into his ear if she ever saw you geared up between them on an op.

“A tool.”

“And what does she think of that, eh?” John slips his hat off, tossing it onto his desk. He sighs, running a hand over his beard, and he shakes his head. “And Kate…Kate would hang my fuckin’ head.”

“Not Kate’s responsibility anymore, she’s mine,” Simon bites back. He knows it’s wrong. In all honesty, the sentiment tasted bad from the moment he said it to you, but it is easier to let you believe that he’s using you then try and make you understand him. You wouldn’t understand. You wouldn’t get his reasons, and that’s fine, so if he has to be the bad guy, so be it.

The least he could do is make himself useful. Put your skills to work, poke your mind. See what you can really do.

“Don’t let your girl hear you talkin’ like that, Simon,” John says lowly. “Not her, and certainly not Kate.”

“But you agree,” Simon continues, chuckling lowly. “I speak for her. ‘n I think she’d be right in on it, Captain. Wot else is she to do, eh? Sit in my fuckin’ quarters and wait f’me? Wot kind of life is tha’? She needs this. She’s good. I can teach ‘er. She’ll learn. Well and good she will, I know it.”

John sniffs, running a big hand over his short hair before tapping a pen over the target paper on the wall.

“I need her OK,” John relents finally. “I need to hear it from her. I get that, I’m alright with it. But she has to know what she’s getting into, Simon. And no one but you is responsible for her. If she gets into something, I’m not gonna risk Soap or Gaz for it–”

“I know,” Simon mutters. “She’ll be my shadow. I’ll teach ‘er.”

She’ll be good. She’ll be good because she’s mine.

“Bravo-7, sitrep.”

“Eyes on target. Waiting on confirmation.” Simon looks over his shoulder for a moment, where you’re sitting as his cover. You look cute, he thinks. All geared up. He lets his eyes sweep over the cargo pants that are cinched around your waist. Your nice curves. Thick thighs. Fuck, you smell good, even with all the sand up his nose and the smoke clinging to his mask. You have your rifle tucked into your elbow, and you’ve got it aimed towards the door of the roof.

“Is it always so fucking hot?” You ask, running your wrist over your lip. You’re sweating; you can feel it dripping down the back of your neck and along your back. You’re wearing a lot of gear, but you’ve done this before, and you don’t remember it being so uncomfortable. It must be the climate–you’re not used to this kind of desert, and you need to get it together.

Despite the irritation you feel every time you look at Simon, your omega wants to please him. She wants to show him she can do this, that she’s capable, and you’re starting to not like that she’s behaving as if you and her are one and the same.

I’m in control. Shut the fuck up. Let me focus.

“Just watch the door,” Simon mutters, turning back to focus. He adjusts the scope of his rifle, taking a deep breath as he leans into the stock. He gets his target into his line of sight, and he narrows his eye a little more to watch the group more closely on the ground. It’s hard to ignore you. Normally, the person covering him goes almost unnoticed. Their scent never affects him, not enough to make him look away from his scope, but there’s something in the air way too close to him, and he scrunches his nose a little as he adjusts his position on the ground. “You stink, by the way.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap. “Not my fault.”

“Certainly is y’r fault.”

“You reek, too, you ass,” you mumble, wiping your forehead again. You adjust how you’re sitting, clearing your throat. It’s scratchy, and you’re starting to itch a little all over, too. “Like wet dog.”

Simon smiles under his mask. He keeps his index finger next to the trigger, and you keep yours on it.

“How much longer do we have to do this? I mean…I thought you were SAS. Don’t you guys…get your hands real dirty? I mean, don’t you go tearing doors down? Get a lot of action? I mean, we’re just sitting ducks on a roof here right now.”

“Wot, you wanna go kick some doors down now?” Simon asks. He shakes his head. “The real job is boring. We do things nice and clean, we only get dirty when we ‘ave to. If I can get a target from 1000 yards away, then tha’s wot I’ll do. Besides. This is wot I’m good at.”

“Yeah, you look real good there on your knees, honey.”

Simon blinks hard when something strong hits his nose. It stings, makes his eyes water. He coughs a little, dropping his head for a moment.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Simon hisses. “Wot the fuck is wrong with ya?”

“I-I don’t know,” you whisper. You take your hand off your rifle for a moment to adjust the collar of your shirt, but it doesn’t help. You shift a little, loosening your tactical vest. You want to take it off, but you know that’s a bad idea out here. It’s hard to think clearly, though, when your brain is cloudy and you’re starting to see things in double every so often. “It’s…it’s too hot.”

Simon huffs, “‘n when was the last time you had a heat?”

“I’ve…I’ve never.” You clear your throat. “I’ve never had one.”

Can you smell him? I can smell him. He smells so good.

Simon nearly leaves his post. He grips his rifle tight, gloved hands squeezing the metal, and he turns to look at you incredulously.

“Fuckin’ repeat tha’?”

“I know you’re blind and dumb, but don’t tell me you’re fucking deaf, too,” you mumble. You swallow, wiping your face again, and Simon presses on the radio on his shoulder.

“Bravo-7 to Bravo-6, how long do we got?”

“Just observation on target for now. Why?”

“Need 10 minutes.”

Simon shuts off the radio. You blink, starting to see double pretty consistently now, and you take a shaky breath as you grip your rifle a little tighter. You hear shuffling behind you, and you look back to see Simon moving from his position.

“What are you doing? Simon–”

“Get over ‘ere.” Simon sets his rifle down. “Tha’ wasn’t a fuckin’ suggestion, tha’ was an order!”

There’s something different in his voice at the end. Something more animal that lilts his drawl, and it makes you coherent enough to start moving–like his voice made all the fog clear up for just a few moments, long enough for you to realize you need him.

Closer. Closer. Closer.

You put your rifle down, crawling over to him, and just as you stumble, Simon catches you. You put your hands on his shoulders, falling into his lap, and he hoists you up until you’re straddling him. You feel him starting to tug on your cargos, and even in your daze, you squeeze his shoulders.

“S-Simon? What are you…What are you doing?”

“Y’r gonna go into heat soon,” Simon mutters. Alarm bells go off in your head, and you dig your nails into his shoulders. He can see it clearly–the panic on your face.

“H-Heat? R-Right now?”

“Not right now,” Simon clicks his tongue. “More like a…pre-heat. Get y’r bloody pants off–”

When Simon tugs your cargos down enough, you gasp when you see the mess your panties are in. They’re soaked, drenched until the cotton is a darker color, sticking to your cunt, and you whimper as Simon tugs you back into his lap with your pants around your ankles. It’s awkward and messy, and you’re sweating bullets, hot and bothered, and your chest feels tight. There’s nothing romantic about it, nothing sweet about the way Simon turns you in his lap. It’s hurried, but you’re just as desperate, clawing to whatever piece of him you can touch and trying to sink into him. If you could, you’d pry him open and force yourself to tuck yourself inside of him. You want to live there forever. You want to be in his skin, soaking it all in–you want it. You want this, don’t you?

He’s touching us! He’s touching us! Let him in!

“W-What’s happening t-to me?”

“‘s olright,” Simon whispers in your ear. “I’ve got ya. There we are…” He cups your pussy, making you squirm. You jolt in his lap, throwing your head back against his shoulder, and he hums as you sink into his touch. Something inside you curls and lights on fire. Your vision blurs, and his scent surrounds you. “Oh…fuck…tha’ wot ya needed, swee’eart? Yeah…”

Yes! Yes! Yes!

“Simon–” Your back arches, and you push your hips into his hand. When he touches your clit, your omega seizes inside your head, and it’s a feeling like you’ve never felt before.

She takes the reigns; and God, does she fucking pull.

You palm at the zipper of his pants. There’s something there, something you want–and you need it. There’s something in your chest that blinds you, that familiar voice in your head that chants–take it out, take it out, take it out.

“‘m workin’ on it, love,” you hear from behind, and you realize you’re talking. You’re out of your body, you think. You’re not yourself. When you feel him in your daze, big and throbbing under your hand, you whine. It comes from deep within your chest, a bubble of nonsense, and Simon coos. He drags your hips closer, and his cock slips under you, between your folds, and you use your palm to keep him pressed to you. You can’t see him, but you felt him when you first met him, and you’re feeling him now.

If there was any doubt that he was anything but an alpha, that thought disappears when his fat tip kisses your clit. He’s hot and throbbing under your hand, and he is more than enough to appease the voice in your head that’s screaming for some kind of inherent relief that it knows he can give.

“Simon, I need it–I need it–”

“I know, love.”

Fuck, Simon would win any dick-measuring contest, you think. Barely the tip of him, and you’re baring your teeth, gripping his thighs and digging your nails into him as you try and breathe through the stretch. He’s not even fully hard yet; the blood is rushing to his cock, and you moan and cry as he sits you down further and further and further–

“What the fuck–what is it you have in your fucking pants, a-a fucking pipe–?!”

“Y’r so much prettier when y’r mouth ain’t runnin’,” Simon mutters. “Ahh–fuck–’s mine, oll mine–”

You put your hands on his knees and throw it back. You’re feral, brain foggy, and all you can think about is getting yourself off. Your body clings to Simon like a thick, curling vice, pussy clamping around him and taking him to the root. You’re dripping down your thighs, wetting his cargos, and you’re thankful that he’s wearing black, otherwise you can’t think about the mess you’d really be leaving on him. The sounds are lewd. Frantic smack, smack, smack against his thick thighs, and the sound is only making you drool for more. He’s so big. He’s hitting you deep, and you swear your insides have never been stretched this far, but it’s like your body is molding itself to fit him. Like you’re making room for him.

It’s so good. It feels right. Your omega growls like an animal, crying with relief. It’s the only thing she’s ever wanted, and she has it in her hands, and she licks at your scent gland until it practically vibrates. Simon’s face is pressed to it, like he can hear her calling. His mask is the only thing separating you, but you can feel his teeth straining against the fabric. They cut over the gland, wet like his tongue is poking against it, too, and your omega screams.

Bite me, bite me, bite me.

“Not yet,” Simon grunts. “Won’t take.”

“You’ll make it take.”

He laughs, and then he punches the air out of you with a nice thrust. Then he’s on you. Suddenly, you’re on your knees, your tummy against the sandy rooftop, with a stallion of a soldier on top of you, taking you like his last meal.

He sounds like more bear than man. Growling, spitting, both hands on either side of your head as he fucks you into the floor. There’s a smile on your face, soft relief that leaves you in your pretty moans and gurgled pleas. It feels so good. The tip of his cock curves and hits against the same place each time, sending pulses that rack your body over and over and over again. Your thighs are shaking, and then Simon slips one hand under you and cups your pussy, fitting it just right until you can grind down on his palm in perfect timing with the way the fat tip of him hits you just well enough. It should hurt. You’ve never taken anything so big–of course you’ve practiced, but nothing can prepare you for the real thing.

This is still practice. You’re not in your heat, not really, and Simon hasn’t lost his fucking mind yet.

Like a fiend, you chase it. The stars, the mountain to climb, the beautiful end. You get up a little more onto your knees and you wrap a hand around his neck, force him against your jaw. You goad him on with pretty words, soft moans–that’s it, right there, please.

It’s not his first time. It’s not his first time relieving an itch he can’t scratch, and it’s not his first time taking an omega by the neck and pounding into her until she can’t speak, but it’s the first time his resolve shatters.

He wants to bite. He’s never felt the urge to bite. If it wasn’t for the mask, his teeth would be an inch deep in your neck, and he’d be memorizing what your blood tasted like for the first time. Your scent is just that much off that he knows it isn’t the right time, but fuck–the need is there. It’s clear.

Special. One of a kind. No one like her. Soft. Sweet. Mine.

His knot swells a little, but it doesn’t lock. You’re not in a proper heat, so it’s not right just yet, but you can feel the edge of it, like the preface to a glorious poem. Thick and spongy, hot, and when he comes, your eyes roll back in your head. It feels like being thirsty for days on end and finally getting that sweet drink of crystal clear water. He pumps you full, creamy and thick and dribbling between your thighs as you squeeze them together. Subconsciously, you’re trying to keep it inside, and Simon groans when as he latches his mouth over your scent gland under the mask and sucks–so hard, it pinches you just right.

The stars align. The tide wanes. You mumble softly, dopey smile on your face, and when your own high hits you, and you’re squirting into his hand, you let his rumbling, low voice pull you back to earth.

“I ‘ave ya, swee’eart,” he says. “Shhh…easy, kitty…Shh…yeah, easy.”

You sigh with relief. Simon handles you with ease. He picks you up, gets you to sit back on your heels. You don’t see it, but Simon fits his wet fingers under the mask, and you keen when you hear him suck on his fingers and hum.

He likes us. Hear that? He likes us.

“Want you to eat me,” you giggle suddenly, and Simon wipes you down, picking your pants back up and zipping them. He pats your ass gently, smoothing a hand over the back of your neck. He knows you’re still in a different headspace. He knows there’s still something else drawing your breath, but he’s trying not to think about it too much. It sounds so much like you.

“Do plenty o’tha’ when we’re in the thick o’it, kitty.”

Back in the humvee, Johnny is smiling like an idiot. He’s sitting next to Kyle, hitting him with his elbow as he wiggles his eyebrows at you and Simon sitting across from them. You tilt your head to the side, glaring.

“What?” You snap, and Johnny cackles. His eyes are flashing, and he reeks like happiness.

“Smells like ye had fun.”

“My gun is loaded, shithead,” you warn him. “And I know how the fucking safety works.”

When Johnny moves to sit in the front near your captain, you try not to think about the sudden warmth over your knee, and the squeeze of Simon’s hand on you.

NEXT

[luveline]

𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Spencer gets a bad bout of amnesia. Or, your boyfriend forgets he’s your boyfriend, but he still has a crush on you. [3k]

c: fem, bombshell!reader, head injury, hospitals, amnesia, fluff, spencer can’t believe he bagged you, requested here 

�� ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

Spencer wakes to an empty room. 

He lays on a pillow too flat, neck twinging, the back of his eyes throbbing when he moves them.

He takes a deep breath. He struggles to breath through his nose and lets his mouth open for a few big, achy breaths, his mouth dry like he’s been sucking on cotton balls. 

Spencer’s alarmed, without a clue what it is he’s done. He wonders where Gideon is, if the older man came to see him yet. He hopes somebody told his mom he’s okay. 

Maybe Hotch will come to see him. He and Hotch have grown closer while Gideon was on his mandated recovery time; Gideon spends less time in the office now, sticking to lectures, seminars and consults, while Hotch, Morgan and Spencer handle the away cases. Spencer might go as far as to say Hotch likes him. And Morgan can tolerate him now, less grudging when Spencer offers a random fact or statistic to further the case. 

A stab of pain at the back of his head makes itself known.

Spencer doesn’t want to move, but he needs to assess things. He frowns at his arms, naked as they are. His silver watch is missing. A t-shirt that he doesn’t remember buying stretches over his chest. What state are they in, and who dressed him? 

He’s scowling at the window with it’s wide-open blinds and all the sun when the door opens. 

You’re looking at the bags on your arm as you come in. Spencer startles in his blankets —what are you doing here?  Agent L/N, Morgan’s friend and a candidate for the open position on the BAU team. You’re from the Sex Crimes Unit, like Greenaway. 

Spencer flusters every time he sees you, not just because of how kind you’d been the first time you met, or even the easy flirtation you send his way when you cross paths. It’s because you’re possibly the prettiest woman he’s ever met. It’s better when you notice he’s awake and light up like he’s the winning numbers for tonight’s lottery pull. Everything about you illuminates. 

“Hey, babe!” you say, not not yelling as you drop your bags in the seat by the bed and reach for him.

He doesn’t think to move away as you take his face into your hands.

“I’m so glad you’re finally awake, you almost slept for the full twenty four hours.” Your hands are soft. They smell like neroli. When you stroke his cheek and lean down to give him a chaste peck, he almost passes out there and then. “It's a good thing, obviously,” you say, and then kiss him again distractedly. “You heal more when you’re asleep. Or so I’ve heard.” 

You pull away. You have such a nice mouth, but Spencer’s never thought about what it might feel like on his. He doesn’t have the audacity: in what world would you ever kiss him? That’s the joke, right, when you flirt with him in the office? It’s funny because you’d never date him. 

“How are you feeling?” you ask, losing some of your pep. “How’s your head, handsome? You know, there are easier ways to get a haircut.” 

“They cut my hair?” he croaks. 

“Shaved it at the back to stitch you up. Not much, don’t worry. They were pushing for a buzz cut but I put my foot down on that one,” you joke. You nudge his legs aside without worrying about sitting on him as you get comfortable. “It’s not much. You can’t tell.”

“I…” 

“You feeling okay?” you ask softly. Your nice mouth purses. Your eyebrows pinch. They’re cute eyebrows. 

“You look different than the last time I saw you.” 

He doesn’t mean to say it aloud. He’s noticing things now. You’re wearing less powder under your eyes than you used to. You seem to have gained a little weight, and you look good. You didn’t look bad before, but this is different. Your hair isn’t too different, nor your brows, but you’ve begun lining your lips in a new way. Your blush is a subtler hue. Spencer doesn’t claim to know everything about you, but he can say that you look neatly the same each time you visit. 

“It’s hard to sleep when your favourite person in the entire world gets his head cut open,” you say, taking his hand where he’d left it loose in the blankets. 

Your fingers slip into his with ease. 

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, attempting to swallow his nerves. 

“Of course you can.” 

He licks his lips. “Uh, I think I’m confused. I don’t– I don’t remember what happened, and…” 

“Oh, right. They told me this might happen.” You draw yourself up with a breath. He’s fascinated by the movement, an air of heat around him as you begin rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. “You got hit in the back of the head with a cinder block, honey. Went down like a lead balloon.” You turn your face to show your cheek. “We’re even now on good scares, yeah?” 

You have a scar on your face he’d missed, carefully concealed but yet not invisible. Your hand in his feels so alien he holds it wrong, fingers twined but palms apart. 

“What happened to you?” he asks. 

Your brow crinkles. You go very still. “My cheek?” you ask. 

“What…” 

“Spencer, what’s the last thing you can remember, honey?” you ask, all the horror in the world to be found in your eyes. 

“Uh…” 

“Spencer?” 

He feels sick to his stomach. Without having to be told, you slip off of the bed with two taps of your shoes and reach for the bedpan, thrusting it into his lap. 

His mouth fills with spit. “I’m fine,” he says. 

“No, I don’t think so. Let me get a doctor.” 

“Wait,” he says, clutching the bedpan and pushing his wave of nausea as far down as he can. “Please don’t go.” 

“My face was months ago, honey. I got hit in the face with a hammer, you don’t remember?” you ask incredulously. 

“Why do you keep calling me honey?” he asks. He knows the answer, but it’s not computing. 

Your face drains of any happiness. “I’m going to get a doctor,” you say, shoulders rigidly tight as you exit the room, leaving Spencer in your wake wishing he’d just pretended he knew who you were, just until you kissed him again. 

—

“And he really can’t remember you at all?” Morgan asks. 

You’re a little less startled than you had been, and you’re trying not to punish poor Spencer, but realising your boyfriend forgot years of flirting, and yearning, and friendship —years of kissing in secret and otherwise, years of holding hands, and staying at each other’s places to get that extra time together, even if it was just getting to sleep in the same bed between cases— was a slap. 

“He remembers me,” you say, leg crossed over the other, arm over the railing of Spencer’s bed to hold his hand. “He just doesn’t remember a thing after Gideon came back, after Boston.” 

“I remember when you had hair,” Spencer says to Derek. 

Derek glares at him, “This Spencer doesn’t get to sass me.” 

“But I do eventually?” 

“How come you’re holding hands if he doesn’t know who you are?” Derek asks pointedly. 

You shrug. “We talked about it, didn’t we?” you ask Spencer, who perks up every time you talk, which isn’t unlike your usual Spencer, but whenever he catches himself doing it he flusters. Every time you call him baby he loses his mind. “He doesn’t remember me, but he wants to. And I remember him.” 

“This must be pretty weird for you, kid,” Derek says. 

“Sort of,” Spencer says. 

It’s funny. Now you know Spencer thinks he’s twenty three again, you can’t not notice his shyness and his awkward tries at casualness. You’d forgotten what he was like back then. 

“Wait, does that mean you don’t remember Emily?” Derek asks. 

Spencer frowns. “Uh, no?” 

You sit up in your chair. “Emily’s one of your best friends, honey. She joined the BAU when Greenaway left.”

“Not you?” he asks. 

You dramatise your pain as Derek laughs. “Not me. I didn’t transfer for a long time, unfairly. It’s okay, though, you’ll remember Emily eventually.” 

When you realised Spencer wasn’t as okay as you’d thought, you gathered a gaggle of agitated doctors to assess him. He knew his name and birthday. He was wrong about the date, the president, and the state. You’re in Arizona where he’d thought Indiana. Your bag talks to the heat: Spencer’s fan, his sunblock, his antihistamines. He couldn’t believe it when he asked where his stuff was and you passed him your handbag. 

You’re trying to drive home to him that you’re not just dating, you're common-law partners, Spence. He adores you. You’d spend life in his lap if you could afford it. 

“How’d she get you to believe her?” Derek asks Spencer. 

“Uh.” 

“I kissed him a couple of times before he came clean about the amnesia,” you say. “So I didn’t have to explain.” 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” Spencer says. 

He’s looking less haggard now you’ve brushed his hair. It was sweet to watch his shoulders relax. He shuddered when you tucked a strand behind his ears, and didn’t flinch when you asked if you could kiss his cheek. It’s hard to have him vulnerable here and not be allowed to lick his wounds for him. You feel better the better he feels. You’ve fluffed his pillow, wrapped him tighter in blankets. When he got up to pee and you offered to help, he gave a resolute No Thank You, which in hindsight is hilarious but at the time made you wanna squeeze your eyes out. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly, “I don’t mind kissing him, even if he doesn’t remember me. Just so long as he doesn’t mind it back.”

Spencer manages to squeeze your hand. It’s a soft one, but it’s real. “I don’t mind.” 

“You dog,” Derek says. 

