#if you couldn’t tell i don’t know how to write

[leclerc-hs]

bunny! - ln4

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader summary: in which lando always calls you bunny OR your favorite place to be is riding lando's cock warnings: smut, riding, dirty talk, language, pet name!, NOT PROOFREAD (I hate re-reading stuff I write if you couldn't tell hahahah) word count: 1.2k ish author's note: this idea came to mind LAST NIGHT and i just had to write it since i'm off of work today. talk about me feeding y'all LOL xoxo still working on oscar's version of aphrodisiac chocolates!!! I literally wrote this in like an hour so it’s shortttt. xoxo ily ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Lando calls you Bunny like it’s your actual name.

Don’t forget your lanyard later, Bunny

Hey Bunny, can you hand me that?

Y’look great, Bun

It was constant. In the paddock. During interviews. Even the fans notice it. Some thought it was a childhood thing. Others assumed it was just something that stuck.

And the rest of the grid? Of course they asked. 

And every time, you and Lando offered a different answer.

She had these ridiculous bunny ears the first time I met here…never wanted to take them off.

Her nose used to do this little twitch whenever she was annoyed…I swear

She loves carrots

And tonight was no different. 

You’re curled into the booth beside Lando, wine glass in hand, one leg draped over his under the table. He was warm, hand on your thigh. Thumb brushing soft, lazy circles.

And then it came up again.

“Alright…someone has to ask again,” Pierre points his fork toward Lando. “Bunny. What’s it actually from?”

Groans went around the table. Everyone chattering how he’ll never tell you. Just let them have their secrets.

And Oscar grins. “No, I wanna hear this one.” He leans forward. “What’s the excuse tonight?”

Lando doesn’t miss a beat. Fingers gripping your leg. A grin pulled onto his mouth.

“Showed up to my flat in bunny ears once. Wouldn’t take them off.”

You scoff beside him. “It was Halloween.”

“She wore them to sleep.”

And laughter erupts around the table.

And his hand tightens on your thigh. And you felt the shift in his demeanor.

The part no one ever saw.

The reason why he started calling you that.

Didn’t know that the first time he’d said it, was barely a whisper, as you rode him in his driver’s room after a race.

How you were so worked up, desperate, how your knees trembled as you bounced on him like you couldn’t stop.

They didn’t know how he said it when you were on top. How he groaned against your lips.

“Okay but seriously,” Charles says, laughing. “Is it like a….is it like a kink thing?”

You choke on your wine. And Lando drags his fingers higher up your leg.

Lando didn’t even so much as blink. “Absolutely not.”

And later, after everyone said their goodnights and you slipped into the car with him, Lando was quiet. Calm. Fingers brushing against your skin whenever they could.

And when you got back to the hotel. The door clicking shut.

He says, “Everyone thinks it started with ears…”

He presses you into the wall.

“But it was this fuckin’ cunt, Bunny.”

His voice was low. And you gasp, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, as he grinds his hips into you. Slow. Heavy. Could feel how hard he was. 

He kisses your jaw, under your ear…biting, sucking, claiming you.

“Fuck,” he groans into your skin. “Remember that night? In the driver’s room? You got on top of me like you needed it. Like you were gonna die if I didn’t let you bounce on my fuckin’ cock.”

You whimper.

“I think about it every fuckin’ day.” He groans.

And you don’t even get a chance to respond before he lifts you off the ground, hands gripping your thighs, and carries you straight to the bed.

“M’so obsessed with it,” he says, voice rough. Kissing you again as he drops you on the mattress and yanks his hoodie over his head with one hand. “With you. With this fuckin’ cunt.”

He kneels between your legs, pulls your panties off, and then stuffs them in his back pocket.

He pulls his jeans down, cock hard and thick. Leaking.

“Don’t even wanna fuck you from behind anymore. Just want you on top. Losing your fuckin’ mind on my cock.”

You crawl into his lap, straddling him like instinct.

And he hisses when your cunt touches his tip.

“Y’turned it into a fuckin’ problem,” His hands grip your ass.

You drag his cock through your folds, teasing him. And he hits his head against the headboard with a thud as he drops his head back.

“Y’think I don’t notice the way you moan when I let you sit on it?” He pants. “The way you tell me to shut up and take it like a good boy?”

You sink down on him in a single motion.

“Fuck, Bunny…” He gasps. Hips jerking.

And you start moving. Steadily. Rolling into him.

“Every time you do this,” He says through gritted teeth, hands grabbing your hips. “I tell myself that it’ll be the last. I’ll tell myself Lando, be normal. Change it up.”

And you bounce on him harder.