“Stop, stop. He’s not doing anything wrong, is he?” you ask. “I’m the evil one, forcing kisses on him when he doesn’t know me.” 

“I do know you,” Spencer says. 

“What’s it like to have a crush on your own girlfriend?” Derek asks, unwilling to quit his teasing where he’s crossing his arms in the chair opposite, his cup of coffee drained on the side table. 

Spencer swallows. “Uh, nerve-wracking.” 

“Believe it or not, that’s not so different to now,” Derek says. 

Spencer looks to you for confirmation, which you love. You slide your chair closer to him and clasp his wrist with your free hand. “Sometimes you're still a little shy, but it’s not so bad. Full of myself I may be, Spencer Reid, but you do love me. It’s easy with us.” 

“Do we really live together?” he asks. “You said common-law.” 

“Not technically. I stay at your place four nights a week. You stay with me for the weekends.” 

“Every week?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

“We’re never apart?” he asks. 

His face is turning pink. You could kiss every bit of colour on his cheeks. 

“Derek, would you get Spencer something to eat from the cafeteria? Please?” you ask, levelling your friend with a pleading gaze. 

Derek gathers himself up. “Sure. We gotta feed the string bean something, don’t we?” he asks. 

Alone again, you draw lines up and down Spencer’s arm with your nails. You’re going to be indulgent in yourself, and ask him everything you’d ever wanted to know. And then a little extra, too. 

“You’re not as skinny anymore, have you noticed? You’re quite lean.” You stand to sit where you’d put yourself before he confessed. Your hand falls to his knee. “Solid, sometimes. You and Derek go for walks occasionally.” 

“We do?” 

“Mm-hm. And me and you do yoga in the living room when we can be bothered. We tried couples Pilates, but Pilates is hard.” 

“We did?”

You smile warmly. “It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves in the same way.” 

“How do you love?” 

His ears are bitten-red. “Oh, you know. I’m too affectionate. It’s hard not to be with you. Everyone used to think we were… I don’t know, playing a game.” You slide your hand up his thigh, leaning on him to watch his pupils blow. “But I love you for far more than your propensity to blush. You get me flowers every time you see my favourites, and you never let me go to sleep without a kiss. Usually here.” You poke the skin beside your eye. “But sometimes you’ll surprise me and kiss my nose.” You're going lax with love, remembering things he’s done, and does every day.  “On a Saturday morning we make tea and I put my hands in your t-shirt. You do the crosswords for fun. Sometimes we time them.” 

“That’s not how you love, that’s what you love,” Spencer says. 

“Oh, you want a play by play of things?” He ducks his chin, but he smiles when you laugh. 

“I just can’t believe this is happening.”

You try to think of things you don’t think about anymore. “You love my sugar lip gloss, so I always wear it.” 

He reaches out tentatively. Shy as a wren in a hedgerow. You let him curl a hand over your elbow, feel the crook of it with his index finger. 

“I buy you stamps, and t-shirts for bed, and stupid stuff you wouldn’t get yourself. We’re… it’s like, it doesn’t feel like gift giving anymore because we’re always getting stuff for each other. You’re just as sweet, you know? When I first started sleeping over you bought me this huge pack of socks ‘cos yours are all odd,” you laugh. “I knew I loved you already, but…”

It’s a little sad, actually. He can’t remember all the stuff that makes you the couple you are. It’s not what you’d meant to get into. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask. 

“Anything.” 

He’s slept-in and breathless, like he ran laps in his dreams. 

“What do you think of me now? I always wondered if you liked me back then, or if I just caught you off guard.” 

“Who wouldn’t like you?” 

“But did you?” 

He looks away hurriedly, his hand dropping from your elbow. “I guess so. But it’s not– not real. I have a crush on you.” His mumbling is sweet. “I have no idea why I’m telling you that.” 

“I had a crush on you, too, back then. It wasn’t anything serious, but it was real. And the more time we spent together, the more I thought we could fall in love,” —you take his hand and put it back on your arm— “and we did.” 

You toy with his fingers. Without looking, ashamed of your own self-indulgence, you ask another question. “What do you think of me now?” 

“I can’t remember,” he says sorrily. 

“What do you think?” 

“You feel like a dream.” He shakes his head. “You’re, like, the most beautiful girl in the world. I don’t really get how this is real.” 

You shouldn’t be surprised that he’d say it, you practically begged for it, but you can’t stop yourself from sitting up to kiss his forehead gently. “It’s real. Promise. And for the record, you’re handsome. They stopped saying ‘aged like fine wine’ a while ago. Now they just say ‘aged like Spencer Reid’.”

He gives a choky laugh. 

The door opens again. You lift your head expecting Derek and find a weather worm Hotch in the doorway. “Reid, you’re awake,” he says, not bothering with a smile. “Morgan said you have amnesia?” He directs it at both of you. 

Spencer’s looking at Hotch in clear shock. 

“He hasn’t aged that badly,” you chastise teasingly. 

“Hotch, you’re– I thought you would’ve–”

Hotch squints. “You didn’t think I had the stamina for it?” 

Spencer squirms under his gaze. “No, sir, it’s not that–”

“Sir,” Hotch says, and then he smiles. “I forgot when you both used to respect me.” 

“I have the utmost respect for you, sir,” you say through your own smile. 

“Has she been kind to you, Reid?” 

“Uh, yes? Is she not usually?” 

Hotch presses his lips together rather than answer. There’s a sympathy in his expression you resent.

—

It’s a thankfully quick bout of amnesia. The memories start to draw in like a dusting of powdered sugar, his head finely silted, one particle at a time. He finds that the more you talk, the quicker his memory is jogged. You tell him about your first kiss —I tried to kiss your cheek but you moved, it was the funniest thing— and your second. You spin stories of cases, the worst ones and the best, all the times you held hands without people knowing, the times you’d been caught. He can’t imagine it, goes hot with the memory, picturing kissing you as you’d described and the mortification of being walked in on. 

You tell him about your vacation to Nevada a few months ago and he thinks about how you’d fallen asleep on the plane. Your nose in his arm, your unhappy sigh at the tight leg space. 

Remembering you is more than half of remembering himself.

Your hands —his hands. Your smile —his laugh. The way you fold his hands in your lap —the urge to catch your chin for a kiss. 

He doesn’t know how to deal with it, and then suddenly he feels like Spencer. Your partner, your love, his proudest title for years. You’re standing at the end of the hospital bed in pajamas folding your clothes, allowed to stay the night while he’s so urgently confused and upset, you can’t make him stay here alone, please, I know you guys have those little cots for the kids ward, and he just knows you completely. 

Hours of diligent if embezzled storytelling gives it all back to him. 

“I like the lipgloss because you used to wear that perfume that smelled like sugar donuts,” he says, scratching a hand through limp hair. “And every time I crossed the square by the station–”

You let out a surprising squeal of joy. “Spencer!” you say, racing to take his hands, “Yes! The donut truck!” 

You go in for a kiss he gladly returns. “Oh, you remember,” you say, softening as he takes your neck into his hand. “I was getting worried.” 

“Some of it’s still hazy. But not so much you.” 

You wrap your arms around him for a hug, careful of his sore head. “I missed you, Spencer. I still loved you when you couldn’t remember me, but I missed you. Do you remember you?” 

He traces the scar on your lower cheek with his thumb. He’s genuinely relieved to be able to say he does. He’s not scared of what you think of him anymore, ‘cos he knows that everything he feels for you is mutual. “I remember you telling me my bad feeling was just a case of the heebies.” 

You bend into his touch. “Honey, I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know you’d get your skull whacked with a cinder block? It was a bakery.” You kiss his nose quickly. “I’m so glad you’re you. Now I can sleep in the bed with you, and not that collapsible camping cot.” 

He shushes you. “Don’t give us away. They’re not gonna let you stay if they think I’m fine.” 

You giggle excitedly, arms around him again for another squeeze. “I missed you so much. You’re so tricky now.” 

He rubs your back. “I missed you too. And I still have a crush on you, I swear.”

“Thank you, honey, that means a lot to me.” 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

thanks for reading!

[random-thot-generator]

Simon's drunk and just wants to go to bed with his sweetheart.

cw: MDNI- gets a wee bit hot spicy , possible dub con (or is it?) 😏

>>>>>

It's after one in the morning when a heavy knock at the door startles you out of a sound sleep.

You sit up in bed, still half-asleep and confused, and squint at the clock on your nightstand. Not sure what woke you, you're about to lie back down when you hear the knock again. That's never a good thing this late at night.

Now wide awake and scared out of your wits, you slide out of bed and throw on your robe. Creeping through your flat, you tiptoe up to the door and peer through the peephole, seeing an all too familiar face blinking blearily at your door.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, you unlock the door, but leave the chain on, and open it just enough to peek through the gap. "Jesus, Simon. You scared the shit out of me!"

The big Manc is standing on your stoop, swaying in place, his dark brown eyes bloodshot and drooping. "'M sorry, sweet'art. Know it's late. Had a few wiff the lads an' now I can't find m'keys." He inhales a deep breath then hiccups and makes a face. "Will ya let me in?"

He's obviously drunk, but that pitiful, hangdog face gets to you. You slip the chain and open the door. "C'mon in."

Simon shuffles inside and immediately stoops to unlace his boots, nearly pitching face-first onto the floor. "Simon!" you gasp, grabbing his arm. "You're going to hurt yourself. Go sit on the couch."

Unsteady, he stumbles to the couch and basically falls onto it, grunting as he rights himself and drops his head back on the cushions.

"'M s'sorry, love. Shouldn't uh woke ya. Jus' missed ya. Needed t'see ya."

You quirk a brow, smirking. Yeah. Totally wasted. Probably best to let him sleep it off on the couch, then give him hell in the morning. You'll help get him comfortable then let him pass out.

"Let's get your boots off, Si."

Kneeling at his feet, you start working on the laces when you feel his big hand rest on the top of your head. You glance up and smile at him, amused. His hand slides down to cup your cheek, his dark eyes watery as he stares down at you.

"Yer too good t'me, sweet'art. Bess day uh my life is when I met ya."

That actually makes you melt a little. "Aw. That's sweet, Simon."

His brows scrunch together. "'S true, love. Knew the moment I saw ya, you was meant t'be mine."

"What?"

"'M gonna take care uh ya, sweet'art. Gonna take a post at base, trainin' recruits. No more leavin' ya all alone. Worries the hell outta me, doin' tha'."

"Simon, love, you're drunk, talking out of your head. You and me aren't—"

"I know, love. I know," he murmurs, cupping the back of your head. "We're not married yet, but we're gonna be. Be proud t'have ya as my missus. Olready think uh ya like m'wife, anyway. An' one day, ya'll be the mother uh my kids. Yer gonna make a damn good mum, sweet'art; I can tell."

You huff out an exasperated laugh. "Whoa, Simon! This is getting a little too—"

He presses his thumb over your lips and chuckles lowly. "I know, sweet girl. Gettin' ahead uh m'self. Don't worry, love. We'll find a nice place t'settle, first. One uh them quiet li'l villages near the base. Need t'put my pretty wife in a proper home a'fore we start makin' babies." He smirks. "Don't mean we can't practice, though, yeah?"

He reaches for you, but you crab walk backwards. "Si, you've been drinking. We can't—"

You bleat out a startled yelp when he grabs hold of your ankles and drags you back within his reach. Big hands gripping your waist, he picks you up off the floor like a toddler and plops you on his lap, then proceeds to kiss you stupid. Hands kneading and groping, tongue shoved down your throat, you can feel his erection pressing up into the thin material between your legs.

Oh, mercy!

Finally breaking the kiss, he stands in one swift motion, making your already spinning head reel. Pupils blown wide, he smirks down at you with a feral light smoldering in his eyes. "Never too drunk t'give my li'l woman a proper fuckin'," he purrs darkly, then his lips latch onto yours again.

Lying limp as a ragdoll in his arms, he carries you back to your bed and shows you just what a proper fucking is. Several times. He must not have been as drunk as you thought. Come to think of it, he didn't taste like alcohol at all.

The sky is beginning to lighten with the approach of dawn before he finally turns you on your side and curls himself around you. One hand wedged between your legs, the other holding onto your tit, he nuzzles the back of your neck until he eventually drops off into an exhausted sleep.

You blink tired eyes at your bedside clock, remembering you're scheduled to work. Your head flops back down on your pillow. There's no way you're making it into work in the morning. Hell, you're not even sure if you're going to be able to walk tomorrow— not normally, anyway. Even so, you can't be mad about it, not after all those orgasms. Simon truly had a gift; the man is a giver.

Feeling sated, safe and warm, you snuggle back into Simon, ready to fall asleep. Still, your hazy mind can't help but wonder...

What's he going to think when he wakes up next to his favorite barista and not in his own bed?

-

[n0vazsq]

Tired of being alone | OP81 x Reader

pairing . . . oscar piastri x nurse!gf!reader

summary . . . Watching your boyfriend reveal your relationship on international TV, you realise that you missed him more than you realised

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 712

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . i have a free lesson rn so why not be productive and write? it's a bit shitty and kinda rushed but my next lesson is eng and i can NOT be late for it </3 saur sorry pookie!!

taglist . . . @barcapix (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . You slumped into the couch, limbs heavy from another exhausting shift. The hum of the TV filled the room, flickering softly in the dim light.

Your scrubs were still on, your shoes kicked off by the door. The thought of getting up to change or even eat felt too overwhelming after all those back to back shifts at the hospital. All you wanted was to melt into the couch and let the familiar background noise wash over you.

Oscar’s voice drifted into the room, steady and comforting. His interviews were always a joy to watch, making you smile and laugh, just like a kid watching their favourite cartoon. You hadn’t even registered what the interview was about; something about the upcoming Las Vegas GP, until the interviewer leaned in with a knowing grin.

"So, Oscar, we heard you stayed busy during the break between Brazil and Vegas. Anything special?"

You perked up, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Oscar’s laugh came through the speakers, soft and a little awkward. It was a laugh you knew well, the one he gave when he wasn’t sure how much to share. Your heart started beating a little faster.

"Well," he began, rubbing the back of his neck, a habit that always made you melt. "I spent most of it taking care of someone close to me. She works really long shifts and don’t always get enough rest, so I made sure she was… comfortable."

You blinked, sitting up straighter. Did he just-? Your heart skipped a beat, eyes widening.

The interviewer’s eyes widened at his sentence, just like how you did, as if he was mimicking your actions. "Interesting," he teased, leaning in slightly. "Care to share more details? Who’s this mysterious lady?"

Oscar’s smile was small, but it reached his eyes, soft and sincere. "Let’s just say she's in healthcare. A nurse, actually. She's been pretty amazing, and I wanted to make sure she had a break too."

Your breath caught in your throat. There it was. A soft launch, wrapped in his quiet, subtle way. Oscar wasn’t the type of person who did grand gestures or flashy declarations, but this? This felt perfect. It was a little secret, meant just for you, even with the world watching.

The interviewer pressed on, curiosity piqued. "A nurse, huh? Sounds like you’ve got someone special in your world."

Oscar’s eyes flickered with that shy warmth you adored. "Yeah," he admitted, voice softer. "I do."

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, pressing a hand to your mouth. The exhaustion of the day melted away, replaced by a warm, fluttering feeling in your chest. He always had a way of making you feel seen, even when you were miles apart.

Your phone buzzed beside you. Picking it up, you saw that it was a text from Oscar.

Hope you’re watching. Rest up, yeah? ❤

You bit your lip, a grin spreading across your face. He always knew exactly what you needed.

Busted, Mr. Soft Launch. I owe you a dinner.

Your phone buzzed again almost immediately.

Only if you let me cook.

You leaned back into the couch, the smile refusing to leave your face. The weight of the day didn’t feel so heavy anymore. Knowing that he’d spent his break looking after you, making sure you were okay, it made all the long shifts and sleepless nights worth it.

On the screen, the interview moved on to other questions, but you weren’t really listening anymore. You were too lost in the quiet joy of knowing you were loved; subtly, quietly, and now, a little bit known by the world too.

You texted back, fingers hovering over the keys for a moment.

I’m tired of being alone all day. Come home faster.

His reply came quickly, almost as if he’d been waiting for it.

See you soon. It’s worth it for you. Every time.

Your heart swelled, and you sank deeper into the couch's soft cushions, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like a blanket. Even with the miles between you, he had a way of making you feel like you were home.

In that adorable way that made you feel loved and cherished, just like when you were a kid.

God, you loved him more than anything.

[mellowdiplomattrashpsychic]

Damian had to close his eyes, the green abruptly assaulting his eyes with how bright it was.

It was suffocating, like he was swimming into the league's training pool depths. The water pressure was similar to this, making him instinctively hold his breath.

It was wrong. He knew he should just give in. He already did this much. He couldn't take it back. He was halfway there. Just a little more, and he'll be with Danyal forever.

He just had to breathe.

Just as he was about to let go of the last seconds he had to live, he saw a change in light through his eyelids. He felt the pressure vanish just as quickly.

He coughed a gasping breath, hearing a wince of sympathy.

"Oh, right. I forgot about how people react to a change of ambient ecto quality... Sorry. Just- just take slow, deep breaths. You might feel a bit tingly, but that's just your body filtering out the polluted ecto and adjusting to the more pure version."

Damian followed Danyal's instructions, taking slow, deep breaths instead of quicker ones. It seemed that Grayson's breathing techniques to calm oneself wasnt applicable to those in the land of the dead. There was no need to hold his breath. It made exhaling difficult, as if the air had somehow gained consistency.

A few breaths in, and he could feel what his brother had referred to. He felt as though he were drugged, feeling as though he was barely clinging to his physical body. He felt ashamed that he couldn't get himself to let go.

He cracked his eyes open, blinking out the black spots and struggling to make sense of the shapes around him. But once he did, he saw buildings, a road, a starry night sky, streetlights, a few people-

Danyal moved in front of him, smiling softly.

"Feeling ok?"

"A little out of body, but the process should be over soon. I swear to you, it... it's not my intention to still be so... attached."

Please forgive me. I swear I'll join you soon. I don't know why my body can't follow my mind or heart.

Danyal's smile became smaller, making Damian's heart drop.

"It's fine, Ahki. I don't expect you to detach yourself from them. They're your family." Danyal pulled Damian into an embrace, a hand combing through his hair. "I know... I know people aren't fond of ghosts. But that's ok. I don't mind, I just... I'm happier with you. I would've backed off if you weren't comfortable with me."

Damian bit his inner cheek, hands reaching out and grasping the thin clothes Danyal wore. No matter how much Danyal altered them, they would always feel thin, as if they would tear as easily as wet paper. But that was not the case, not when they would have crumbled and torn apart with how tightly he held onto them at that very moment.

"They were worried about you. That you were sacrificing something by staying on the living plane." His voice wavered. He didn't mean to, he didn't. He swore it.

"Ahki?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't lie to me."

"When I close my eyes and listen to what you say, it's easy to tell when you're lying."

Damian's blood ran cold.

"I-I wasn't-" He tried to pull away. He tried to make Danyal look him in the eyes. To show his sincerity.

Danyal only held him more tightly.

"But you hid something. Please... please tell me, am I bothering you? Did you really not want me around?"

"No! No, that's not- n-not not-" His voice wasn't cooperating. He took a quick breath in his frustration, only to quickly regret it when it got stuck in his throat, encouraging his gag reflex that soon turned into a violent chain of coughs.

"Hey, hey, deep breaths. Deep breaths, Ahki. You want me around, I heard you. Breathe, it's ok. We're ok. I'm not mad or anything. I just needed to make sure you actually wanted me around. I'm sorry that I scared you like that."

It was difficult to regulate his breathing, his coughing fit making him gasp at air quickly out of reflex. It was dizzying, it was worsening, he couldn't breathe.

He could feel Danyal letting go, making his heart race despite the low oxygen levels.

Please don't leave, I'm sorry.

He reached out, hearing a distant apology before his nose was pinched and mouth was covered. His body spasmed, attempting to continue to gasp for air. His hands twitched, the temptation to grab one of his many weapons high.

But he couldn't. He couldn't do it again. Not to him. Not again.

He felt his heart start to slow, and his body quit acting foolish. That's when the hands left his face, allowing him to breathe deeply. It was slow, he was too drained to even attempt to gasp for air.

He fell forward onto a cool surface. A body.

Danyal.

Danyal suffocated him.

He deserved it, but it hurt nonetheless.

"Ahki..."

Why is there a cold ticklish feeling trailing down his face? Was he crying? When did he start crying?

"Shhh, I'm sorry, but you were going to drown if I didn't get you to stop coughing or gasping. Just a few more minutes, and I won't have to do that ever again, I promise."

"Ahki... Ahki, 'm sorry..."

His head felt so floaty, but his body still felt heavy. Why? Just why couldn't he follow through?

"There’s-..." Danyal let out a sigh. "What are you sorry for, Damian?"

"You asked me to... you asked me vome with you." His breaths still felt short. "But I couldn't follow through. I still can't follow it through."

"..."

He should've been worried about Danyal's silence, but he couldn't even keep track of time. How fast was he talking? Was he slurring his words? He felt so dizzy still. He felt like he was floating.

"I thought about it. I thought about it to the point that I became... anxious. Father and Richard... Todd, Brown, Caine, Pennyworth, and even Drake care so much... I didn't... I didn't want to hurt them by dying."

He was almost there. He shouldn't have struggled even if he didn't end up causing any bodily harm. He shouldn't have even attempted to reach for his weapons.

"They were scared. They're scared, please don't blame them. It's my fault, Danny... it's mine. It's my fault they tried to send you away. I want- I want to stay with you."

Was he still talking? It sounds like gibberish, words not sounding like any he recognized.

"Damian... Damian, I didn't- Fuck, I didn't mean it that way!" Danyal roughly pulled him off, a hand on his shoulder to keep him steady and the other shakily cupping his cheek. He was letting Damian see him, he wanted him to look at him. "I don't want you to die, Damian."

Damian's lips pursed, brows furrowing in confusion and denial.

"Don't lie to me-"

"Look at me, Damian! Look at me and see if I'm lying!"

Damian focused on Danyal's face, searching for his giveaways.

"I don't want you dead." Damian searched more desperately. "I want you to live, Damian. I want you alive. I want my brother alive. I don't want you dead."

He repeated it over and over until Damien glared at him and covered his mouth.

"I understand, I hear you, I-" He jumped, quickly pulling away in disgust. "You licked me!"

Danny only gave him an innocent and saintly smile in response.

Ugh.

"You're disgusting."

"But you love me!"

"Unfortunately."

Danyal giggled, pulling away and crossing his legs, now hovering an inch over the grassy ground.

Damian let out a slow breath, still feeling drained but not as terrified and filled with shame as before. He felt like he could breathe freely. He could still have Danyal by his side and live with the rest of his family without any guilt.

He still deserved some form of punishment, but it was fine. He was fine for now. Perhaps... Perhaps Danyal would consider everything up to this point as punishment enough. Even if it wasn't enough, that seemed like something Danyal would choose to do.

"Damian?"

"If you did not want me to pass, then why am I such poor condition? Where are we, if not the afterlife?"

Danyal smiled sheepishly.

"Right. So you know how the Lazarus Pits had that power to elongate life to the fatally injured? Well, it turns out that it's because it's made of ectoplasm, runoff more specifically. But there's other types. The one that's affecting you to this point is ambient ectoplasm. You could think of it like air. Gotham is filled with polluted ambient ectoplasm because of the amount of curses there, and it's pretty low on it since there's a lot of shades.

Here, though, we have pure ambient ectoplasm directly from the Infinite Realms, where the afterlife resides. So it's pure, and there's a lot of it. But since you're used to Gotham's ectoplasm level, your baby core needs to accommodate itself. You should be good to move around soon if not already."

"..." Damian turned away from Danyal and looked at their new surroundings. "Where exactly are we then?"

"Oh! We're in Amity Park, a town in Illinois. Not a very good welcome, but uh, yeah. This was last minute. I would've had a party set up with everyone- which reminds me! I need to call Jazz. She's my adoptive older sister, by the way. She's nice, a bit weird when it comes to psychoanalyzing people, don't pay much attention to it. She's cool, you'll get along live a forest fire!"

"Those are dangerous, Danyal. I feel as though I should be concerned with your apparent interest in arson."

"See! That's something she would say!"

"For good reason." Damian smirked.

"Rude!"

Dcxdp

Just thinking of like a demon twins au where danny finds out damian is no longer under their grandfathers rule and goes to visit him in ghost form.

And damian is grieving all over again. Because thats his little brother, dead at his hands. Never able to grow up and live a full life. Just this weird mirror version of it. And now that damians embraced his fathers way of preserving life it feels even more of a waste and he mourns the experiences they could've had together. It felt like less of a blow when he was still in the league and surviving wasnt much of a life. Danyal was most likely happier at rest then there, but now? Now damian wishes they had more time.

Danny not realizing hes forgotten to tell his brother hes actually still alive. keeps saying that damian should come with him. See his home, meet his friends, Etc. Damian thinking danyal wants to drag him to the afterlife. Considers it even, because he owes him that much. Scared by his own thoughts and telling bruce or dick about it. And theyre both grief stricken and furious. Just this whole misunderstanding snowballing. Another son but one whos been lost before they could ever meet. One theyd never been able to know. Who never got the chance to be a child before his time was cut short. And everyone wanting to find a way to lay danny to rest without him stealing damian away too. Bruce desperate to meet this imprint of a son he never met but terrified of it taking away the son he still has.

Lol thinking of like 100 ways this could go.

Bruce calling in constantine. Danny feeling betrayed that they called someone to banish him? He thought damian would be happy to see him? Would accept him. Thought he could meet his father as well.

Or

Damian making him a grave and showing him that he can "rest" now like hed never been properly laid to rest with the league. Danny thinking its either a) a funny joke or b) finally realizes whats going on.

Or

damian offering to go with him as long as hes able to come back? He still wants to live his life and there are others in dcu who can go between realms (sorta i guess?) Danny being like yeah? No duh we'll come back xD damian being like??? When he sees amity lol.

[rafesbabyg1rl]

You were asking for reqs for rafe x reader, if you are taking them, I have one in mind. In which rafe is extremely possesive of bsf reader, and gets easily jealous. One day she was at a kook party, and a guy approached her and they started to talk and that sh*t went down, rafe got aggressive and almost beat the guy to a pulp. Reader is like a shy cute innocent, bimbo type. And smut after the scene if you write it.

Summary: Innocent!reader X possessive!Rafe, bestfriend!reader X bestfriend!Rafe. Summary is basically the anonymous ask!

Warnings: Rafe is possessive of reader. Established friendship. Rafe almost beats a guy to death. Mentions of drugs (no actual drug use), alcohol consumption. Lots of smut; p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, loss of virginity, SLIGHT degradation (some praise too). The classic 'what are we' at the end. The L word.

Word Count: 6.1k

Author Note: Hello Beauties! Thank you for the support and kindness you've all shown me. And thank you for this ask, I really enjoyed writing it. I hope I did your idea justice. Sorry that this is a bit long, it just sort of happened. Also, I hope you all enjoyed the holiday yesterday, well those that celebrate. I'm hoping to finish part four of The Watcher soon so I can get it out, life has just been so exhausting. Anyways, please enjoy and feel free to leave feedback! I love you all, thank you so much!! Stay freaky y'all.

Your best friend, Rafe, had asked you to go to a party with him. Well, more like he had told you to go. Although it’s not like you’d ever miss the opportunity to party with your best friend. So, here you are; walking around the side of Topper’s house, looking for Rafe. You two didn’t come together, he got here before you. He knows you don’t love being around his ‘friends’ and their various illegal substances, even though he says he’s clean, he likes to have time with them before you get there. 

You round a corner, now entering the Thorton’s backyard. You look for Rafe as you work your way through the loud and busy crowd. You hear a friend call your name, you turn your head to her, and she waves you over. You approach her and a few others with a smile. You greet them.

The other girls chat amongst themselves as your friend speaks up, shouting over the music. “Hey!” She’s over enthusiastic per regular, probably a bit drunk too.

“Hey!” You shout back. 

She begins, “Oh my god! I have to tell you something. Guess who I saw—”. Usually, you’d want to hear all the gossip she’s about to ramble to you, but not right now. “Do you know where Rafe is?” You shout over her, cutting her off.

“What?” She asks, stepping closer to you so she can hear you.

“Do you know—” You’re suddenly interrupted by some guy standing beside you. You turn to face him.

“Hey.” He says, his tone confident. A cocky grin spreads across his face.

“Hi.” You smile politely, “Do I know you?”. You say hurriedly before turning back to your friend. She looks between you and the guy a few times before facing you and giving you a knowing smirk. You know what that look means and before you can say anything, she walks away. Leaving you alone with him. You roll your eyes at her playfully, although you really are annoyed that she didn’t tell you where Rafe is. 

Slowly, you turn your head back to the guy, flashing him another fake smile. He grins again before speaking, “No…no you don’t.” He pauses, stepping a bit closer to you so he doesn’t have to shout over the music as loud. “I’m Devin.”

Your fake smile is getting awkward, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t care about talking to him right now. “Nice to meet you, Devin. B-but I need to–”

Devin cuts you off, “Let me get you a drink.” 

You laugh shyly, “Oh...I-I’m okay, I actually have to…”

“Let me just get you a drink, it’ll only take a second.” He moves closer to rest his hand on your lower back for a slight moment, to get you to turn toward the drinks. 

Rafe was on the back patio sitting on one of the couches when someone had mentioned to him that they saw you. He went to go and find you, which is when he spotted you laughing with some guy, who moments later put his hand on you. Rafe’s already had a few drinks tonight, so his judgment clouded even more than usual, especially when it comes to you. 

As you walk towards the drinks, Devin’s hand falls and he follows close behind you. 

After a moment, you hear a mix of gasps and ‘ooohh’s’ from everyone. You turn to look behind you where everyone seems to be gathering. You find that Devin isn’t behind you anymore.

Immediately your eyes land on some commotion in the crowd, you squeeze through the ring of people forming around the area. Shit. You run forwards, pausing just before the fight. 

Devin is flat on his back, Rafe straddling him. Rafe has Devin’s shirt clenched in one fist, holding his head off the ground as he repeatedly drives his other fist into Devin’s face. 

“Rafe!” You shout. Keeping your distance, not wanting to get too close while he’s out of control. You’ve seen how he can get. In the years that you two have been friends, you’ve had to calm him down from countless fights, since nobody else can ever seem to do it. But, when nobody else steps in to try and stop the fight, you step closer, knowing something has to be done. “Rafe, stop! Stop it!” You scream. 

Devin’s completely unconscious, his nose is probably broken, but you can’t really tell; his face is a swollen mess of blood and bruises. You can’t stand here and watch anymore, and nobody seems to be listening to your cries for help. Because nobody is stupid enough to get in Rafe’s way while he’s like this. You step behind Rafe, putting your hands on his shoulders. You try to pull him back all the while trying not to get punched.

“Rafe! Look at me! Look at me, Ray!” Rafe turns his head to the side, momentarily stopping his actions, letting Devin’s head rest on the floor. You put a hand up to cup his cheek. Speaking quietly now as you plead to him. “Rafe…c’mon, that’s good, h-he’s had enough…”. Your tears slow, but your breath is still erratic as you look at the unconscious man. 

Rafe turns back to the guy, your hand falling from his face. Rafe pulls Devin’s head up, like he was going to punch him again. Instead, he lets go, letting the boy's head hit the floor. Rafe stands up without a word and grabs you by your wrist, tugging you away. 

Before you know it, you’re being shoved into your best friend's truck. His random mumbles don’t make much sense to you, talking about ‘he got what he deserved…Should’ve fuckin’ killed him…yeah, should’ve fucking killed him for that. Touchin’ what’s mine…’

When you get to Tannyhill, Rafe wastes no time pulling you into his room. You sit on his bed stiffly, waiting silently as he paces the room.

“Rafe?” You call out softly. “You okay? What happened back there? What was that?”

“He touched you.” Rafe states. His tone is low and rough, sending a chill down your spine. Even after all the years you’ve been his best friend, you still never know how to act when he’s like this. 

“Barely. He barely touched me.”

Rafe completely disregards what you say, shaking his head and blowing out a jagged breath as he continues to pace across his room, a bit slower now. “Why was he even talking to you? You were supposed to be with me. I told you to go to the party, not him.” 

You take your chance to get a word in as he spews out angry nonsense. “I was looking for you and he started talking, ‘wanted to get me a drink. I was just being nice; I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t even want to talk to him, I was looking for you, Rafe. I don’t even see why that matters–”.

He pauses, looking over at you. His movements are sharp as he strides over to you. “Don’t see why it matters…?” He repeats your words, more for himself than to you. “It matters because you’re mine.” His words are sharp, definitely directed to you that time.

“Rafe…you almost killed him…because of me? I don’t get it Rafe; I don’t nearly kill all the girls you fuck.” You state.

Rafe lets out a breathy chuckle before speaking. “Still don’t get it, huh?” Rafe laughs. “God you’re so innocent. So naive.” He pauses, stepping closer until he’s standing in front of you, looking down at you as you sit on his bed. “I need you, y/n. I can’t…god, I can’t even fuck anyone else anymore without thinking about you. I can’t let anyone else have you, got that? You understand now?” He asks harshly as he runs a rough hand through your hair. 

You try to swallow the lump in your throat. You look up and nod weakly, causing Rafe to flash a devilish grin. “Yeah?” He asks quietly, his voice coming out low. 

“Yeah…” You mumble back brainlessly, too shocked by your best friend's confession. You had always thought Rafe saw you purely as a friend. Although thinking back, you don’t know how you ever thought that with how he acts, especially lately. 

No time is wasted as Rafe quickly leans down, capturing your lips with his. The first kiss is hesitant, and you don’t kiss back. But when he pulls away to look at you, trying to gauge your emotion, you lean in. Your best friend takes that as a sign to continue. His lips quickly find yours again. When he feels you start to kiss back, he escalates things. Kissing you more roughly now, acting as though he’s a starved man and your lips are his meal.

His hand moves from the back of your head to your throat, lightly squeezing. At first you don’t even realize, too distracted by the feeling of his tongue entering your mouth. But when Rafe squeezes your neck even tighter, you move your hands to reach up and wrap around his wrist in an attempt to pull it away. Your mouth still occupied by his, the kiss is too fucking good to break. It feels like everything you didn’t know you needed. He’s giving you what nobody else could, because only he knows exactly what you need and exactly how to give it to you. Your lack of breath reminds you of your situation and you pull away from the kiss momentarily.

Rafe’s grip loosens as he pulls his head back so he can look into your eyes. “Tell me you want this.” He mumbles breathlessly. 

You search his eyes as you catch your breath. Nodding, you finally speak up. “I want this.” You say definitively.

Not even half a second later, Rafe’s body crashes down onto you, pushing you down so that you’re laying on his bed. Rafe has one arm beside your head, holding himself up as his other remains on your neck. He hovers over you, one knee pressed between your thighs. Rafe leans down, his lips attaching to your neck, kissing and sucking frantically at your skin. He’s been waiting so, so long for this. 

His lips find your ear, softly biting at it before whispering. “Let me take care of you, baby. You want that, hm?”. While waiting for your response, his free hand traces down the side of your body until it reaches the hem of your skirt. He moves his face to the other side of your head, giving some attention to your other ear. “Need your best friend to help you feel good…give you what you need, yeah?” His hand slips under your skirt, slowly gliding up your inner thigh, sending shivers through your whole body.

“Yes–” A moan escapes your lips, interrupting you. Your eyes meet his before you continue. “Please Rafey…need you…”

His lips meet yours at the same time his hand meets your clothed cunt. He kisses you sloppily, exploring every part of your mouth with his tongue. Your hands come up to rest on his chest, your touch sending shocks through him. He rubs you through your panties. He can feel as you grow more needy, the wet spot on your panties getting larger. 

He can’t believe this is actually happening. He’s wanted to do this to you for so long; he’s dreamt of this moment happening in almost every way possible, but this…he never could’ve imagined this feeling. “Fuck…you’re so wet f’me already.”

“Ray…please…” You can’t help but rut your panty-clad cunt against his hand, searching for friction. Usually you’re never this bold, but you’re comfortable with him. You always have been, he is your best friend after all. You just pray that he understands what you need. 

Except Rafe doesn’t respond in the way you had hoped for. No, instead he pulls his hand out from under your skirt, eliciting a whine from you. He presses a genuine, wet kiss against your parted lips before moving down your body. Rafe slides down, kneeling onto the floor in front of the bed. He grabs you by the back of your knees and tugs you down towards him until your ass is at the edge of the bed. Without breaking eye contact, he swiftly removes your skirt. He spreads your legs, making them bend so your heels are on the edge of the bed. Eagerly, he presses wet, sloppy kisses up your inner thighs, his eyes trained up on you.

The sight of him like this between your thighs, doing exactly what you need…it drives you crazy. You lean your head back, letting out a moan as Rafe mouths at your entrance through the fabric your panties.

It’s not long before he’s peeling back your panties as well, sliding them off of you completely. Your legs threaten to close from insecurity, but your best friend is sure to hold them open.

“Fuck…this pussy’s even prettier than I imagined, baby. Soaked…just for me.” Rafe leans in, his mouth hovering just above your core. He silently asks for permission.

Being your best friend, Rafe knows that you’ve never done this before. No guy had ever wanted to date you while Rafe’s your best friend, they could see that you’re his, even if you couldn’t. 

His breath is hot on your bare center, he watches as you squirm and clench around nothing. Eagerly you nod, giving him permission. And within seconds his mouth is on you.

At first, he’s slow; gentle as his eyes continue to meet yours. He licks a warm stripe up your center, briefly pulling back to watch your reaction. Your head falls back, your mouth parted, and eyes closed as you experience this new sensation that your best friend is so generously giving you.

Rafe begins to lick and suck at you. His tongue circles your clit as he looks up, knowing you’d like it. A moan slips past your lips as your hand flies to the back of his head, the other gripping onto the sheets beside you. 

“Nnnghh…f-fuck, Ray…” You whine as his tongue fucks you relentlessly. He only mumbles against you in response, sending vibrations through your core. This felt even better than you had ever thought it would. When you heard people talk about sex, you didn’t think it could actually be this good. Though maybe that just has to do with the fact that Rafe’s your best friend, and he knows exactly what you need.

“Yeah?” One of his hands leaves your leg and moves to grope your tits through your clothes. “You like this, huh? You’re just a slut for your best friend, hm? Letting me have you like this…”

“N-need you…” You mutter, grieving the loss of his tongue on you. He stares at you with a devilish glint in his eyes. 

“I know, baby. I know.” Rafe’s mouth continues to work on you. His tongue gathers some slick from your entrance and brings it up to your clit, circling it with his tongue a few times before repeating the process. 

The feeling in your lower stomach is starting to build. It’s getting hard for you to sit still for him. It’s even harder for you to stay quiet. A plethora of moans escape you as Rafe’s mouth stays busy between your thighs. Your hand holds his head down, your other grips the sheets underneath you. 

“Rafe…please. S’too much, I can’t—” You whine. 

“Ah ah ah…stop running, baby. I got you. I got you.” Rafe’s grip on your thighs tightens, keeping you in place. “God,” He mutters breathlessly. “You taste…you taste so fuckin’ good. Hiding this from me all that time, hm?” He leans back down and continues his ministrations on you.

Your toes start to curl, the band in your stomach threatening to snap. Suddenly he stops and before you get the chance to look down to see why, one of his fingers is prodding at your entrance. “Gotta stretch this pretty little pussy out, yeah? Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You nod, allowing one of his thick, long digits to slowly slide into you. You almost scream when he starts to move it, his mouth working on you at the same time. Rafe adds another finger, now thrusting two in and out of you. 

“Fuck baby, you’re gonna squeeze my cock so good. Jus’ gotta get you used to this, hm? You gonna let your best friend be the first to fuck you?” Rafe asks. You nod in response, agreeing to his words. Rafe’s fingers spread apart inside you, stretching your hole, preparing you for his cock. His tongue pauses again as he looks up at you and correct his previous statement. “The only one to fuck you.” Rafe puts his head back between your thighs, his fingers fucking you mercilessly as his tongue sucks at your bud. 

You nod again, followed by a whine. “F-fuck…Ray. I-I think I’m gonna…”

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me, baby? Hm?” 

“Mhmm…yes, fuckk–” You respond, your fingers fighting to grasp onto the little hair he has. Your thighs begin to squeeze around him, causing him to pull his head up against the force of your hand on him. 

“Just a little more, baby. You can take it. I know you can. You gonna let me help you finish? You wanna cum?”

“Yes! Yes! Please Rafey…please let me cum.” Your begging makes him chuckle briefly before going back down on you. His tongue moves with precision, working on you with a purpose; to make you cum. 

Without warning, the band in your stomach snaps. You scream out his name as his tongue circles your sensitive bud and his fingers pump in and out of you slowly. Your best friend continues to work you through your first real orgasm. You’ve never felt anything like this. Why the hell did you wait so long to do this with him?

“God…baby. You’re so fuckin’ perfect. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those pretty sounds.” Rafe carefully slides his fingers out of you, making you clench around nothing at the loss of him. He gets up from his knees, standing over you again. Rafe’s face glistens with your slick. His hand moves up to brush your hair back while he brings his free hand up to your mouth. “Open.” He orders. You oblige and he pushes two digits into your mouth. “Taste that? Taste how fuckin’ good you taste?” He pulls his fingers back, immediately moving down to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his lips. Rafe climbs on top of you, his mouth finding the sweet spot behind your ear. He whispers, “You okay?”

“Mhm…better than okay.” You reassure him. Your legs are still shaking with the aftershock of your orgasm. 

“Good.” He mumbles against your skin. “‘Cause I’m not even close to done with you, baby. We’re just getting started.” He doesn’t wait before he’s pulling off your shirt, kissing down your chest. Soon after, he unclasps your bra with one hand, pulling it off of you and tossing it onto the floor somewhere. 

His lips are vicious, attaching to any and every bit of your skin. His hands gently cup your breasts, his mouth finding and attaching to one of your nipples. His eyes stay trained up on your face, he likes seeing how you react to his touch. He pulls back, straddling your lap. Your hand shoots out to grab the hem of his shirt, trying to tug it upwards. He smirks and quickly does it himself, tossing it aside. He watches you like prey as your eyes skim over his bare chest. 

It’s not like you haven’t seen him shirtless before, you have, many times. But no matter how many times you see him like this, you’ll never get used to it. You’ve never seen him in this way though. It’s different, more intimate. You’ve never shared this kind of intimacy with anybody before. And you’re glad you’re doing it with your best friend, whom you’re comfortable with. 

The low light of his bedside lamps reflecting off of his toned skin, damp with sweat. You let out a slow breath as you take in the sight. “Fuck.” You mutter. 

Rafe leans down, kissing and nipping at your earlobe. He whispers, “Like what you see?” He laughs. 

You nod your head eagerly. “Mhmm…”

“Use your words baby, you’re a big girl, aren’t you?” 

“I…y-yes.” You whine as you wriggle underneath him, trying to squeeze your thighs shut in search of some much-needed friction.

Rafe knows what you need. He knows that you’re ready now; ready to give him everything, let him take your innocence, your virtue. He uses one hand to prop himself up as the other works at his belt. Once you realize what he’s doing, you try to help him out, eagerly unbuckling his belt as he kisses you passionately, like he’s never kissed anyone else before you; like you’re the only girl on this fucking planet. 

Once his belt is off, you work at his pants. He leans up so he can tug them off, throwing them aside with the rest of the discarded clothes. All that’s left between the two of you now is the thin fabric of his boxers. You can feel his hardened form pressing into your leg as he kisses you, practically devouring you. Without thinking about it, you find your hand tugging at the waistband of his boxers. You beg. “Please”, your lips whisper into his ear as he bites at your neck. “Rafey…”

He leans back again, this time getting off of you and standing at the side of the bed and in front of you. You can’t help but touch yourself as Rafe frees himself from the constraint of his boxers. You watch as his hard cock springs up, hitting his stomach when it’s finally freed. He smirks, leaning down to remove your hand from yourself. 