“But then you climb into my lap with that fuckin crazed look in your eye. And I let you. Always let you.”

His head rests against the headboard. Neck thick. Veiny. Flushed.

“Ride me everywhere. Every fuckin’ place that you shouldn’t.”

He flexes his hips into you, just enough to make your cunt clench. And you gasp.

“Let you ride on me on that fuckin’ plane. My trainer two rows back. Had your sweatshirt over your lap like that would hide it.”

You whimper, pressing your hand to his chest. Cock twitching in you.

“Remember Suzuka?” He continues. “Showed up with no underwear under that skirt, climbed into my lap during lunch and said, five minutes. Just need to use it.”

He groans at the memory. At the feel of your cunt around him.

“Fuckin’ bounced on me while I tried to be normal. Bit into my shoulder while you came.”

You roll your hips harder, whining.

“Imola…my god…” He pants. “Told you I was exhausted. Needed to sleep.”

He lifts his head, eyes meeting yours. Eyes blown.

“And you just got on top. Said I’ll do all the work.” He huffs. “And you did. Fucked me so slow and deep. Grinding into me like you wanted my fuckin’ soul.”

You moan, squeezing him. Panting. 

“Monaco yacht…” His hands grip you harder. “Dragged me into that fuckin’ cabin during the afterparty…made me sit on that little chair.”

You both breath out. Hips grinding harder as he fucks into you.

“Remember how many people were there? How many of them heard the fuckin’ chair squeaking under us every time you dropped down onto my cock?”

You’re gasping now. Head falling into his neck.

And he fucking loses it.

Mouth on your throat, sucking a bruise there, as his cock slams up into you.

“Hotels, rental cars, Fuck…in a fuckin’ golf cart. Remember that?” He hisses. “Bahrain. Climbed into my lap after practice, pushed your panties to the side, said you needed to calm down. Calm down.”

You’re sobbing.

“It’s the only way I want it now. Moaning. Grinding. Milking me.”

Your body seizes. Hips uncontrollable now.

“Y’gonna come again?” He grunts. “Make another mess on my cock like always?”

You nod into his shoulder. Unable to speak.

“Do it,” He groans. “C’mon, Bunny. Fuckin’ come all over me.”

And you do.

With a loud moan, cunt squeezing him tight. Shaking. Trembling.

And he was right there with you. Hips jerking as he comes inside you, groaning your name out like he didn’t want it to end.

“Bunny…bunny. Fuck, I fuckin’ love you.”

You collapse into him. Wrecked. Smiling.

“You’ll do it in the morning, yeah?”

You laugh. “Obsessed.”

He kisses your temple. 

“Fuckin’ right.”

[81pastrys]

He’s Married?!

Summary— Oscar brings a baby to track and hides the fact it’s his while his wife deems they should tell the world about them

Warnings— secret relationship ; secret baby

A/N— I started writing this and went off-topic but I kept going and couldn’t stop myself 😭 (streamer is sort of like this as well just Lando based)

Oscar One Shots

Dividers @bernardsbendystraws @dollywons

Request— hihi, if possible could you do a oscar piatri fic, in which he married young and forgot to mention it, and the grid finds out (ive read a few fics with this plotline and im in love) -🤍 @fctnllvrs

Oscar was very closed off, meaning absolutely no one expected him to arrive at the paddock with a baby carrier. He doesn’t even have a girlfriend or hookups or even a wife?!

“Mate who got you baby sitting on media day?” Lando joked lightheartedly. Oscar flushed a pink color and laughed it off.

“Not too good of an idea, huh?” He joined Lando’s banter hoping to ward off the ‘it’s actually my kid and I’ve been married since F2’ conversation.

Oscar went about his day, holding the little boy and doing his duties while simultaneously keeping up with the infants needs.

His wife insisted he take the boy for the day, she needed to catch up at home and it was the Australian Grand Prix. Oscar’s mum insisted she stay behind and help with organizing and cleaning up the house with Oscar’s wife.

The reporters were intrigued and asked him questions as well. “Who’s this little one?” Lawrence Baretto asked. Oscar smiled and held his baby boy to show the camera.

“This is Arlo.” Oscar said before returning his son to his chest where the baby sighed contentedly into him. No more questions followed but media had their suspicions.

Socials were no help at all to any fans or media stalkers, Oscar and his wife kept a low private social life. They never officially announced their wedding nor first born anywhere other than texts between families.

Oscar returned to his driver room and started getting Arlo ready for a nap, meaning changing the little boys diaper. If there was one thing the baby absolutely despised, it was getting changed.