“I got you, baby. I got you. I’ll take care of you.” He mumbles, moving his hand over your core again. His strong fingers circle your clit. Your breath hitches as you watch him touch you, his other hand holding the base of his cock.

“Rafe?” You manage to ask through your cries. 

“Hm? What is it?” Rafe says your name softly, encouraging you to continue. 

“Will it hurt?” You’ve heard that the first time can be uncomfortable. And judging by Rafe’s size, this was going to be more than just uncomfortable. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to back out of the situation, you need this. You need him.

Your best friend’s expression becomes more serious as he looks at you. His hand comes up from your core to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. “It might, baby. It might be a little uncomfortable for a moment, but I’ll do my best to make it feel good, yeah? I’ll go slow. And if you don’t like it I want you to tell me. You’re okay, baby. It’s just me, your best friend. I’m gonna take care of you. M’kay?” You nod in response, his eyes darting between your eyes to get a sense of what you’re thinking. Rafe clicks his tongue. “Ah, ah. Use your words, pretty girl.” His hand reaches out for your chin, tilting your face up towards him. 

“Please Ray…”

“Please what?”

“Fuck me…” The words sound so vulgar coming from your sweet, innocent mouth. He’s never known you to speak this way, but he’s not against it. He pumps his fist over his cock a few times, his head leaning back as he lets out a groan. “Please Rafe…I-I need you in me…”

Your words snap him out of his amazement. “Atta girl.” He replies. You can feel his tip gently rub against your slippery entrance. Your warm juices on his cock feel better than anything he’s ever experienced. You’re like a drug to him. A drug that he can’t get enough of. 

He pulls back before you can get used to the feeling of him. He leans over you, reaching into his dresser drawer. When he moves back over you, you see the shiny square wrapper in his hand.

You place your hands over his as he tries to open the condom. “No…”

His head snaps up at you. “No…? No what?” He asks, confused. “You don’t want to do this?”

“No…Rafe, I-I want this. I just…I want to feel you. No…no condom.” You explain.

“Fuck, y/n. Are you sure?” Rafe’s disbelief and shock is very apparent in his tone. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m on the pill.” You confirm.

“God, how much more perfect can you fuckin’ get?” He chuckles, making you huff out a quick laugh. 

Soon his lips are back on yours as he uses his hand to guide his glistening, pink tip back to your puffy cunt. Slowly, he pushes into you, just so that the very tip of his cock is inside of you. He looks up to your face, pending your reaction. 

“F-fuck…Rafe.” Your hands move to his hips, pushing him further inside. Rafe gives in, pushing another inch into you. “Mnghh, fuck…Rafe.” Rafe settles there for a moment before giving you another inch or two. Each time he moves, he looks to make sure you’re still enjoying it, giving you a minute to adjust each time. When he finally bottoms out, you feel so…full. The pain is there, but it doesn’t last long, fading into a light discomfort as your soft walls mold to his shape. You involuntarily squeeze around him.

“Shiiiitt, baby…Squeezin’ me so tight.” He pauses to kiss you, his lips soon finding that soft spot behind your ear that makes you shiver. “M’gonna move now, alright?”

“Mhm…please…” You whine. You hook your arms under his, bringing your palms up to grip onto his back. Rafe continues to kiss all over your neck and chest as he slowly pulls out of you, until only the tip is left inside. Without warning, he pushes into you a bit quicker this time, with a bit more force than before. But you’re not complaining. You cry his name out, your nails digging into his shoulders. He begins to move at a slow, steady pace as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. “F-fuck…” You yelp, gripping onto him even harder.

“Fuck, baby…your nails, they hurt.” He mumbles amusedly into your ear as he nips at it. Immediately your grip loosens. You feel terrible but can’t manage to muster up an apology since you can’t think clearly with how his cock is repeatedly kissing your cervix with each thrust. 

“Faster.” You beg, pressing your forehead into his arm. He listens cautiously, carefully picking up the face. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder. The new position allows him to hit an even deeper spot inside of you. When his digits start to circle your clit you almost let out a scream, making him chuckle. 

“Such a fuckin’ whore for me, hm?” He laughs as he fucks you senseless.

“Fuck…Rafey, no, I…I can’t. Can’t take it.” You moan, throwing your head back as your eyes squeeze shut. 

“You can and you will.” He speaks emotionlessly, overtaken by pleasure. Rafe’s hand moves from you clit up to your throat again, he applies a bit of pressure. Your hands leave his back and wrap around his wrist. Your eyes stay shut as your face contorts into that of pure bliss. His thumb slides into your mouth and you suck and bite at it, trying to distract yourself from the overwhelming feeling of him fucking you. You don’t see how you can ever stop; this feeling is…unlike anything else you’ve felt before. “You got this baby. M’almost there. You can let go, baby. Just let go f’me.”

Sooner than later you feel the newly familiar feeling of pressure building in your lower stomach. When it snaps, your body tenses up, a wave of moans escape your mouth as the band snaps and pleasure washes over you. Rafe continues to fuck you slowly, his movements becoming more sporadic than strategic.

“Fuck, where do you want it?”

“My pussy, please Rafey…fill me up?” You ask, eyes wide with tears as you look up at him. “Please?”

“Shit, you sure?” Rafe groans, barely able to hold on any longer.

“Y-yes...I’m sure.” Only seconds later you can feel his warm seed spurting out inside of you. Your gummy walls soaking him in as they squeeze around him, milking him for all that he’s got.

“Fuckk y/n. Do that again.” As he thrusts into you without any specific rhythm, you obey his words, squeezing tightly around his length again. Rafe lets out a guttural moan, tossing his head back for a moment before looking at you again, watching how well you take him, as if you were made for him. The way he fills you up you is like pieces of a puzzle, just meant for one another. “Shiiitt…you’re so fucking tight. Squeezin’ ‘round your best friends cock so good.”

After you’re both worked through your orgasms, he pulls out of you. You groan at the loss of him, feeling a big opening left where he had been. Rafe leans down to press a deep, meaningful kiss to your lips. He pulls back, wiping your hair and sweat from your face with a proud smile.

“God, baby. You did so good, so fucking good. That’s a good girl. My girl, yeah?” He leans down again, pressing a kiss to your neck. Rafe whispers in your ear. “m’so proud.” Before pulling away completely, he presses a kiss to each of your cheeks, your nose, and one final kiss to your forehead. 

You turn on your side to face him as he lay on the bed beside you. “Rafe…” Your voice shows your exhaustion, but also your hesitancy.

He turns on his side to face you as well, propping his head up against his hand. “Hm?” He says with a smile. He can’t help it, it’s impossible for him to see you and not smile after what you just did. 

You flop back down onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. It’s too hard to say this while looking at his beautiful smile. “That was…” 

“Incredible?” He interrupts, his fingers lightly tracing up and down your arm. 

“What was that?” You blurt out, scared that if you don’t say it now then you never will.

Rafe’s smile fades quickly, he props himself up on his elbows, staring down at you with furrowed brows. “Woah woah, woah. Hey. What? What d’you mean?”

You give a light shrug, his fingers no longer moving over your skin. You avoid looking at his pretty eyes. “I mean like…what happens now?”

He sighs, laying back down next to you, looking up at the ceiling. “Well, you’re my girl now, yeah? I thought that was obvious.” 

“Your girl? The Rafe Cameron I know doesn’t do girlfriends.” You say lightly.

“That’s because I never wanted one. I never…needed one, I’ve got you.”

“So…we’re friends?” You ask, attempting and failing at trying to hide your emotions.

“We are, aren’t we?” Rafe responds, not knowing what his words imply or how they’ll make you feel.

“Yeah…yea we’re friends.” You say dryly. 

He turns his head to face you. “Hey. Y/N. What’s wrong? Hey…hey, talk to me.”

“Nothing, Rafe. I’m fine.”

“Jesus, no you’re not. C‘mon baby, what is it?”

“Nothing!” You snap. You’re angry about your own reaction, feeling stupid once the words leave your mouth. Grabbing the sheets, you cover yourself up.

“Did I do something? What’d I do?” Asks Rafe, making you feel worse about yourself. It’s not his fault you feel like this. “Is it what we did? Look, I’m sorry if—“

You cut him off, not being able to listen to him blame himself. “I just…I don’t think friends do what we just did.”

“Jesus, y/n. Look…” He trails off, cursing himself. “Do you not wanna be my girl or something? ‘Cause I can—“

“No, Rafe. I just…I don’t get what you mean. Your girl?”

“Yeah.” He says, confused.

“Like…your girlfriend? Dating? Us?”

“Fuck. Yes, baby. My girlfriend.” Rafe says the word as though it’s a pain to say it. “Will you be my girlfriend? Please?” You could tease him about the way he’s practically begging you.

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” You joke, not being able to resist. Rafe laughs, glad to hear your usual self. 

“Well, I’m kinda hoping that I’m your…boyfriend, now.”

“Hmm…let me think…” You say, tapping your chin as if this is something you need to contemplate. You can see his demeanor sadden from the corner of your eye, causing you to look over at him. “What’s in it for me?” You add, a smirk threatening to appear on your face. You can barely hold back your laughter at this point, but he still looks so sad, like a puppy who can’t have a treat. “Jesus Rafe, I thought you’d never ask.” You don’t even give him enough time to respond before you’re on top of him, his lips immediately seeking yours.

“Yeah? You mean it?” He asks between kisses, almost nervously. 

“Of course I do, Rafe. ‘Promise.” 

You always know just what to say to him to calm down his mind, he loves that about you. “Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this. God, I fuckin’ love you.” Your eyes widen at his confession, you look down at him. He’s almost just as shocked as you are. He didn’t even know he felt that way. The words just slipped out, but they felt so right. “Fuck, no, I meant—“ Rafe starts, but you cut him off. You kiss him again,  passionately. This kiss shows him exactly how you feel, somehow being more intimate than having sex with him was. 

“I love you, Rafe. I promise.” You know how he can feel like everybody is against him, so you try to reassure him as much as you can. You’re the only one who’s ever made him feel cared for; he just never wanted to fuck things up with you. “Please just…can you promise me that you’ll stop beating up random strangers who talk to me? ‘Cause I don’t care about them, Rafe. I care about you.”

This is all so new, talking to each other in this way. But it’s how you’ve both always felt. “But y/n, he-“ Rafe pauses, reconsidering his words for you. He sighs and then mumbles, “Yeah…I’ll try.” He looks back at you, you with a stern look in your eyes. “I will. I promise.”

You smile, leaning down for a kiss. Quickly, things start to escalate again. Rafe flips you both over so he’s on top. He leans down to kiss your neck, sucking and nipping at it as he works his way down, kissing every inch of you. 

“Mnmh…fuck…” You moan.

Rafe smiles against your skin. “Yeah, baby? That feels good huh?” You only nod eagerly as a response. Rafe takes hold of his already hard cock, using his fist to pump over himself a few times, letting out a low growl. He rubs his dewy, pink tip over your sticky hole. 

You let out a moan, still being sensitive from your previous orgasms. “F-fuck…Rafe, m’too sensitive, s’too much.” You whine.

“Shh…shhhh baby, it’s okay. I’m not gonna do nothin’, jus’ wanna show you how proud of my girl I am.” His mouth works it’s way down, landing back between your thighs. Your boyfriend softly bites at your inner thighs, his eyes staying trained on you as your face contorts in pleasure. Eventually he finds your soaking core, lapping up the mix of your juices. You feel his fingers gather some of your arousal, mixed with his cum. Before you know it, those fingers are deep inside your throat. “Taste that, baby? Hm? Taste how fucking good we are?” 

You nod, whining when his mouth finds your core again. His tongue flicks at your most sensitive bud, making you jump. Although Rafe only holds onto harder the more you try to run. “Baby, it’s okay. Let me take care of you; clean you up.”

It doesn’t take long until you’re yet again, a shaking, crying mess underneath him. When his mouth works it’s way back to yours, you can taste both of you on his tongue. “Fuckin’ love this pussy. I fucking love you.”

You smile a weak, tired smile at him. He rolls off of you, flipping you both on your side so he can spoon you. He kisses your shoulder, his fingers lightly tracing mindless shapes into your skin. “I love you too.” You respond as you drift off to sleep in your boyfriend's arms.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Please feel free to leave more asks, I will most likely get to them at some point. Thank you!

[mcrveilles]

just this once // ln4

HI WE'RE BACK - i'm having so much fun writing this. thank you for liking it and your encouragement.

word count: 2.1k warnings: casual intimacy themes, secrecy, conflicts of loyalty, romantic tension and suggestive content, heartache, feelings of betrayal includes: friends to lovers, fluff, best friends little sister, brothers best friend summary: the consequences hit hard

PART FIVE previous part - next part

The tension thickens, pressing down on your chest as Max’s words settle in the air between you. You glance at Lando, hoping he has some magic explanation, some way to fix this, but his jaw is set, his eyes locked on Max. His usual easy charm is nowhere to be found, and for the first time tonight, he looks genuinely shaken. Max crosses his arms, his sharp gaze moving between the two of you. "Well?" he presses, his voice growing louder. "Someone better start talking."

You take a shaky breath, your hands twisting together at your sides. “Max, it’s not like that,” you manage, though your voice wavers under the weight of his stare. “We weren’t sneaking around. I mean, not intentionally. It’s just…” You trail off, your words getting stuck in your throat. “Not intentionally?” Max repeats, his tone dripping with disbelief. “So what? It just accidentally happened?”

Lando steps in then, his voice calm but firm. “We didn’t plan this, Max. I swear. But… yeah, there’s something between us.” He glances at you, his expression softening before he looks back at Max. “It wasn’t something we wanted to hide from you. We just—”

“Wanted to keep it quiet until it suited you?” Max interrupts, his voice rising. “Do you even understand what this looks like? You, my best friend, going behind my back with my sister? And you—” He turns to you, his eyes filled with something between anger and betrayal. “You didn’t think to tell me? Not once?” You flinch at the accusation, guilt curling in your stomach. “I didn’t know how,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Well, congratulations,” Max snaps, throwing his hands in the air. “Mission failed.”

The words hit like a slap, and you blink back the sting of tears. Max has never spoken to you like this, never looked at you like this—like he doesn’t even recognize you. The hurt in his eyes is worse than the anger, and it makes your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared for. “Max,” Lando says again, his tone softer now. “You’re my best mate. I never wanted to hurt you either. But…” He hesitates, like he’s searching for the right words. “I care about her. A lot. And if you can’t see that—”

“That’s the problem,” Max cuts in, his voice raw. “I do see it. I saw it tonight, clear as day. And maybe even before that, but I ignored it because I trusted you, Lando. I trusted both of you.” The weight of his words hangs in the air, and for a moment, no one speaks. You can feel the tears threatening to spill over, but you hold them back, refusing to break under the pressure of Max’s gaze. “I need some time,” Max finally says, his voice quieter now, but no less resolute. “To think. To figure out how I feel about all of this.” He takes a step back toward the door, pausing to look at Lando. “Don’t follow me. Either of you.” And with that, he turns and walks back inside, leaving you and Lando alone on the balcony once more. The sound of the party swells as the door shuts behind him, a stark contrast to the silence that settles between you.

Lando exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Well,” he mutters, “that went about as badly as it could’ve.”

You let out a shaky laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

He steps closer then, his hand brushing yours in a gesture that feels both apologetic and grounding. “We’ll fix this,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a determination that makes your chest tighten. “I don’t know how yet, but we’ll fix it.” You nod, though you’re not sure that you believe him. The night feels heavier now, the spark of earlier completely snuffed out. But when Lando’s fingers lace with yours, you let yourself hold onto him—just for a moment—because even in the mess you’ve made, he’s the only thing that feels steady.

You pull your hand from his stepping back until the cool metal of the balcony railing presses against your spine. Lando’s brows knit together, confusion flashing across his face. “You okay?” he asks softly, his voice careful, like he’s afraid you might shatter. But you already feel like you’re breaking. Your breath comes too fast, and your chest tightens as all the emotions swirling inside you—guilt, fear, frustration—bubble to the surface. “I can’t do this,” you whisper, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “What do you mean?” His voice is steadier now, but you can see the cracks in his confident mask. He takes a step forward, and you immediately hold up a hand to stop him.

“I mean this.” You gesture vaguely between the two of you. “Us. Whatever this is. I can’t, Lando. I thought I could, but I can’t.” He stares at you, his jaw tightening. “Baby, don’t do this,” he says, his tone low but urgent, almost pleading. “I’m serious, Lando,” you say, hating the way your voice wavers. “Max hates me now. He hates you. And he has every right to. We were selfish, and we’ve ruined everything.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Lando says firmly, his hands falling to his sides. “He’s just upset. He needs time to process this, that’s all.”

“Maybe,” you say, your throat tightening, “but I can’t keep doing this with you, sneaking around, pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. It’s too much, Lando. I can’t handle it.” The hurt in his eyes is like a punch to the stomach, and you have to look away, focusing instead on the city lights below. For a moment, the only sound is the distant hum of traffic and the muffled music from inside the apartment. “You’re scared,” he says finally, his voice quieter now.

You laugh bitterly, though there’s no humor in it. “Of course I’m scared. I’m terrified, Lando. I’m terrified of hurting Max even more, of ruining what we had—what you and Max have. And I’m terrified of…” You trail off, biting your lip hard enough to hurt.

“Of what?” he presses gently, stepping closer despite your earlier protest. His voice is softer now, like he’s trying to coax the truth out of you.

“Of you,” you whisper, the words barely audible. “Of how much I feel when I’m with you. Of how I can’t seem to think straight when you’re around. It’s too much, Lando. You’re too much.” He doesn’t respond immediately, and the silence stretches out between you, heavy and suffocating. When he finally speaks, his voice is steady, but there’s an edge of vulnerability that makes your chest ache.

“I’m not going to apologize for how I feel about you,” he says. “And I’m not going to let you push me away just because you’re scared.”

“Lando—”

“No, let me finish,” he says, his tone firmer now. “I get it. You’re overwhelmed. So am I. But this? What we have? It’s real. And I’m not going to let you throw it away because you’re too afraid to fight for it.” His words hit you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, all you can do is stand there, your heart pounding in your chest. You want to argue, to tell him he’s wrong, but deep down, you know he’s not. Still, the fear is stronger. It wraps around you like a vice, squeezing the air from your lungs. “I need space,” you say finally, your voice trembling. “I need to figure things out on my own.”

His face falls, and the sight nearly breaks you. But he nods, his jaw tight. “If that’s what you want,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It is,” you say, though the words feel like a lie.

He steps back, his hands sliding into his pockets. For a moment, he just looks at you, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to memorize every detail. Then he nods again, turns, and walks back inside without another word. You stay on the balcony, the cool night air doing nothing to ease the heat burning in your chest. And as the door clicks shut behind him, you realize just how much it hurts to push him away.

The second Lando steps away, a hollowness seeps into your chest, spreading fast and heavy like a lead weight. The cool night air brushes against your skin, but instead of soothing you, it amplifies the ache inside, making every breath sharp and uneven. You tell yourself this is for the best, that pushing him away was the right thing to do—for Max, for Lando, for yourself—but the words ring hollow.

Guilt churns in your stomach, twisting like a knife. Max’s face, the flash of hurt and betrayal in his eyes, replays in your mind like a haunting reel, over and over again. And then there’s Lando. The look he gave you before he turned away—raw, unguarded—feels like a scar you’ll carry for a long time. You hate that you put it there.

Your hands tremble as you grip the railing, the cold metal biting into your palms. Everything feels too much, too fast. You were supposed to keep things simple. One night. One moment. A slip you could explain away and move on from. But it’s become so much more, hasn’t it? And now, it’s spiraled into a mess you can’t seem to untangle.

The lump in your throat grows heavier, and your vision blurs as tears pool in your eyes. You don’t know if you’re angry, sad, or just exhausted—maybe all three. Angry at yourself for letting this happen, sad for the way things are unraveling, and exhausted from pretending you don’t care as much as you do.

And you do care. That’s the worst part. You care so much it’s terrifying. Every glance, every touch, every stolen moment with Lando has carved its way into you, leaving marks you don’t know how to erase. And the thought of losing him—really losing him—hurts more than you want to admit.

But the fear is louder. Fear of what this could mean for Max, for your family, for your heart. Fear of stepping into something that feels so big, so overwhelming, it might swallow you whole.

So you stay rooted there, staring out at the city lights, wishing they could somehow illuminate the answers you so desperately need. But all they do is flicker and blur, leaving you just as lost as before.

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

The buzz of Silverstone is electric, a sea of orange and British flags waving wildly as engines roar to life. The atmosphere is alive, but you feel out of sync, moving through the paddock like a ghost. Max is there, but his smiles are subdued when it comes to you. He’s cheering forLando, though, still proud and supporting his best friend for his home race. Still, his excitement feels muted, his celebratory backslaps and grins somehow...limited and different. It’s like he’s drawing a line, one you’re not sure how to cross.

Lando keeps his distance too. You catch glimpses of him—a flash of his curls beneath his cap, the familiar set of his jaw as he talks to his engineers—but he never looks your way. You tell yourself it’s for the best, but it doesn’t stop the ache every time he passes.

When the race begins, you stand in the far back of his garage, heart pounding as Lando’s car tears through the track. Every overtake, every perfect turn has you holding your breath. You try not to think about the way things used to be—the way you’d celebrate together, no hesitation, no lines drawn in the sand. But you can’t help it. Because even with everything between you now, you’re still there, willing him to succeed.

When he crosses the finish line in P3, with Lewis winning the race, the roar of the crowd is deafening. You clap and cheer with the rest of them, smiling despite yourself as Lando lifts his trophy. Max is by your side in the crowd, grinning from ear to ear, but even his elation feels careful, like there’s something unsaid hanging between all of you.

Lando doesn’t look for you when he steps down from the podium. He’s swarmed by cameras and teammates, orange confetti raining down, but he doesn’t scan the crowd like he used to. And you? You stay on the sidelines, your pride for him tangled up in all the things you’re too scared to face.

tag list: @sltwins @sarx164 @hadesnumber1daughter @fullmugwolffish @willowsnook @sageskiesf1 @f1fantasys @cmleitora @rawr-123s-stuff @leclercdream @chezmardybum @landossainz @cloud-55 @sillyfreakfanparty @harrysdimple05 @mwuaferrari @milkysoop @weekendlusting @chezmardybum @isotopemylove @luvvcharxo

[dorabellingham]

Mini Bellingham

warning: none

characters: jude x fem!reader

summary: when after fans suspect, you actually find out you're pregnant

may contain spelling and translation errors!

A few weeks after the last wave of rumors that Jude Bellingham was going to be a father, you realized that something was really different. It wasn't just the slight swelling in your shirt, nor the symptoms that you attributed to the fast pace of travel and the crazy routine in Madrid. After a few days of feeling more tired than usual and having some morning sickness, you decided to put the doubt to rest once and for all.

The next morning, you took a pregnancy test from the bathroom, and a few minutes later, the two little lines appeared on the screen, confirming what you didn't even know you were expecting: you were pregnant. The emotion was intense and immediate. You laughed to yourself, tears welling up in surprise, and you stood there, absorbing the feeling of now having a precious and charming secret to share with Jude.

You knew he needed a surprise to match. After all, if the love of your life was going to find out he was going to be a father, it had to be in the most special way possible. You quickly planned a gesture that was symbolic and at the same time very much connected to the dream you both shared. In the following days, you sneaked out to organize everything: a mini-uniform of the English national team with the number ten and the name Bellingham on the back. You thought of every detail and, to make the surprise complete, you put together a kit with the uniform, the pregnancy test and a handwritten letter.

On the weekend, Jude arrived home after a hard training session, without thinking about anything. He was hungry and just wanted to rest. You smiled when you saw him come in distracted, already taking off his boots and adjusting his shirt. As soon as he sat down on the sofa, you approached him smiling and held out a small box with a red bow, which he accepted, confused.

—Is this… a present?

Jude asked, arching an eyebrow with a curious expression. You bit your lip, trying to contain your excitement, and shook your head.

—Go on, open it!

You said, with a smile that you could barely contain.

The eldest Bellingham opened the box and, when he pulled off the tissue paper, he came across the small uniform of the English national team. He looked at you with a surprised expression, not fully understanding, until he saw the pregnancy test. His eyes widened and his mouth opened in a smile of complete surprise and disbelief.

—Babe…? —He could barely speak, swallowing hard. —Are you… serious?

You nodded, smiling with your eyes full of tears.

—Congratulations, daddy!

You whispered, the words almost coming out like a melody.

He laughed, a surprised laugh, his face hidden in his hands as he processed the news. Emotion took over him, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight, long hug, laughing and crying at the same time.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Jude pulled away enough to look at you, his eyes brimming with happiness.

—A mini Bellingham… I can’t believe it! I’m already the luckiest man in the world just to have you, and now… Is this real?

You laughed, wiping a tear from his face.

—It’s real. And you know what’s funny? I think even your fans were already suspicious. But now, only the two of us know.

He looked at the mini-uniform in his hands, turning it over and getting lost in the details.

—I don’t even know how to thank you for giving me the greatest gift in the world, Y/n.

He kissed the top of your head, then brought his hand to your belly, still flat, but which would soon begin to show the first signs of this new phase.

You took the letter, handing it to him.

—There’s one more thing.

He opened the envelope carefully and read, still emotional:

"Dear Jude,

Thank you for being the best partner and the love of my life. I knew I wanted you to be the father of my children from the moment I realized I would do anything to be by your side. Today, I begin a new journey by your side, and I can only imagine how much we will love this baby. Our baby.

Thank you for everything, and thank you for being you. With all my love,

Y/n."

Jude could barely contain his emotion as he finished reading the letter. He looked at you, touched, and simply said.

—I love you more than anything in this world, love. More than I ever thought possible. And now... now there are three of us.

You snuggled into his arms, feeling completely at peace. From that moment on, your world was bigger, more complete, and the wait for that little Bellingham would be the sweetest of all.

[purple-plum-petals]

Hello! I saw your homicipher requests were open, and I wanted to request some general mr scarletella fluff if possible! :D

⊱ General Fluffy Headcanons ⊰ || Mr. Scarletella Headcanons

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮ Character(s): Mr. Scarletella (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Canon-typical Mentions of Violence (and horror-elements), Unhealthy Obsession/Possessiveness, Cultural Barriers (Mr. Scarletella Doesn’t Fully Comprehend Certain Emotions/Expresses Them Differently Than a Human Would). Genre: Headcanons, Fluff, Romantic or Platonic Relationship (It’s Complicated, honestly). Word Count: ~900 words Request: “Hello! I saw your homicipher requests were open, and I wanted to request some general mr scarletella fluff if possible! :D” Author’s Note: I’ll be honest with y’all, writing straight-up fluff for these characters is really hard to do lmao. I try to stay as canon-compliant as possible (it’s low-key a curse, but it’s such a great way to practice writing 😔), so I hope these are fluffy enough for you given, well… the source material as a whole haha. Mr. Scarletella wasn’t originally one of my favorite characters from the game, but he’s honestly starting to grow on me at a concerning speed – shout-out to all the artists on Twitter who have added to my enjoyment of this man. ✌️

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

🩸: Whenever it rains, Mr. Scarletella is always standing right there next to you, holding his red umbrella over your form so you do not become drenched because of the dreary weather. He takes his job very seriously, too, not minding how cold water causes his clothing to cling to his already deathly cold skin. He does it with an ever-present smile, too, watching you with unblinking eyes while he happily follows you around. Mr. Scarletella doesn’t get cold, he typically doesn’t feel any physical sensation in the first place, so getting a little wet while being able to keep you dry is something he doesn’t mind doing for you. If you invite him to join you under the umbrella, he falters for a bit before eventually standing next to you, shielding both of you from the rain (he loves being able to stand that close to you – he can almost feel the warmth radiating from you, and he finds himself craving it even after the two of you have found somewhere to take shelter). 

🩸: If there’s something you express an interest in, whether or not Mr. Scarletella is around when you make the off-handed comment, you’ll wake up to it lying right in front of your door. It’s honestly a bit creepy sometimes, just waking up to the article of clothing you looked at for longer than three seconds or the book whose title you briefly mentioned sitting at your feet when you open the door. In the past, any gift he left used to just be haphazardly placed in front of the door, and it reminded you of when a cat would catch a mouse and bring it to their owner (you’re not going to talk about the time you woke up to a literal human heart waiting for you, though…). However, Mr. Scarletella noticed that humans who exchanged gifts typically had them wrapped in paper, so he started to mimic their behavior, too, in the hopes you would like them more. Sure, his wrap-jobs were bad, almost hilariously so, but it was the thought that mattered. 

🩸: Whenever he looks at you, his pupils further dilate (even more than they usually are – it’s almost to the point where his entire eye is purely black, the red of his irises lost in the dark void of his gaze). Mr. Scarletella loves being able to just look at you, needing nothing more in life. He’ll watch you with an unblinking stare while you do literally anything. Whether it be cleaning your home or making yourself a meal, he will observe you as if you were the most interesting thing to have ever existed. As stated before, Mr. Scarletella is very good at mimicking human behaviors so, sometimes, he’ll ask if he can join you in whatever task you’re doing. He’ll copy the way you clean the floors or perfectly execute chopping the vegetables for the dish you were making after showing him what to do a single time. He’s very pleasant to be with during moments like these since he’s very good at acting like a human most of the time (other times, though – say if you need something from the top shelf – his body will twist and morph in very unsettling ways... It just emphasizes that, even if he’s good at pretending, he still isn’t human at the end of the day).   

🩸: Being with Mr. Scarletella means that you cannot have an unserious relationship, it’s just not in his vocabulary (because he’s obsessive, especially regarding you). He’s devoted to you entirely – body, mind, and soul – gladly letting you have the red umbrella to do with it whatever you wish. He’ll shiver slightly whenever you hold it in your hands, your touch is so strangely gentle as you softly run your fingers along the handle or press a kiss to the unassuming object. It hurts but in a different way. A part of him wishes you would just throw the umbrella to the ground, dig your heel into it, and have him experience a pain that was easier for him to understand… but you don’t. He loves your sweet touches, even if it’s painful and causes his chest to ache. He finds himself wishing he could touch you in that way, too, his ghost-like caresses causing your skin to tingle with static whenever his feather-light hands graze over your flesh (he loves cuddles and loving touches, even if he can’t experience them with you in a conventional sense). 

🩸: If you ever find yourself being bothered by someone who won’t leave you alone or someone who won’t take no for an answer, well… they may or may not end up missing. If you don’t want Mr. Scarletella to take care of anyone who is bothering you for you, you’ll definitely have to explain that it’s not appropriate because of the differences in your cultures – death and murder are common in the other world, after all (I’d also explain to him that he cannot harm or threaten people you care about, either, since he honestly wants you all to himself). This does mean, though, that you know that you’re safe no matter where you are. Mr. Scarletella is always watching you so, if you find yourself in a situation where your safety is at risk, you honestly have nothing to fear. He’ll keep you safe – you’re his love, his world, his reason for living, and he won’t let someone else take that from him.

[littlelamy]

Rafe taking care of Reader who goes through a depressive episode. She’s feeling like she is a burden and feels like everyone would be happier with her gone. Maybe things are pretty new between them, only gone on a few dates so she obviously (like most) isn’t going to tell him anything and doesn’t think she matters to a guy she has gone on a few dates with anyway, so she just stops responding to his texts

a/n: thank you for requesting!⭐️ i hope i wrote it appropriately to what you requested 🙂💗

the first time rafe noticed something was off, it was subtle—just a missed text here and there. maybe a delayed reply. nothing unusual at first. he probably told himself you were busy. everyone has those days where life gets hectic.

but when hours stretched into days and your replies went from short to nonexistent, he started to feel that quiet pull of worry.

“hey, you okay?” he texted the day before, after his third unanswered message.

you saw it pop up on your screen. his name glowed against the darkness of your room, and for a moment, your heart ached with the idea of answering. but then the thought crept in.

he’s just being polite. he barely knows you. he’s probably relieved you stopped answering anyway.

so you let the screen go dark.

you told yourself it didn’t matter. it wasn’t like you two were serious. you’d only gone on a handful of dates, and even though every moment with rafe had been sweet and effortless, there was no way someone like him could actually care.

you’d been wrong about people before.

the weight in your chest had only grown heavier over the past few weeks. even getting out of bed felt impossible some days, let alone pretending to be okay for someone like rafe cameron. so, you didn’t bother. you shut your phone off, buried it under a pillow, and let the world fade into static.

the knock at your door startled you.

at first, you thought it might’ve been a neighbor or a delivery driver, someone just passing through. but then it came again, louder this time, more deliberate.

“y/n?”

you froze, your breath catching as his voice carried through the door.

“it’s rafe.”

you stared at the door like it might open on its own. the last thing you wanted was to face him, especially like this. but hearing his voice made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“i, uh…” he hesitated, the sound of him shifting his weight audible through the thin walls. “i just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

you stayed silent, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. but deep down, you knew rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to just walk away.

“you don’t have to let me in,” he added, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “just… let me know you’re alright.”

you clenched your fists, trying to will the lump in your throat away. how were you supposed to explain that you weren’t alright? that you hadn’t been alright in weeks?

the knock came again, gentler this time.

“i’m not leaving until i know you’re okay,” he said firmly, though there was no anger in his voice. only concern.

you sat frozen for what felt like forever, listening to the silence on the other side of the door. maybe he’d given up. maybe he was walking away right now, realizing this wasn’t worth his time.

but then your phone buzzed from where it lay buried under the pillow.

you hesitated before reaching for it, your hands trembling as you unlocked the screen.

rafe <3: hey, i’m outside your place. not trying to bother you, i just wanted to check in. if you need space, i get it. just let me know you’re alright, okay?

your chest ached as you read the words. there was nothing demanding about them, nothing that made you feel guilty or trapped. he wasn’t asking for anything except to know you were safe.

and that made it worse somehow.

because you weren’t.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[jlle-marie]

content: levi ackerman x fem!reader, mirror sex, mdni!! (1.7k)

Today was one of those rare times when you woke up before Levi, who was still fast asleep beside you. To be honest, you weren’t used to waking up first, let alone having to wait alone.

He was sleeping peacefully, his features relaxed, and his little black locks messy. After spending a long time watching him, you started to feel bored lying in bed. Carefully, you untangled your body from his and got out of bed, heading to the bathroom to run a bath in the meantime.

The bathtub was filling slowly, the water trickling in softly. You undressed at the same leisurely pace, until all your clothes were off. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you looked at your reflection, enjoying the peacefulness of the morning.

Levi was awake in no time, noticing your side of the bed was empty as the sound of water coming from the bathroom reached his ears.

Still gazing at your body, you hear footsteps approaching followed by the familiar voice of your lover.

“Love, you’re already awake? Can I come in?” His voice is low and husky with sleep.

He doesn’t need to be told twice when you tell him to come in. You see him enter the bathroom, shirtless and still disheveled from sleep. His eyes widen slightly in surprise when he finds you standing completely bare in front of the sink mirror. 

Levi watches you with a sleepy grin. “Well, good morning to you too.”

You laugh softly. “Good morning. I thought you’d still be asleep. For once you were sleeping so peacefully I didn’t want to disturb you…”

He looks absolutely handsome. His sculpted body enhanced by the warm morning light streaming through the bathroom window is enough to stir a longing in you.

His gaze travels over your curves, taking in every inch of your bare skin. Levi was in awe every time he saw you, there would never be a time where he thought you weren’t anything less than perfect. And he can already feel his body starting to heat up.

Levi steps up behind you and presses himself against your back. “You look distractingly beautiful,” he whispers as he wraps his arms around your waist. 

He looks at your reflection in the mirror and leans his face forward to nuzzle your neck, kissing the sensitive skin while his hands roam over your body.

You tilt your head to the side, giving him better access to your neck. “And what if I was planning a solo bath time, hm?” You murmur, teasing him.

He lets out a low chuckle. “Well, I'm afraid you'll have to share this time. Can't let a beautiful woman like you have all the fun to herself.”

His hands slide up to cup your breasts and his thumbs grazes over your hardening nipples, eliciting a whimper from your lips.

He smiles and leans his face forward to whisper in your ear. “It’s not every day I wake up to find my girl naked in the bathroom first thing in the morning.” His eyes are fixed on where his hands are playing, with a hungry gaze.

“It feels so good Levi,” you moan as he keeps toying with your breasts. Looking forward, your gaze flickers between the satisfied expression on his face and his strong arms around you.

Hearing you moan drives him wild, he immediately brings a hand between your inner thighs to find your wet heat. 

Levi finishes guiding you until you’re against the counter, just inches away from the mirror. He begins to stroke you in a slow and torturously amazing pace, enjoying seeing your face in the mirror and chasing his own needs.

Soft moans escape your lip as he rubs your clit, circling it. You move against his fingers, and arch your back, encouraging him to keep going.

When Levi sees your face in the mirror getting more and more filled with lust he starts to feel impatient, aching to be inside you. “You’re ready for me, love?” He asks as he presses two fingers at your entrance. Feeling them entering with incredible ease he grunts. “Oh fuck, yes you are.”

Levi withdraws his fingers from you, making you whimper at the loss. Pulling back from you, he slides his underwear down and tosses it aside.

You were so focused on your pleasure that you forgot about the bathtub you’d been filling before he joined you. When you catch Levi’s reflection in the mirror, undressing, you also notice in the background that the water level is dangerously close to overflowing.

“Levi, the water!” You gasp.

He immediately understands and turns off the tub faucet just in time.

Coming back behind you, a low, amused rumble escapes him, his chest vibrating softly against your back as he chuckles at the situation. His hard length now springs free behind you. 

“Now where were we, love?” His voice drops into a more intimate register as he nuzzles and kisses your neck.

Your breath hitch as you feel him, hardened against your backside. You grind against him, drawing a low moan from both you and him.

Levi grabs his cock and slowly slides it between your thighs. He rubs the tip up and down your soaked folds, nudging against your entrance each time. You stand on tiptoe to try and get it in.

He chuckles in your neck at your demeanor and lifts up his head. His eyes meet yours in the mirror as he slowly enters you, his other hand holding your hip. “Is this what you need, my greedy girl?” He teases, his voice strained.

“Yes…” you exhale as you feel him pushing inside you, inch by inch. You brace your hands on the counter and your gaze locks with his, the heated intensity in his eyes makes your breath catch.

Levi groans and closes his eyes, savoring the feeling of being deeply enveloped by your warmth. He grips your hips, holding you steady as he fills you completely.

“It’s so deep…” you moan, feeling each of his thrusts stretch you a little more, your hands clutch the edges of the counter for support.

He sets up a gentle pace as he admires your reflection. Pulling out almost completely then thrusting back in with slow and deliberate movements. “So beautiful, so.. fucking.. beautiful,” he punctuates his words with deeper thrusts.

Levi’s eyes are locked onto yours in the mirror as he looks over your blissful expression, hearing your sounds only make him more aroused. “I never get tired of this,” he murmurs, his hot breath washing over your shoulder.

His lips are right against your ear so you could hear every sound he’s making, ragged breaths and sometimes low, tiny whimpers as he rolls his hips against you.

He moves one hand and gently turns your chin so you’re looking at yourself. “Don’t look at me, look at you my love. Look how pretty that body is, how lucky I am,” he pants in your neck, sucking on the skin there.

Then he lets his fingers trail down your chin and across your collarbone until they’re between your breasts, while he continues to make sure he’s leaving some marks on your neck.

Feeling a wave of embarrassment at the state you’re in, your gaze falters. Slowly, you drag your eyes away from him, tracing down to your trembling body before reluctantly meeting your own face.

“Good girl,” he breathes out when you look at your reflection. “Hand on the mirror, love... brace yourself,” Levi orders, his voice thick with need.

Without hesitation, you place a hand on the mirror, the motion causing you to lean slightly closer to it. Your flushed face and glossy eyes stare back at you. But your inhibitions fly out the window as the pleasure spikes.

As you obey, Levi starts to pick up the pace, thrusting into you harder. You feel him hit a special spot deep inside you, causing your eyes to roll back and your mouth to fall open with a silent cry.

He grunts, watching your lips fall open only makes him want to taste them even more but he also really wants to keep looking at your pleasured expression. “Keep looking, watch us…” his voice muffled against the skin of your neck.

The slapping noises that fill the room mingle with your soft moans and heavy breathing. You feel your knees start to buckle and your eyes struggle to stay open. You are losing control and Levi notices it. He wraps an arm around your waist, holding you up as your knees tremble. “I've got you, love…” 

Levi couldn’t stop himself from moaning at how hot he thinks your expression looks in the mirror, how much you are a mess for him. 

The sounds become wetter as Levi’s movements take on a sloppy pace. He leans forward to place open-mouthed kisses on your jaw and cheek as he hit a particular spot repeatedly. Your orgasm crashes over you first, your tight walls convulse around him as you cry out Levi’s name. Your head throws back against his shoulder, your voice echoing off the bathroom walls.

“Oh fuck I’m—” He trails off, seeing you ride out your orgasm through the mirror triggers his own release. With a strained grunt he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he spills his release. He holds you in place as you both ride out your orgasm.

He holds you close, his heart pounding in his chest, he stays buried inside you a moment, savoring the warmth of your body and the feeling of being satisfied.

Eventually, Levi pulls out slowly and spins you around to face him. He presses his lips to yours, kissing you slowly, as if it’s something he’s been longing to do all morning. “I love you.. I love you,” he murmurs against your lips.

Breaking the kiss, he leaves you breathless before pressing his forehead softly against yours. “I’m sorry my love, your bath might be a little cold now…” he says, but his smug expression shows no regret.

You laugh softly. “Yes, I'm very upset with you, Levi…” you whisper, cupping his face as you kiss him again. Pulling back, you meet his gaze with a soft expression.

“Upset, hmm?” He grins, backing your giggling body toward the waiting bathtub. His voice is low and teasing as he adds, “Come and show me how angry you are… in the bath."

[endereies]

BURNT SKIN - CS

No Nut November - Day 27

NNN Masterlist...

-➤ You spend ages hiding your intimacy issues from Chris but he gets you to open up

“I don’t need your pity, Chris.” You’d pushed him back moments earlier, the sudden flip of emotions making him confused.

“Is that what you think this is? Why do you push me away every single time like this!” nothing but silence left you, your chest rising and falling erratically while the grip on your wrist tightened. You were so close this time.

“Well? Why is it that any time I think I’ve finally gotten close to you, to loving you, I get pushed back. Why do you give me this- this false hope that me and you are good.” He didn’t seem angry or disappointed, just… frustrated. You understood why, he’d been patient for months so of course he was wearing thin.

“Do you trust me…?” desperation filled you, desperation to get him to understand you. Just anything to coat the air, blunt the sharpness of the hurt in your heart.

“Of course, I –“

“Then why do you act like my touch burns through your skin!” you couldn’t crack your fingers anymore, the breaths being deeper but there was no air. All of your fingers mangled around each other, scratching the sides of your skin where you’d neglected their length. He couldn’t understand like you did.

You were gripping the same skin he touched, soothing it from the unfamiliarity. It wasn’t your own body touching yourself, the unknown territory was eating you up. For months you noticed the lingering touches Chris would give you, a nudge on your arm at a funny joke or a palm on the small of your back as he passed through. It all felt the same. Easily ignorable and bearable. When it was just you two alone you were suddenly conscious of everything you did. Breathing became irregular and you suddenly didn’t have enough saliva to swallow.

He didn’t know why and neither did you at first. Over time it all started to click together a little more. Things on your body were pointed out to yourself. Your stomach, your jawline, your thighs. Your imperfections. If Chris saw them, what would he think of you. Would he be as disgusted as you are in yourself.

“You’d hate it.” Your words were shallow and mumbled under tight lips. Your eyes twitched, the line of tears shaking where you stood. “I don’t have the body of a lover. It’s not something I love.”

“What…?”

“You’d hate it.” A pause stood between you; a choked sob barely held back. “I- I hate the way I look; the way my body isn’t the way I want it. I’ve tried so much shit and I feel shitty. So, I don’t let people near me, because my biggest fear- is that one day, you’ll see me the way I see myself.”

“Is that… why you’ve pushed me away, because you’re scared, I’ll just leave. Have I ever given you a reason to feel like that?” You ponder for a moment, staring into his eyes for honesty.

“I tell you that you are beautiful whenever I get the chance because its true. I honestly admire your beauty so much. I see you cooking and I just lean against the frame watching you because it reminds me so much of those stupid films you watch. I watch you communicate with strangers, especially that barista at the café all because you liked her glasses. I’m telling people about your little habits because they are adorable to me. Your beauty isn’t in your body, its in you. And i love you.”

Tears silently fell as he talked, his legs bringing him closer once again. His hand so desperately wanted to reach out, hold and comfort you. If you’d let it happen.

You didn’t care in that moment, but maybe you would tomorrow. Right now? Pulling him into your arms felt right.

Progress was progress.

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckers @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @colorthecosmos444 @anabethinking @zay-sturns @anyaa2s @emilyfaith2003 @zariyamitchell-blog @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @sturniolosiphone @slutf4rmatt @flouvela @lovesturni0l0s @2prcntmilkluvr @ribread03

© ENDEREIES 2024

[greengoblinswifey]

Or Nah— Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— you meet nicholas at the club and he invites you back to his place where he fucks you on every surface. based on this request.

warnings— rough smut, grinding, voyeurism, fingering, choking, oral(m&f receiving), praise kink, lots of dirty talk, unprotected sex, ass slapping, hair pulling, overstimulation, creampie, aftercare.

word count— 4.8k

a/n— i really enjoyed writing this one🤭

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

The club was alive with energy as the bass of the music pulsed through your body, vibrating in your chest. You leaned against the bar, swirling your vodka martini in your hand, enjoying the tangy taste and the vibrant atmosphere. Your homegirls were off somewhere dancing, surrounded by guys, lost in their own world. But you? You were fine with being on your own, letting the music take over and just vibing.

Then, the intro to “Or Nah” started playing. You squealed, feeling the excitement rush through you. “This is my song!” you shouted, laughing, and within seconds, the entire crowd, including your friends, moved toward the dance floor. You took one last sip of your martini before strutting toward the crowd, hips swaying with the beat, your body flowing effortlessly to the rhythm of the song.

Your homegirls were hyping you up, shouting, “Yes, bitch!” as you danced, your hands running over your body, your skin glowing under the club lights. You felt unstoppable, confident in your own skin, the music making everything feel like it was just you, the beat, and the crowd.

Then, you felt it. A presence. A tall, muscular figure behind you. You didn’t need to look to know he was fine—his energy was undeniable. He leaned down toward your ear, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. “Can I dance with you, beautiful?”

A sly smile spreading across your face. “Of course,” you replied, your voice playful but full of confidence.

The mystery man placed his hands on your waist, his fingers warm against your skin, and you felt an immediate connection. His touch was firm but not aggressive, and as he pulled you closer, the two of you swayed in sync with the music. You could feel his body against yours, his chest broad and firm, his movements smooth as he mirrored your rhythm.

Your favorite part kicked in, “Do you like the way I flick my tongue or nah? (Or nah) You can ride my face until you're drippin' cum (Drippin' cum),” and you couldn’t help but get into it even more, your hips moving fluidly, grinding against him as he matched every shift. His hands slid from your waist to your hips, the contact sparking something between you that made your heart race.

“Damn, you’re fucking hot,” he whispered against your ear, his breath against your skin, sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t suppress the small, breathy laugh that escaped your lips, feeling the tension build between you both.

You turned in his arms to face him, locking eyes, and he smirked. “Hey, I’m Nicholas,” he said, his smile playful yet sincere.

You raised an eyebrow, recognizing him instantly, but you kept your cool. “I’m Y/N and I know who you are,” you replied with a confident smirk, giving him an unamused but impressed look that made him laugh.

“God, you’re fucking gorgeous,” he said, his voice filled with admiration, and for a second, you saw a hint of something in his eyes—desire, maybe?

“Thanks,” you replied, your tone teasing, “I know.” You leaned in closer, just enough for him to hear, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “You’re fine as hell.”

He chuckled, his cheeks slightly flushed, and for the first time, you saw him flustered. You pulled him closer, your bodies pressed against each other as you danced, the music setting the tone for the moment. As the next verse played, “You gon’ make me fall in love,” you could feel his hands sliding lower, his touch almost possessive, but still respectful, his fingertips skimming the curve of your waist and hips.

The music slowed a bit, snapping you both out of your trance. He gave you one last look, his lips curving into a smile. “Can I buy you a drink?”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a playful grin. “Only if you’re covering the tab for me and my girls.”

He laughed, nodding. “You got it.”

You moved with him toward the bar, his hand guiding you, and your homegirls flashing you a wink as you passed by. As he paid the tab, you couldn’t help but let your gaze linger on him. His muscles were even more defined up close, his shirt hugging his broad shoulders, and the gleam of his Rolex catching the light made you realize this man wasn’t just good-looking, he was cashy, too. You caught him staring at you, his eyes roaming over your dark skin, glowing in the club’s lights, and the black liner around your lips that contrasted beautifully with your glossy lipgloss.

Nicholas’ voice pulled you from your thoughts. “I don’t usually pick women up at clubs,” he said, a little hesitant, “but you’ve caught my eye from the moment you walked in. You’re gorgeous.”

You felt your heart race at his words, but you kept your composure. “Thanks,” you replied, your eyes narrowing playfully, “I know.”

There was a moment of silence as he watched you, his eyes dark with interest. Then, he cleared his throat. “Would you like to come back to my place with me?” he asked, his tone serious but laced with the kind of quiet confidence that sent your pulse skyrocketing.

You gave him a slow, seductive look, letting your eyes linger on his lips before meeting his gaze again. “Sure,” you said, your voice low, sending a little shiver of excitement through him. He coughed lightly, clearly trying to hide the effect you were having on him.

You turned to your friends, who were already squealing. “I’m gonna leave with his fine ass,” you said, and they erupted into laughter, shouting playful encouragements. “Go get that dick, girl! Have fun, but call us if nothin’ happens!” one of them called out.

Nicholas placed his hand on your waist as he led you through the crowd. People parted for him as you both made your way outside, and when you reached the curb, a sleek black car with a driver waiting was parked. Nicholas opened the door for you, and you slipped into the back, the cool leather seat against your skin.

The moment you were inside, the air between you thickened. You both sat there for a moment, staring at each other, the tension almost unbearable. Then, without warning, you were on him, your lips crashing together as you kissed him passionately, the heat between you building with every second. His hands moved to your back, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, his lips demanding as yours responded with equal hunger.

He moaned softly into your lips as you pulled yourself to straddle him, your mini skirt riding up as you sat on his bulge. There was nothing separating you but your g-string and his pants, you could feel how hard he was and how he twitched in excitement.

You could feel the warmth of his chest beneath you, the firm muscles beneath his shirt. His hands slid down your sides, resting on your waist before shifting lower, resting just on the curve of your hips.

The car was moving through the city, the sound of the engine humming beneath the occasional soft moan that slipped from your lips. But neither of you cared that the driver was up front, minding his own business. The only thing that mattered was the way your bodies were responding to one another.

Nicholas leaned back, eyes locked on you as you shifted, grinding ever so slightly against him. His voice was low, almost a whisper as he pulled you in again, kissing you hungrily. “You’re fucking unreal,” he muttered against your lips, his hands running up your back, sending chills down your spine.

You could feel his heartbeat racing beneath his chest, and the way his body tensed when your hands traced down to his abdomen, feeling the hard ridges of his muscles through the fabric.

Nicholas paused, his hands gently cupping your face as he took a breath, his forehead resting against yours. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice husky, unsure but wanting. The moment was everything, and you could feel how much he wanted you, but still, he you needed to be certain.

Without hesitation, you gave him a mischievous smile, “Yes,” you whispered back, leaning in to kiss him once more.

He groaned into the kiss, a sound that sent a ripple of excitement through you. Slowly, his hands slid down to your waist, tugging at the hem of your denim mini skirt, pushing it up just slightly.

He looked at you, waiting, his voice softer this time. “Can I touch you?”

You locked eyes with him, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips as you moved his hand to your waist. “Please do,” you murmured.

At your approval, he shifted your underwear and slowly rubbed your clit. “God, you’re so wet, how the fuck can someone be this wet?” he asked softly.

You chuckled, bucking your hips into his hand, “Guess I’m just really turned on by you and knowing someone else is aware of what you’re doing to me.”

In response, he slipped a finger inside you, curling it as another rubbed your clit. The pleasure hit you like a truck and you involuntarily let out a loud whimper.

But then, you heard a soft cough from the front seat—the driver had cleared his throat, perhaps more out of politeness than anything else. Nicholas chuckled lightly against your neck, his lips brushing your skin and rubbing your clit as you both laughed breathlessly at the situation.

“Just pay attention to me baby, feel how good my fingers make you feel,” he whispered.

You moaned in response, completely at his mercy as he finger fucked you while his driver drove you back to his place.

The car jolted slightly as it made a turn, the shift in motion causing a small sound to escape your lips. Nicholas' other hand moved around your neck, his touch deliberate as he slipped another finger inside your wet pussy, feeling the warmth inside you.

You were trying to keep your composure, but the way he touched you was like nothing else, and you could feel your body responding, your heart racing as his fingers moved faster.

He pulled back slightly, looking at you with a smirk on his lips. “You’re gonna cum already beautiful?” he whispered. “Are you that turned on I’m fingering you in the back of my car while my driver is in the front? Fuck, you’re everything I could ever want.”

You grinned back at him and nodded, feeling that sense of power, knowing how much he wanted you. He leaned forward, kissing you as his fingers worked inside you, the squelching noises your pussy made mixing with the sound of the engine.

“Holy shit, you’re soaking my fingers baby. Cum for me, be my good girl and cum all over my fingers,” he demanded, his words sending a shiver down your spine.

Grabbing his biceps, you did your best to contain your moans but your efforts proved futile as you came all over his fingers, your body convulsing on top of him.

“Good girl, you made me so proud baby, so obedient,” he muttered, kissing your neck.

He brought his fingers to his lips, sucking them off and moaning around them. “Fuck, everything about you is perfect, even the way you taste.”

“And I wanna see if you taste as good as you look,” you smirked.

The car finally pulled up to Nicholas’ mansion, the gates creaking open as the vehicle glided through. You couldn’t help but admire the sprawling estate, the lights from the driveway glimmering against the night sky.

His driver opened the door for you, and you both exchanged an awkward smile. Nicholas fumbled with the keys to the mansion, clearly eager to get inside and you leaned over, brushing your lips against his neck, sending a shiver through him. His eyes darkened with desire as you made a teasing move, running your hand along the outline of his bulge, making him moan softly.

Once inside, he wasted no time, pushing you against the door with a heated kiss. His hands were everywhere, as though he couldn’t get enough of you. You returned the kiss with the same intensity, then pushed him back against the door.

Your warm hands glided down his chest before you slowly slid to your knees in front of him. His breath hitched as you looked up at him, eyes filled with lust. He froze for a moment, staring down at you with wide eyes.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice hushed, unsure but clearly wanting this as much as you did.

You nodded, not caring about the cold marble beneath you. All that mattered was the moment, the confidence that ran through your veins when you were close to him. You reached for his belt, loosening it with practiced ease, and slowly slid his pants down, revealing his hard cock.

He gasped, his gaze locked on you, as he stepped out of his pants. You could feel his eyes on you as your fingers brushed over him in all his glory, and his breath caught when you made contact. He was hard, long and full of girth, feeling weighty in your hand. The tip was pretty, pink and leaking, pre cum oozing and slowly dripping down his shaft. As you looked up at him through your lashes, you could tell by the look in his eyes how badly he wanted this, and that only made you want him more.

Slowly, you wrapped your hand around his cock, pumping it so he could feel everything.

“Your hands are so soft,” he whispered, and you smirked up at him, feeling a thrill run through you.

You didn’t need to say anything in response. Instead, you closed the space between you, trailing your lips along the side of his cock, before meeting his eyes one more time. His chest was rising and falling with every breath he took, and you could tell he was trying to hold back from losing control.

“You look so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Everything about you is perfect.”

As you took him into your mouth, each motion drew out quiet sounds from him. You took him deeper and deeper, swirling your tongue as you did and using your hands to rub his bare thighs then to caress his balls.

“Holy shit, you’re amazing,” he said, breathily.

His praises made your pussy throb and you started deep throating him, making sure to use as much tongue as you could to make it sloppy just the way you presumed he’d like it. You couldn’t have Nicholas Chavez saying you gave bad head.

“Oh fuck baby, if you keep taking me like that m’ gonna cum, you’re so good at this.”

You moaned around his cock, then took it out of your mouth to spit on it. Sticking your tongue out, you looked up at him as you slapped his cock against it and he moaned in response, his head tipping back.

He gently placed a hand on your head and you took him back into your throat, bobbing your head as your salvia and his pre cum dripped down your chin. You were a sight for sore eyes and he was ready to see you swallow his cum.

“H-holy fucking shit baby, I’m gonna cum down that throat,” he moaned, his voice breaking.

You took him as deep as you could, then gliding your mouth and your tongue across his shaft as you felt his warm cum shoot down your throat. You swallowed every drop, his cum better than any martini you drank that night.

“You’re so fucking hot, let me eat your pussy on my kitchen counter,” he panted.

You were down for anything and you allowed him to take your hand, leading you to the large kitchen with a marble island in the middle. He lifted you up with ease, pulling down your clothes and then your top over your head. You took the opportunity to kick off your heels.

“Fucking stunning,” he whispered, kissing your abdomen.

He continued, trailing kisses until he reached your clit, spreading your legs and kissing further and further.

“You’re soaked baby, so fucking wet for me,” he murmured, using his tongue to collect your wetness and spitting it back onto your pussy.

A soft moan escaped your lips, the feeling of his warm mouth on your pussy a stark contrast to your bare ass against the cool marble. You couldn’t believe he was letting you defile his beautiful kitchen like this.

“Your moans are so sweet baby, you like the way I flick my tongue?” he laughed and you chuckled as he quoted the lyrics from earlier.

He dived in, flicking his tongue on your clit before bringing it down to your leaking hole and licking back up. His grip was firm on your thighs, spreading them wide as he continued. You couldn’t believe the utter pleasure you were feeling, he was so skilled with his tongue having you squirm underneath him and moan so loudly, you feared his neighbors would hear.

“Fuck, you make me feel so good,” you cried. grabbing his hair.

“Mm— I aim to please,” he muttered into your pussy.

His tongue was practically inside you, tonguing you and moving back up to suck on your clit. As his movements grew, the coil in your abdomen grew tighter, ready to burst.

“Cum on my tongue beautiful, I need to swallow every drop.” A loud gasp left your lips and your body lifted from the surface, as he practically took your soul and you squirted onto his face, soaking him. He slurped you up like you were his last meal—ironic considering you were in his kitchen and you squirmed under his touch, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“You’re so beautiful when you cum, holy fuck, you taste amazing,” he panted.

You pulled him up into a kiss, his face mouth soaked in your juices. His head moved down to your full breasts, suckling and moaning as your fingers tangled in his hair then he pulled back to rip off his shirt.

Nicholas’ body was everything you’d expect. As he took off his shirt, his broad shoulders and chest came into view, perfectly sculpted with a defined, chiseled look. His biceps bulged with each movement, showing the results of countless hours lifting. His abs were sharply outlined, a series of well-formed ridges that tapered down to his waist, making his physique look even more impressive. His skin glistened in the light, showcasing the muscles that seemed to flex with every breath he took. The veins running down his arms and across his chest hinted at the strength and power he held, adding to his overall imposing yet enticing presence. Everything about him was carved to perfection. You needed this man, and you needed him now. You needed him to take you on every surface in his house and you weren’t afraid to admit it.

“I need you to fuck me all over your house, starting right here, God, you are so hot,” you breathed in awe.

He grinned, he loved the sound of that and he loved a woman that knew what she wanted.

Swiftly, he sank into you, but halted, allowing your tight pussy to adjust to his size.

“Shit,” you moaned, as he took your breath away, “you’re so fucking big.”

“I know baby, it’s okay, I’ll go easy on you,” he whispered, reaching down to rub your clit to ease the tension.

“Easy on me? Nah, I want that dick fucking me hard,” you retorted.

“Fucking hell Y/N, you’re my dream woman,” he gasped.

Your wish was his command as he slammed into you, burying his cock to the hilt. Your moans filled the kitchen as he began moving with a pace that had your toes curling and your acrylics digging into his muscular back.

“Oh my God, Nick,” you moaned.

“I know baby, I’m the one making you feel this good, no other man can be this deep inside you,” he murmured.

You nodded breathlessly, with the way he was pounding into you, your pussy was sure to remember the shape of his cock. You could feel him deep inside your cervix and as you looked down, you saw the faint outline of his cock moving inside you. His large hand snaked around your neck as your foreheads touched, small trickles of sweat mingling. He worked his hips into you, your mouth in an ‘O’ as you breathlessly moaned with him slamming into you.

“You feel fucking amazing, best pussy I’ve ever had,” he panted.

You cried out in response and he pulled out his cock, slapping the heavy tip on your clit making you jolt. As soon as it made contact with your clit, you squirted, your juices spurting all over his cock and abdomen.

“That’s it, squirt all over me baby,” he smirked, still slapping himself against you.

He reached down, sucking and slurping as your pussy quivered under his touch.

All you could do was moan in response, this man was incredible. There was no way you would let another woman have him after tonight.

“Fuck me on your couch next,” you demanded, boldly.

He paused with a smirk on his face and for a minute, you thought he would reject the offer, not wanting to defile his very expensive white sofa sitting in his living room. The same one his family probably sat on when they came to visit.

You were snapped out of your thoughts as he scooped you up by your ass, making you wrap your legs around him. He carried you effortlessly to the couch, flipping you into your stomach. His large hand came down on your ass and you squealed, taking it as a signal to arch your back.

“Exactly what I want baby, it’s like you were made for me, fuck,” he praised.

You truly believed he was made for you too.

He sank into you from behind, slapping your ass as he did.

“Oh my God,” he moaned, leaning down to kiss your back, “you should see how good you look fucking gripping my dick.”

His hips snapped against your ass, pounding you as you did your best to fuck him back.

“Oh? That’s what we’re doing? My girl’s fucking me back? Alright, I can work with that,” he panted, speeding up his pace.

Hearing him call you his girl made something awaken in you. You whimpered loudly and did your best to please him, slamming your ass back against him, his cock brushing that sweet spot deep inside you.

“Can I pull your hair, beautiful?” he asked, his pace not faltering.

“Mhmm,” you answered, lost in pleasure. Usually you’d never let a man pull your hair but Nicholas just had that effect on you.

He gripped your braids in the ponytail they were in, using it as an anchor to slam into you faster and harder. Soon, the scrunchie fell out and he scooped your braids in his hand, still pounding into you.

“Holy fuck, you’re clenching around me so tight, cum on my dick,” he moaned.

You buried your face into a cushion, crying out as you shuddered and squirted around him, your arousal dripping down to his beautiful white couch.

“Shit,” you panted, “sorry about your couch.”

“That’s the least princess,” he replied, “bedroom next?”

You nodded and lifted you up and you wrapped your legs around his firm torso, your lips locking in a messy kiss as he stumbled with you to his bedroom upstairs. You were grinding on his cock and he could barely make it to his bedroom before he pushed you up against the top of the stairs, making your upper body hang over.

But you weren’t scared. You were in Nicholas’ strong arms, and whatever deep subconscious worry of falling over had disappeared as his cock slipped inside your dripping pussy. He began fucking into you, holding your body tight against him as you jolted over the stairs.

“Fucking hell, this is so hot,” he panted, leaning down to suck on your nipples.

“You fuck me so good,” you moaned.

He chuckled, his pace speeding up and soon, he recognized the unmistakable feeling of your walls clamping around him.

“You’ve cum so much for me tonight baby, give me another, c’mon you can do it,” he urged.

You were determined to give him anything he wanted and you leaned up, no longer hanging over the stairs, to wrap your arms around him as yet another orgasm ripped through you like a knife.

“Good girl, who’s my good girl?” he cooed.

“I am,” you answered, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

He finally took you up to his bedroom, your body trembling in his arms and his cock still deep inside you.

He sat with you on the bed, a wince escaping your lips as you were impaled on his cock.

“I know you’re tired baby, I’ve made you cum five fucking times,” he said, you couldn’t believe he’d made you cum that many times, you weren’t sure you had another left in you, “but I need you to do it one more time for me while I cum inside you.”

“T-too much,” you whined, your body overstimulated and exhausted from it all.

“C’mon baby, don’t you wanna be my good girl? I know you’ve got one more in you, ride my cock and make me proud,” he urged.

If it was one thing you wanted, it was to make Nicholas proud and you lifted your head from his neck, planting a kiss on his lips as a promise to fulfill his wishes.

He leaned against the headboard, bucking his hips as you began bouncing on his cock.

“There she is, ride your cock,” he moaned.

Hearing him refer to himself as yours had you feeling something you’d never felt before. In response, you lifted your hips higher, slamming yourself down on him so he could feel how deep he was inside you. He let out a breathy moan, clutching the sheets below as his eyes averted from your boobs bouncing to his dick disappearing inside your pussy.

“You’re a fucking vixen, so goddamn beautiful,” he moaned.

His praises only encouraged you further and you began grinding on him, giving your clit the friction it needed and making his cock feel all of your insides.

“You like how I ride your dick baby?” you asked, your pussy grinding on him just the way your ass did in the club earlier.

“I fucking love it beautiful, oh shit, keep doing that, I’m gonna cum inside you,” he murmured.

Ever so obedient, you ground yourself on his dick, groping your boobs and tipping your head back, giving him a show.

“I— I’m gonna— I’m gonna fucking cum baby!” he cried.

“Give me everything, cum inside me,” you moaned.

Your body shook on top of him as you creamed and he let out the sweetest moans you’d ever heard. He gripped onto you as though you were his anchor, ropes and ropes of his warm cum spurting deep inside you. If you thought his cock filled you up, his cum was the cherry on top, filling you to the brim like you were nothing but his breeding slut.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he moaned, shivering under you, somehow still coming, “it’s so much, fuck.”

Your body finally gave out and you collapsed on top of him, exhausted and overstimulated, the slightest brush against your pussy making you wince. He finally pulled out and you squeezed your eyes shut, enjoying the feeling of his cum oozing out of you and pooling onto his sheets.

He lifted you up, your legs wrapping around him and your head resting on his shoulder as he carried you to the bathroom. He ran a warm bath, sitting on a stool with you in his arms.

“Don’t fall asleep beautiful, I’m running you a bath. You must be exhausted,” he said, kissing your forehead, “you did amazing.”

Gently, he placed you in the bath then sat behind you, using a wash cloth to clean you up and then himself, peppering kissed as he did.

“You’re out of this world, so so beautiful,” he whispered.

“Thank you, you’re so sweet,” you replied, feeling a tad bit shy under his praises.

As soon as you were finished, he dried himself off then did the same for you, wrapping you in a towel and carrying you to another room with clean sheets. He laid you gently on the bed and snuggled beside you, wrapping his arms around you.

“Everything about you is perfect, God, I want this everyday with you,” you heard him say as you drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

[iceman-kazansky]

I've come back here again. It's midnight, I am up early tomorrow, but I can't stop thinking of this fic. I need to write my thoughts out.

I will not deny that I got into F1 because I thought the drivers were hot. I saw Senna and was infatuated. I was reading fics before I fully understood who he was or even watched any of his races. But, it was that infatuation that led me here– to this. This fic at first was something I never knew would leave such a lasting impression on me as a reader. It actually sparked my full-on interest into Formula 1 upon my second read. I didn't understand everything mentioned, and I wanted to know more. I had a hunger growing in me for knowledge and understanding. This feeling, once I'd acted upon it (I watched the Senna documentary, read the wiki, watched interviews, etc.) was one of the reasons I began to admire Ayrton for who he was, what he did, and everything else besides what I had initially– his looks. And it changed how I viewed other drivers, too. Yes, I still found them attractive, but knowing their stories painted something for me. An internalized artwork of sorts.

"Funny how you can miss someone you never met, right?" That sentence in your authors note. At first, I didn't get it. I didn't quite fathom the depths of it. Yet, now, as I write this, I believe I fully understand it. I wasn't alive to watch Mr. Senna race. I wasn't alive when he died, either. Despite this, I get this ache in my heart, like it's heavy, whenever I think about him. I can remember something, good or bad, and there is this hollow feel to my chest, and it makes me want to cry. And it's not like how I get sad over Michael Schumacher or Niki Lauda or even Brocedes, which are also some of my favourite things in this sport. This weight in my soul feels heavier than the weight of all the oceans combined. It wasn't something I was initially accustomed to, and it shocked me, because how could I miss someone I'd never even gotten the chance to meet?

That last thought made me remember this fic. The authors note. I came back. Admittedly, it's brought me back every time. I've read this fic countless times. I've cried every time. It is so violently sad in a way that it is so bittersweet that it makes me want to read it over and over for all of eternity. I want it engraved into the very forefront of my mind. The way you detailed this, the way it was structured and plotted, the dialogue, the characterization, the perfectly depicted pre-existing characters who you stuck to their genuine personalities and aspects, everything. From the first letter to the last period. This fic is, in my opinion, the definition of perfect. I was given a bite-sized portrayal of how devastated the reader was at the beginning of the fic, and it left me wondering how and why. Through each memory, you made me feel a stronger connection, and each return to the current setting tore a chunk out of my heart and soul. By the end, I was weeping.

I will never regret reading this fic. For taking the time to comprehend every word written here and to come back and do it again. It's definitely one of my, if not my #1, all-time favourite. Not just because it was the first fic to make me cry, but because of the future emotional attatchment I'd grow towards Ayrton. I will forever be grateful to you, the author, for probably introducing me to the greatest thing I could've never even imagined– the world of F1. Thank you.

saudade | as12

funny how you can miss someone you never met, right? my heart was aching today a lot and i cried even more while writing this so yes, it is long and it is sad, so you decide if you wanna read this or not. if you do, please enjoy if its even possible to enjoy bawling your eyes out lol

oh ayrton, you will always be missed

summary: during senna's funeral y/n has flashes of their shared past and what they could have together

warnings: for sure its intense, 5.6k words of pure sadness, thats it basically

pairing: fem!mclaren!driver x ayrton senna

It was a warm, pleasant day. The beginning of may didn't disappoint with the weather at all. A light, warm breeze swayed the flexible branches, on which fresh leaves were green. The sun was pleasantly warm, but it wasn't unbearable heat. Birdsong could be heard, but so could crying. On this day, mourners outnumbered the blossoming buds on the trees.

A crowd of people had gathered in front of the church, but it was nothing compared to the crowds still on their way. Everyone was dressed in black, and the only point of color in the black mass was a yellow dot, which from a bird's eye view resembled a sunflower petal, thrown onto the black, fertile soil. It was a helmet, a yellow racing helmet, which no one gathered there needed to be introduced to. In trembling hands, a young girl held it, never once moving it away from her chest. She held it against herself so tightly, as if she wanted to feel the warmth emanating from it, but it radiated coldness, like the inside of the church she was about to enter, barely able to keep herself on her feet.

Inside the chapel, it hadn't yet become crowded; the military made sure that the family and friends entered the church first. Inside, there was a grave silence, broken only by the occasional blowing of noses into tissues or a stifled sob.

The girl was aware of what was happening, she knew where she was and why she was there. However, her brain stubbornly avoided connecting the dots and completely pushed the facts out of her consciousness. If it had, she would probably have thrown the held helmet deep into the church, and it would have stopped only when it hit the wooden, solid coffin. The girl's gaze never once lifted towards her.

"Y/N, can you hear me?," the girl flinched when Ron's words reached her for the umpteenth time, "You know you don't have to be here, we can be outside."

The girl blinked several times, and at that very moment, her brain stopped pushing away the facts. Ron held her arm, his eyes swollen, his face even redder than usual. She herself pressed the helmet to her chest, so tightly that only when she moved it away from herself a little was she able to fully breathe. She raised her eyes and looked around. She stood in the front row of benches, where at the very top, just in front of the altar steps, stood the coffin. A large, carefully ironed Brazilian flag lay on it, its freely hanging ends touching the fresh flowers lying beneath it.

"Y/N…," the man began again, this time quieter. He saw tears in the girl's eyes, and he was about to continue, but she pressed the helmet tighter to her chest and started walking forward. She only moved the helmet away from herself when she placed it on the coffin. Y/N fell to her knees and began to sob, pressing her forehead against the hard lid. However, the lid of the coffin wasn't the only thing that separated her from her friend. The worst was death.

It was a brisk february morning. Silverstone Circuit had not yet woken up, there was no deafening roar of engines in the background, and the smell of burnt rubber didn't hang in the air.

Although it wasn't a race day and only a handful of people were milling around the facility, unlike the tens of thousands who usually flooded in for the weekend races, this day was expected to be exciting and full of emotions too.

Certainly, it was so for the 23-year-old Theodore Racing driver, who, sitting in the passenger seat on her way to the circuit, nervously picked at her nails. However, she should now be referred to as the "former Theodore Racing driver" because on this day, she had a test day at McLaren, with whom she signed a contract two weeks ago. In the past two months, the girl's life had changed dramatically. A few days after her birthday, she became the European Formula 3 World Champion, winning the title by just one point. One! The fact that she was so young and the only woman to rise so high meant that many people had their eyes on her and followed her every move. However, most people who hadn't seen her driving at over 200 kilometers per hour thought that being a woman automatically disqualified her from the sport. Ron Dennis, the head of McLaren, was familiar with her skills, though, and seeing how well she performed in the lower levels, he decided to take a risk and give her a chance. One of his proteges, however, wasn't so sure about this decision.

"Girl? You want to replace Prost with a girl?"

Senna, upon hearing the candidate to replace Alain, who, after five years of dealing with him, decided to quit and move away from McLaren, only shook his head.

"Yes, that's exactly what I plan to do," Ron lit a cigarette and shifted his gaze from the car to the disgusted face of the Brazilian, "Maybe she'll calm you down a bit. It's a miracle I found anyone to take Prost's place, no one wants to work with you!"

Ayrton snorted and shook his head again, unable to believe that his boss wanted to do something so idiotic. Silence fell in the garage, none of the mechanics intended to interrupt their conversation. Just like everyone else in the team agreed with Ron that it was a miracle to find anyone willing to take Prost's place, the same majority couldn't imagine a woman starting to race in Formula 1. Especially alongside a driver like Senna.

"A few races, and she'll quit on her own," the Brazilian muttered, "You'll see."

"Pray that she likes you and wants to race for us."

When the car stopped in the gravel parking lot, the girl got out and put on her sunglasses. Tom, her manager and a close friend of her father, just glanced at her and rubbed her back. He knew perfectly well how stressed she was. No one would be prepared for so much in such a short time.

"Everything will be fine."

"You don't have to say that."

He sighed and just pointed with his hand towards the entrance to the facility, letting her through the glass doors. He didn't convince himself too much. Shortly after, after receiving the appropriate instructions, they reached the paddock. Here, the sun didn't glare in her eyes, so the girl took off her glasses, looking around. An empty Silverstone was something unheard of.

"Good morning, welcome, good to see you,"

Ron, standing in front of the garage, as soon as he noticed the girl, broke off from the conversation with one of the mechanics and smiled at her, shaking her hand. She showed up for the tests, so he thought she deserved a shot. Maybe this would work.

The girl made an effort to smile and nodded at him. Fortunately, she didn't have to engage in a conversation with him because he was immediately engaged by her manager. She was glad that in moments like this, someone else could spare her from meaningless chatter.

"Good morning."

She greeted, approaching the car where a few men were working on the wheels, wing, and cockpit. Some of them spoke up, while the rest just nodded at her. She immediately felt unwelcome, and barely a minute had passed since she appeared in the garage. However, this was nothing new to her, she would lie if she said she was surprised. But the most important thing for her was that Ron treated her as an equal, or at least didn't make her feel like she didn't belong here. That gave her a sense of comfort. She didn't need a crowd standing behind her; she only needed two people who had her back.

The girl slowly walked around the car. The new, ready-for-the-season MP4/4 looked very good. Next to the car marked with her number stood another, practically identical, differing only in the number painted in red on the front.

However, the owner of the car was nowhere to be seen, at least not in sight. Y/N hadn't had the opportunity to meet Ayrton personally. The drivers' presentation with the car was scheduled for the end of the month, so it was quite likely that until then, she would have time to mentally prepare herself. She knew Ayrton from stories; she could watch his battles both on and off the track on television, the domestic war he waged with Alain Prost which ended with the Frenchman's departure to Ferrari.

Y/N knew she would have to face many things, one of which was Senna.

"Ready?"

Ron's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, he held a helmet and jumpsuit for her in his hand. She nodded and took the items from him, going to change. When she returned, she took her place in the cockpit, and after some time, when everything was ready, she followed the instructions and took her place on the track. She took a deep breath and clenched her hands on the steering wheel, staring at the start lights. When they went out, the girl sped off with squealing tires and the roar of the engine.

Ron and Tom stood next to each other, watching her movements on small monitors. After some time, the mechanics also began to glance at the monitors, seemingly more interested in whether she hadn't crashed yet than in her results. What surprised them was the sight on one of the displays showing her current lap time, which now stood at 1.38.412 seconds. Ron smiled and shook his head in amazement. The young girl was incredible.

The car itself wasn't handling badly. Besides feeling like a huge boat, to which she was definitely too small, it was actually a well-engineered machine. A few more laps, and she should be able to tame it completely. Although this fact was reassuring. When the girl spotted the checkered flag, she obediently pulled into the garage. She turned off the engine and unfastened her seatbelts, but she didn't get out of the car or take off her helmet because Ron was already beside her, hugging her tightly.

"Young lady, you flew in that car!" The man helped her out of the car, and she took off her helmet and balaclava, taking out the earplugs. "I told you, you did amazingly. Unbelievable lap time, great driving."

The girl wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and blew a strand of wet hair from her forehead.

"It's a really good car, sir."

"A good car without a good driver is just a good car, and a good car with a great driver is a masterful car," Ron shook her hand again, "Brilliant job."

The girl returned his smile, and when she glanced at Tom standing a few steps away, he was also smiling, his smile was the kind of "I told you so."

Y/N gave appropriate feedback to the mechanics and strategists, who now seemed to pay attention to her significantly more than when she first appeared in the garage that morning. Their faces still tried to remain impassive, but nevertheless, they noted everything she had to say. When it was all over, the girl went to change. She washed her face with cold water and looked at herself in the mirror, clenching her hands on the cold sink. She did it.

When she managed to cool down and calm herself down a bit, clutching her helmet under her arm and holding her jumpsuit in the other hand, shortly after she left the bathroom. Suddenly, she bumped into someone, and that someone turned out to be someone she sincerely didn't want to meet that day.

"Watch where you're going."

Senna muttered, holding a lit cigarette between his lips. He gave her a quick glance and disappeared through the doorway, his jumpsuit rustling as he walked away.

The girl squeezed her helmet tighter under her arm and returned to the garage, putting things back in place. After receiving the last praise and handshake from Ron, she said goodbye and left the paddock with Tom. Ayrton pretended to be too busy preparing for the start, so he didn't honor her with even a single glance. When he heard Ron praising her driving, he only snorted under his breath and shook his head. When the garage fell silent again, Ayrton took his place in the car, getting ready to drive.

"1.38.412"

Senna looked up when Ron spoke above his head.

"1.38.412," he repeated calmly, "The lap time of a twenty-three-year-old after her first drive in a Formula 1 car."

The Brazilian snorted and lowered his gaze, putting earplugs in his ears.

"I hope you'll be better than the girl."

Ayrton didn't hear his words anymore because he put on his balaclava and helmet. He didn't believe the girl had achieved such a lap time. And even if she did, it only spoke of the car's capabilities, not her skills. Senna hoped he would be faster by at least a few seconds. He had been racing in Formula 1 for almost five years; he was incredibly fast, and above all, he was a man!

When the tests ended, and he returned to the garage, satisfied with himself and his driving, the first thing he did was to look for Ron's reaction, wanting to see his expression when he rubbed his nose in it. However, the Brit looked at him indulgently, and Senna, not knowing what he meant, quickly tried to free himself from the seat belts. The Brit simply turned the monitor towards him and pointed with his finger at something that, according to Ayrton, was a big mistake.

Between him and the girl, there was a difference of a few seconds, indeed. But Ayrton was slower.

When Senna freed himself from the car, hastily took off his helmet and balaclava, and removed the earplugs, he was about to say something when Ron stopped him, pressing a cassette to his chest.

"Here, watch it tonight and see how the twenty-three-year-old beat you."

Ayrton squeezed the cassette in his hand and only watched him leave, unable to utter a word. It was some kind of absurdity!

Absurd or not, Senna spent the evening in front of the TV. He sat on the couch, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He frowned and carefully watched the recording from the camera placed in her cockpit. He saw how she aggressively entered corners, braking as late as possible, and how quickly she stepped on the gas when the centrifugal forces stopped working. He took a drag and blew smoke from his mouth, rewinding the tape from the beginning, just as it ended. The recording lasted twenty minutes, and he watched it for the seventh time, counting each lap on his stopwatch. Every time, the result was the same.

He couldn't wrap his head around what she had done, but he decided to consider it just a stroke of luck. She had a better day; he had a slightly worse one. Moreover, it wasn't the testing session or even the qualifying rounds that determined the winner, but the race itself. Driving on an empty track without rivals wanting to take your position was one thing, but racing in a competition where everyone wanted to beat you was a completely different matter. If someone had told Ayrton then that four years later, that girl would shed tears at his funeral, he would have told them to fuck themselves.

Y/N felt a strong arm around her waist, trying to lift her. Ron's heart broke seeing her in such a state. However, he couldn't help her even if he wanted to.

"Y/N, please…," he began, but she shook her head, overcome with tears. Wet stains of tears were visible on the flag covering the coffin. The girl was trembling all over, it was a miracle she could breathe. Since the accident, it seemed like Y/N was handling the tragedy very well, just being sad and quiet. No one had any idea what was yet to come. Everyone who saw Y/N by the coffin, this sight of a broken girl, felt nothing but sympathy. The bond she had formed with Ayrton seemed stronger and much richer in emotions than any he had with any of his partners. Ayrton wasn't just her teammate, he wasn't just a friend or sometimes her biggest enemy. From the very beginning, Y/N mattered to him, and if he said otherwise, he was simply lying.

The official skills assessment test for the girl was scheduled to take place less than three weeks after her first visit to the McLaren garage. Now, however, an official presentation awaited her at the reception hosted by the team. One evening at the company headquarters, a banquet was held, attended by far more people than initially anticipated. Most of them were journalists who had to announce to the world the phenomenon that was a woman at the top level of motor racing.

"It's more crowded here than I thought," the girl admitted when she entered the team headquarters with Tom by her side.

"Everyone is curious about you. There are even a couple of journalists from Australia, believe it or not," Tom said.

She looked at him in shock. "And they flew here specifically for this presentation?"

He smiled and nodded. "They'll be talking to kangaroos and kiwi birds about you," he joked, trying to lighten the mood. And it worked because she giggled at his words. However, her smile faded when she noticed Ron talking to Ayrton and two other men in suits.

"Everything will be fine. You did well on the tests, so you'll do well here too," he said softly, rubbing her arm when he noticed her expression.

"There weren't any sharks in suits and piranhas with cameras there," Tom was about to add some words of encouragement when Ron spotted them and raised his hand with a glass in it, trying to get their attention. They approached him, and he greeted them, introducing them to the directors. Ayrton, standing aside, was mindful of how many people were now watching him and wondering if his new teammate would share Prost's fate. However, the Brazilian had no intention of making an effort for gestures he didn't intend. Nevertheless, courtesy demanded it, so he extended his hand, which she hesitantly shook.

"Senna," he said, his Brazilian accent strongly evident in his last name. "Welcome to the team."

The girl introduced herself as well, but it was hard for her to maintain eye contact. Not because he was almost half a head taller, but because of the confidence emanating from him. It was his team, his place, and his time, and she was just a guest. There was no room for discussion.

Fortunately, the awkward situation was soon interrupted as the drivers and management were invited onstage. Ayrton gestured for the girl to go ahead, and she began to walk in front of him.

"I hope you don't grip the wheel as weakly as you do hands," he murmured behind her, quietly enough so no one else would hear, but loud enough for her to hear his words.

Y/N lowered her gaze, feeling a wave of heat wash over her. Even if she wanted to respond, she couldn't. He caught her completely off guard.

As they stepped onto the small stage, they stood behind one of the cars prepared for this season. The girl intertwined her fingers behind her back and straightened up, standing next to Ayrton. He might play his stupid games on her, but she had no intention of showing that she would easily give in. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and almost believed that his comment had gone unnoticed, but her cheeks were flushed. Normally, he would probably snort under his breath, but now he kept his composure.

After a few words from Ron and the board members, the floor was given to the drivers. The two of them remained on stage, each with a microphone in hand. Now it was time for the media, for their pressing questions and burning issues.

Ayrton sat relaxed, almost bored. His legs were bent at the knees, slightly apart. One hand was around his waist, resting his elbow on it, holding the microphone in the other hand. He answered questions briefly and to the point, not dwelling more than necessary. His attire alone indicated that today's banquet was just a formality; he wore a suit, but instead of a shirt, he had a white T-shirt, and on his feet were sports shoes.

Despite her best efforts not to stress out, Y/N was far from as calm as Ayrton. She sat up straight, one leg crossed over the other. Although her red dress practically touched the floor, she glanced occasionally to make sure nothing was out of place. She felt like every move, even the smallest one, was being watched and analyzed. She felt she wasn't focusing on the content of the questions but on how she appeared.

The girl blinked several times, trying to find a sensible answer to the question that had been directed at her a few seconds ago.

"Could you repeat that?" she asked, feeling a bit embarrassed about her inattention. Ayrton, however, heard the question well.

"I asked if you think you're good enough to compete with men or if you're just here for publicity? Racing is still a male-dominated sport, and it seems like you're just trying to prove something rather than compete," the man in glasses squeezed the voice recorder in his hand and looked at her expectantly. Seeing her confusion, he sighed, "I see you're not too bright, so let me ask directly - do you really think you belong here? Do you have what it takes to keep up with the boys on the track?"

The girl panicked a little; this question completely threw her off guard. Emotions overwhelmed her, and she couldn't utter a word. But there was someone who could speak and had an exceptionally sharp tongue.

"I see that, Mr. - again, for whom are you writing?" Ayrton spoke up, furrowing his brows.

"John Ruffleck, Guardian."

"Ah, of course, the Guardian," the man clicked his tongue indulgently. "Clearly, you are the one that didn't shine with intelligence, asking last year's Formula 3 world champion if she fits in here." Y/N was shocked to hear that Ayrton stood up for her. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Despite still sitting calmly, the Brazilian was ready for a verbal battle. "If I fit in here, then the 23-year-old who set a better lap time than me during the tests also fits."

Ayrton bluntly silenced the journalist, who merely muttered a quiet "Thank you" and lowered his head.

Several more questions were thrown in by Ayrton, steering the conversation away from sexist undertones. By the end of the conference, there were no more questions about sexist issues. The drivers got up from their seats, and Y/N turned off her microphone, placing it on the sound table as Senna did the same.

"Thank you," she said, looking at him. He also looked at her, but this time his expression didn't express annoyance or boredom, as it did two times before when their eyes met.

"Don't thank me," he said, taking two glasses of champagne from the waitress. "You are allow to drink, right?" he asked before handing her one of them. She nodded and took the glass from him. "Don't thank me, just learn to counter such nonsense. If they're rude, we can be rude too."

Y/N took a big sip of champagne. Her mouth was dry from nerves.

"I don't want to be rude, it's not proper," she said.

"Not proper?" Senna scoffed. "Because you're a girl?"

"Because they'll think poorly of me"

"Do you really care what that bunch of idiots thinks?"

The girl lowered her gaze. Ayrton was right.

Did she really care? She was a driver; she was supposed to deliver good results. She wasn't supposed to please the audience.

She was about to reply when Ron approached them, cursing the Guardian journalist's stupidity. He was so caught up that he didn't even notice Ayrton sending the girl a final glance and then finishing his champagne, taking out cigarettes from his back pocket, and walking away towards the exit. Y/N only watched him go. At that moment, neither of them had any idea how much she would learn from Ayrton, or that he would gladly take on the role of a teacher himself. No one would have even thought of it then.

When Ron managed to lift the shaken girl, she reached for her helmet again and pressed it to her chest. When she looked up, across from her, on the other side of the coffin, she saw a man in a wheelchair. Frank Williams looked at her in silence, but his gaze was apologetic, his face sad, and his eyes looked like he hadn't slept for days.

"Why?" Y/N whispered, but she wasn't sure if anything managed to leave her lips. Williams didn't need to hear her; her eyes said it all. Even if he couldn't hear her question or look into her swollen, tear-filled eyes, he would know perfectly well that she blamed him for his death. "Why, Frank? Why?" Maybe even more than she blamed God.

"If you can hold on to me for longer than five seconds, I'll let you pass," Ayrton said, exhaling smoke. He sat on one of the crates outside McLaren's garage, wearing sunglasses. The weather for the upcoming race looked exceptionally good, but Senna wouldn't mind rain.

"Are you challenging me?" the girl asked, squinting and looking at him against the light. They were sitting outside, where it was quieter, as the mechanics worked inside the garage.

"Why would I?" the man chuckled, taking another drag. Seeing her uncertainty, he offered her a cigarette, trying to reassure her with his gesture.

Y/N took the cigarette and inhaled the smoke, which tickled her throat, making her cough. She wrinkled her nose and after a moment handed him back the cigarette.

"Don't you want to test my braking skills and eliminate me from the race?"

Ayrton laughed and shook his head. "So, I do have a bad reputation after all."

"Definitely not the best," the girl said softly, smiling uncertainly. Ayrton playfully nudged the crate she was sitting on with his foot. He genuinely liked this girl; in fact, he could and wanted to work with her. Now he was even willing to let her win the race if she showed that she could keep up with him. She had demonstrated many times that she could drive at an exceptionally high level, so Senna was willing to show some humanity and let her achieve her first victory, especially on home turf. He stubbed out the cigarette and stood up, taking off his cap and placing it on her head, pulling it down over her eyes.

"Five seconds," he repeated, walking away as she adjusted the cap on her head.

The girl decided to take up the challenge, realizing that such an opportunity might never come again. Ayrton and collaboration? They were complete opposites after all. Y/N, who started the next day from the last place on the podium, managed to fight her way up to second place at the beginning of the race. She spent the next forty laps chasing after Ayrton, wondering if there was any point in chasing him if she couldn't overtake him. Seeing his familiar helmet in the side mirror, Ayrton smiled. He added a bit more throttle and began counting to five, but the girl's car didn't seem to be falling back. When the agreed time was up, much to everyone's disbelief, both on the track and in front of the TVs, Senna slowed down and obediently let her pass. Unable to believe her own eyes, the girl pressed the gas and took the lead, crossing the finish line with him.

She only believed in her victory when Ayrton offered her his hand and helped her onto the podium.

"Five seconds," he said, smiling at her.

"Five seconds," she replied, returning the smile.

How much she would give to see Ayrton again, even for five seconds. To be able to hug him for five seconds, see his smile. Five seconds now would last like an eternity, for which she would pay any price.

The church was filled with people, mostly family and friends, individuals directly connected to Ayrton. The remaining people were outside, surrounding the church, also gathering along the main road. There were talks of crowds, thousands who came to bid farewell to their hero. They too would give much to see Ayrton even for five seconds. Whole, alive, before the Imola accident.

Y/N held the helmet on her knees, looking at it with vacant eyes. She ran her fingers along the edges, tracing the stickers and sponsor names. She squeezed the soft padding inside. She closed her eyelids. Five seconds.

"Necessity is the mother of invention," Ayrton said, loud enough to make the girl jump. She was barefoot, wearing shorts and a bikini top, with his helmet on her head, visor down. She waved a piece of cardboard towards the grill, trying to ignite it better and not wanting the smoke to get in her eyes, deciding to use whatever she had at hand. And hoping Ayrton wouldn't get mad that she used his helmet for this.

The man smiled and shook his head, placing the wood he held in his hands next to the grill. Standing next to the girl, he lifted the visor and looked into her eyes. She looked at him apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"It suits you," Senna interrupted, smiling. "Possibly even more than me."

"Do you think so?"

The man nodded. His hair, damp from swimming in the lake, fell onto his forehead, and his brown eyes sparkled. Ayrton had been looking at Y/N like this for some time, in a way that many would describe as tender. Certainly, the girl wasn't just a teammate to him, as who would invite a teammate to their hometown to meet their closest family. Certainly not Ayrton.

"I love you, Y/N,"

He confessed as he lay on the jetty, gazing at the starry sky, where there was no trace of the hot Brazilian sun anymore.

The girl laughed and took a sip of beer, lying next to him and leaning on his arm. Both were drunk, so she was sure Ayrton was joking. However, when his confession was met with silence and he turned to look at her, his face was deadly serious.

"I mean it, Y/N. I love you,"

"You can't love me, you have a girlfriend," she replied, still laughing. There was no way he was serious.

Ayrton got up and without a word, kissed her, wanting to prove his words. When he pulled away after a moment, there was no smile on the girl's face. He was about to say something again, but she touched his cheek and returned the kiss, and he pulled her closer, holding her tightly in his arms. That night, they would find out how much they meant to each other.

Senna meant a lot to the girl, there was no doubt about it. He also meant unimaginable things to all those who took part in the funeral ceremonies, not only in Brazil itself but worldwide. It might have seemed like the world had lost an incredible man, someone who in life had already become a legend. Who would have thought that this living, almost mystical legend was just a man? A man who is mortal. Surely no one looked at Senna that way. Certainly not Frank Williams, who eventually decided to agree and accept Ayrton into his team, bearing an incredible burden now. Senna was supposed to lift his team to great heights, and his tragic death dealt a blow, not so much personal as it was business-related. However, at that moment, that mattered least.

Y/N and Ayrton sat at the kitchen table, eating a late dinner in silence. They were in their shared home in Europe, but for the past few months, the walls of the house seemed to be becoming more alien with each passing day. The atmosphere was as thick as it is now, when none of the people sitting at the table even bothered to steal a glance.

"Why didn't you tell me you wanted to go to Williams?"

The girl asked, stirring the contents of her plate with her fork. Ayrton tightened his grip on the glass and took a few sips from it.

"Ayrton-", "Why did I have to tell you?" he entered her words and looked at her, "Just to make you try to stop me?

Y/N blinked several times. She was shocked. She had the impression that the man sitting opposite was a complete stranger and someone she had never known before.

"To stop you? I'm your girlfriend, I should be the first to know about your plans, not hear from strangers."

"Did it change anything? Did something happen that you didn't find out from me?"

"Yes!" she shouted, slamming her hand on the table. She was so done with all of this. "I'm fed up with you treating me like an enemy for several weeks!"

"Don't you dare raise your voice at me!" he stood up, leaning over and pointing his finger at her. "You have no idea how much I had to do to get that offer, how much it cost me!"

"I have no idea, because you don't tell me anything!" she also stood up, pushing his hand away, which he was aiming at her face, "Fame has gone to your head, you're acting like a complete idi-" She didn't get to finish because Ayrton slapped her across the face. He didn't realize when his open hand met her cheek. Y/N grabbed her cheek and looked at him in shock. At the moment of the strike, he also seemed to snap out of it, as if he had been hit himself.

"Y/N, I'm sorry," he said calmly, trying to approach her, but she backed away a few steps, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

"But you did," she said with a trembling voice, tears welling up in her eyes, "I don't recognize you anymore, Ayrton".

As the funeral rites began, the last thing on Y/N's mind was their recent arguments, of which there had been plenty lately. Nonetheless, since the incident when he raised his hand to her, Senna understood he had crossed a line. The only upside of the whole situation was that they had started talking again, and Ayrton had come to realize that Y/N was not his enemy. Yes, on the track, the girl might be someone he now had to defeat even more than usual, but she was still his friend, his girlfriend, his partner. Speaking of partners, many women appeared at the funeral, but four of them spent exceptionally long periods by the coffin. They had a lot in common, yet none of them deigned to exchange glances. Each of Ayrton's partners, even today, on such a dramatic day, looked at her as if she were an enemy. Viviane made sure none of them sat on the bench where the family was seated. Y/N belonged to the family. She didn't intrude, Ayrton invited her himself.

"Maybe you should take a break?" Sid Watkins persistently tried to persuade Ayrton and Y/N to withdraw from the upcoming race. "Two weeks, you'll come back to Monaco in better shape, with lighter minds."

Senna sat on one of the crates behind the Williams garage, elbows resting on his knees. Y/N repeatedly wiped her tear-streaked cheeks, trembling hand holding a cigarette. An hour ago, the qualifying session for tomorrow's race was interrupted by Roland Ratzerberger's serious accident. The man was taken to the hospital, but many said he was taken from the track already dead.

"This shouldn't have happened, there shouldn't have been talk of such an accident," the girl repeated, almost hysterical. She was in tremendous shock, having witnessed the accident herself as she was the one who followed Ratzerberger's car.

"They need to cancel the race," Senna said dryly, his gaze fixed on a point in front of him. "We can't race here, not after something like this."

"And if they don't cancel?" Sid looked from Ayrton to Y/N. "Will you race in such a state? You won't sleep over this until tomorrow."

"If they don't cancel, we'll race for him. I'll drive the best I can to honor him with a victory," Ayrton decided, raising his gaze and looking the doctor in the eyes.

"You like fishing, right? Why don't you go back to Brazil, catch some fish, relax. If you want, I'll come with you, I could use it too."

Senna rubbed his face with his hands, intertwining his fingers and pressing them against his lips. Again, he fell silent. He knew they couldn't not race; he certainly couldn't afford to tell Frank after months of effort that he wouldn't start tomorrow. He couldn't do that.

"I don't want to race," Y/N admitted, shaking her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Ayrton, he, Roland-" the man rose without a word and hugged her tightly. He enveloped her in a strong embrace, stroking her hair. Watkins saw that Senna was thinking intensely. And no matter what he said or did to convince him to skip the race, he would do it his own way.

"Think about it, Ayrton. Just think about it," he said one last time. Senna looked him in the eyes and nodded in silence.

Late in the afternoon, Ayrton and Y/N returned to the hotel. They didn't talk much; Y/N occasionally wiped her eyes with a tissue. Ayrton held her hand a lot. When they lay in bed, Senna laid on her stomach, wrapping his arm around her waist. The girl began to run her fingers through his damp hair.

"I don't want to start tomorrow, Y/N," he said softly. He was facing away from her, she couldn't see that he was crying too. "I have a bad feeling."

"You know nobody can force you to do it," she said calmly, her other hand stroking his cheek. "Maybe Watkins is right? Let's fly to your parents, spend time with the kids. It's been two months since you've seen them."

"I can't," he said, wiping his face with his hand. "I can't, nobody needs a driver who doesn't race."

"Ayrton—" "Just hold me," he interrupted, sitting up. The girl obeyed his command, sitting between his legs and hugging him tightly. Both were silent; Y/N tenderly stroked his head and tense back.

"This will be my last season," he said, not moving an inch from her. "I've done enough; I don't need more. I want to focus on something else, on more important things."

"On what, my love?" she asked gently, still stroking his hair.

"I want to be a dad,"

Senna surprised her with this confession. The girl smiled.

"Would you like to have a son or a daughter?"

"A daughter, oh, how I'd love a daughter," he said, pulling away to look at her face. "Would you like to have a child with me? And become my wife?"

Y/N smiled and nodded. "You know I would."

Ayrton returned her smile and cupped her face in his hands, kissing her deeply.

"Te amo, querido,"

"I love you too, Ayrton. And i will always do."

"And i will always do," Y/N said qiuetly, watching as the coffin slowly descends into the ground. Nothing can destroy such love, certainly not death.

[daisymbin]

hi sorry 5+9 for seungcheol from the fluff list thank you!!!

of course!! 🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // cheol's m.list

fluff prompt #5: "you can stay over if you want." +

fluff prompt #9: "I didn't mean to fall asleep on your couch."

you sat up slowly, glancing around the living room. the warm glow of the lamps illuminated the space. everything felt fuzzy for a moment, and then you realized you were lying on seungcheol’s couch, his soft throw blanket tangled around your legs. but it was late—way later than you expected. a quick glance at your phone confirmed that it was nearly 3am you groaned, rubbing your eyes.

the last thing you wanted was to make things awkward, especially since this wasn’t the first time you’d ended up here after a late night of hanging out. but you had to admit, you had been exhausted. the movie marathon had ended in a comfortable silence, and the next thing you knew, you were drifting off.

you shifted and tried to stand up, but your legs were still a little stiff from lying down for too long. as you stood, you heard a familiar voice from the hallway.

“did you just wake up?” seungcheol’s voice was soft but teasing as he emerged from his room, his hair slightly messy as though he had just woken up himself. he paused when he saw you, a smile spreading across his face.

“yeah,” you said embarrassingly, feeling your cheeks warm. “i didn’t mean to fall asleep on your couch... it just happened.”

he chuckled, shaking his head as he walked toward you. “you’ve been working hard lately. you looked peaceful so i didnt wake you. you probably needed the rest.”

you met his gaze, his dark eyes soft and kind, and your heart gave a little flutter. it wasn’t the first time he’d been so caring toward you, but there was something about the way he said it that made you feel warm all over.

“thanks, cheol,” you murmured, giving him a small smile as you pulled the blanket off your legs and stood up a little straighter.

he watched you for a moment, his eyes scanning over you like he was taking you in, making sure you were okay. then, his expression softened, and his tone became more casual. “my bed’s a lot more comfortable, you know?”

you blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the suggestion. "what?"

"i mean," he said with a slight shrug, his lips curving into a playful smile, "if you’re gonna stay over, you might as well be comfortable. the couch is nice and all, but you looked a little cramped there."

your cheeks flushed, suddenly feeling more self-conscious. "uh, it’s fine, really, i’m okay here."

seungcheol raised an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. he stepped closer to you, his voice softening. “you can stay over if you want. no pressure. it’s late.”

you felt your heart race a little, unsure of what to say. you were already over here, and the idea of sleeping in his bed—especially in his bed—sounded tempting, but a little too intimate. but then again, you didn’t want to leave now. it was comfy here with him, and you felt safe in his presence. the thought of spending more time with him, just the two of you, felt so comforting.

“are you sure?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

he nodded, “and i’m not just saying that to be polite.” he paused, his eyes softening again as he smiled at you, his warmth radiating toward you. “besides, i’d rather you be comfortable.”

you bit your lip, feeling the warmth spread in your chest. you had to admit, his offer was hard to resist. after all, it wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy his company. more than that, you’d be lying if you said the idea of lying next to him, feeling the warmth of his presence, wasn’t incredibly tempting.

“okay,” you said, finally giving in.

seungcheol’s smile widened, and you swore you saw a little sparkle in his eyes as he motioned toward the hallway. “let’s get you in a better spot then.”

as you followed him down the hallway to his room, your mind was racing. you had stayed over at his place before, but you’d never actually spent the night in his bed. the idea felt thrilling, like something out of a dream.

you stepped into the room, and it was just as cozy as the rest of his apartment—dark, soft lighting, a comfortable bed, and a calming atmosphere. you glanced over at the bed and then at him, feeling your heart beat faster. it felt different now. more intimate.

"you sure you want me in here?" you asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious again.

“hey,” seungcheol said, his voice gentle but firm as he walked over to the bed, pulling the covers back. “we’re friends, right? just two friends hanging out, and honestly, i’m happy you’re here.”

you nodded, trying to push aside the butterflies in your stomach as you sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the softness of the sheets beneath you. it was so different from the couch, but in a good way. seungcheol moved to sit beside you, his arm casually brushing against yours, and you couldn’t help but feel a little thrill at the closeness.

"you know," he started, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "it’s a lot more comfortable here than on the couch. i don’t think you’ll be able to get up anytime soon.”

you laughed nervously, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you looked away. "yeah, i can tell. it’s so much better here."

“good,” he said, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he shifted closer to you. "i’m glad you’re comfortable.”

you both sat in silence for a moment, the tension in the air hanging delicately between the two of you. you felt like there was so much unsaid, like a million emotions were swirling between the two of you, but neither of you said anything. just the gentle hum of the night filled the space.

finally, seungcheol spoke again, breaking the silence. “you know, if you wanted, you could just stay here... forever.”

you blinked at him, surprised by his sudden boldness. “forever?” you asked in confusion, feeling your heart rate spike a little. surely he didn’t mean that in the way you were thinking.

seungcheol gave you a playful smile, his eyes glinting with mischief. “you can stay here as long as you want. i’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. what’s the hurry?”

you stared at him, still unsure how to react, but a soft laugh escaped your lips as the tension in the room shifted. maybe this was just his way of teasing you, but somehow, it felt different. like he meant it.

you leaned back against the pillow, glancing over at him. “maybe i will. maybe i’ll just stay a little longer.”

seungcheol grinned, leaning back too, his arm brushing against yours. "i’m okay with that," he said, his voice softening as he relaxed beside you. "just don’t go falling asleep on me again, okay?"

and with that, you both lay there in a comfortable silence, the warmth between you both growing, unspoken but undeniable. maybe it wasn’t forever yet—but it certainly felt like the start of something close to it.

you smiled, feeling the comfort of his presence surround you. "no promises."

[writergirlll]

Will you write a lazy day with Charles Leclerc and Leo? Maybe Charles came back exhausted from a race that didn't go so well and all he needs is a hug from his girlfriend?

LAZY EVENING/ CL16

Charles Leclerc x reader

sorry if this isn't what you wanted, but I enjoyed writing it! It's just a lot of fluff sorry guys!!

Charles was always good at what he did. Cooking, making things, cuddling with your dog, or driving in Formula 1. He broke the curse of Monaco and thus began his huge career. But this race he ran didn't go too well, due to Ferrari's bad strategy and bad tires. And so he got a DNF in the first qualification and placed 5th in the overall race.

Which is certainly not a bad thing, especially since this race was in Las Vegas, where there are always the most participants and the track is very difficult to remember, but for Ferrari, who had to finish the season well, it wasn't enough.

Charles was mainly angry with himself. He knew that he should have tried harder and that he had messed up the race, but all he wanted was to finally get out of the cameras and pitiful stares and get cozy in bed with his girlfriend.

Unfortunately, You wasn't at his race because you had to stay at the hotel and do computer work due to work reasons that you hated. However, you definitely did not miss the race and watched it until the end, when Verstappen, Sainz and Norris stood on the podium.

But as midnight slowly approached and you tried harder and harder to stay awake to wait for Charles, your eyes closed until they closed completely and you fell asleep over an open laptop with work and the TV on with the main broadcast of interviews with F1 drivers.

When Charles came home, he expected you to be waiting for him. Therefore, he opened the door sharply, put his backpack on the floor and gave a small shout; "Love, I'm home"!

You twitched and grunted slightly in your sleep before turning over on the couch to face the TV and snuggling further into the blankets. You didn't plan to open your eyes because in your sleepy state you didn't realize that Charles was home.

Hearing no response, Charles frowned slightly and slowly walked into the living room. When he saw how the TV was on with F1 and you were sleeping on the couch, he couldn't help but feel happiness and love.

You were his everything. In good times and in bad, you were his sunshine. And that's why when he saw you sleeping in front of the TV with the footage of the other Formula 1 drivers, it warmed his heart. He knew very well how sad you felt when you couldn't make it to his race.

He slowly walked over to you, kneeling by your head and slowly brushing your hair away from your face. Then he bent down so as not to wake you and planted a soft kiss on your forehead.

You smiled a little under his touch as you realized who it was and slowly opened your tired eyes. “Hi Char” you smiled at him and reached out to stroke his cheek. “Congratulations on the race” you smiled.

He leaned into your touch and his smile brightened even more. “Shall we go to sleep?” he asked as he saw you close your eyes again even though you were trying not to and you slowly nodded.

“And where is Leo?” he asked one more question before he could pick you up in his arms and carry you to bed. You didn't answer anything and just lifted the blanket, where a small golden dog was hidden by your lap, which has become your "child" for the six months you've had it.

When he saw Charles, he immediately got up and ran his short legs to him for a kiss and a cuddle.

After Charles cuddled up to him, he scooped you up in his arms as a reward for having to wait for him and carried you to bed with Leo at your heels.

He slowly laid you down on the bed, you shifted to your side and waited for him to take off his shirt, change his pants and come to you.

Before long, he finally appeared by the bed in just his shorts and you couldn't help but bite your lip when you saw him like that. You still didn't understand how someone like him could be yours.

He climbed into bed behind you, pulling you to his side and you rested your head on his shoulder. One of his hands caressed your back and the other brushed your hair away from your face. Again. You should probably get a haircut..

“I love you do you know that?” he whispered in your ear and you raised your head to be directly facing him.

“How could I not know Char?” you smiled and leaned down so your lips met his halfway. It was a loving kiss that you thought was more of a good night, but later it got more and more passionate.

When you were both out of breath, you had to pull away from each other. “Are you sure you want to go to sleep?” he asked, looking all over your face.

You did, you think them even though you were actually 100% clear. "I'm not sure..." you whispered before smiling and bringing your head closer to his.

"I think you know" Charles smiled lightly and connected his lips to yours again, this time in a hungrier kiss.