There were loud cries and screams as Oscar did so, trying to keep the boy calm. “Such big feelings little man, it’s okay.” He soothed, rubbing the boys tummy when he was done. “Shhh daddy’s got you, it’s alright.” Now that Arlo was dressed and back on Oscar chest, he was calm and no longer a screaming, crying mess.

Oscar did slip up and call himself daddy though, hoping the scream died that out. Until Lando walked in quietly, shutting the door behind him. His face of pure shock and disbelief.

“Sorry, just trying to get him to sleep for a little.” Oscar said quietly with a few nods. Lando’s face softened at the little boy droopy eyed on Oscar’s chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!” Lando whisper yelled, stirring the little one. “I’m sorry little man.” He apologized looking to Arlo after he flinched at Lando’s little shouting.

“Tell you what?” Oscar asked, puzzled. He didn’t realize Lando walked in on him saying ‘daddy’s got you’ so he’s left out of the loop.

“That Arlo is yours! Mate do you even have a girlfriend?” Lando asked, still quiet as for no one else to hear. “Oscar this is fucking huge! You’ve been flaunting him all day too.”

“Language and no I don’t have a girlfriend.” Oscar said to build suspense. Lando looked stressed at that comment. “I have a wife, who was overwhelmed at the mess from looking over him 24/7.” He smiled watching Lando relax.

“God mate you’re insane, how long?” Lando chuckled. He looked to Arlo as a nephew now, the sweet little boy sleeping on Oscar’s chest now a part of the McLaren family.

“4 years next month.” Oscar said looking as if he had to think about it. “Yes, I know. I don’t regret marrying her though.” Lando softened, why had Oscar kept this all a secret for so long?

“Secrets safe with me, but media is going to start speculating little Arlo here.” Lando reminded. Oscar nodded. He knew the risks and felt there wasn’t much need to hide it all anymore.

The day was done and Oscar went home to his wife and mum, a tidy home with barely any evidence that a newborn had taken over.

“How was track today? Was Arlo good?” His wife asked, scooping the newborn from his carrier. Arlo immediately relaxed in his mums hold.

“Good, I mean media is on my ass and Lando knows about us.” Oscar said casually. She hadn’t cared much about keeping it all a secret but she also didn’t want to push Oscar into it. “I was getting Arlo ready for a nap, you know how he is and when I went to calm him down Lando heard me call myself daddy so.” He laughed.

“He won’t tell anyone?” She asked, curious on Lando’s secrecy on things. “I know you trust him.”

“Yeah I mean I don’t see any threats of him just blatantly saying it or anything, it’s only a matter time people find out.” Oscar shrugged.

“Well if you want to do it before he accidentally does, we have hospital or maternity photos you could post.” She smiled, slightly joking. Oscar smiled with her and kissed her head.

“The house looks amazing by the way, you and mum did a good job tidying up.” He praised the cleanliness of the house that was once a mess. “I’ll send some pictures over to my media manager to post tomorrow before practice.”

She was going to be present for the race, but not the extras before. Arlo would not fare well with the long hours of sitting around in an unfamiliar place with loud noises.

Like Oscar said, scheduled posts from the hospital were posted the next day before he arrived at track. Him, his wife, and baby Arlo in their arms while cozied in a hospital bed widespread like wild fire.

Questions galore from reporters, congratulations from other drivers and shock from finding out the last 5 years were kept secret. Headliners read ‘Find out which McLaren driver kept wife and child under wraps for nearly 5 years’ or ‘Papaya driver released surprising post of family’ insanity flooded his phone.

The race day was even more overwhelming, fans and reporters hounding on his wife and Arlo now. Oscar was not having that. “Give them space, back up!” He said annoyed at the proximity of the people. His wife found a comfortable place in the garage where no one would bother her too much and Oscar checked in on her.

“We’re fine Osc, go do your McLaren stuff!” His wife insisted. She knew he had lots to do before a race, but he only seemed concerned on her and Arlo.

“Can I hold him before I have to go out?” Oscar asked. It was 30 minutes until he had to be in his car. She nodded and handed the boy over. “Such a sweet, loving boy.” He cooed. “I’m going to win my home race, just for you and Mama.” He whispered. He kissed the baby’s forehead and handed him back. He gave his wife a kiss as well and headed to his car on the grid.

I’m just getting over a sinus infection so apologies for being inactive.

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @pandabiiissh @itznotsophia @kallanfiona @chertik-007vvv (its Kinda dad Oscar)

[skelesnakesposts]

Ok so I ended up writing 12k words, I'll put the first chapter in here and link the ao3 bellow because I'm not gonna make people read all of that.

Chapter 1:

After what felt like an eternity, the bell finally rang, signalling the end of class. Lily had just survived the most boring math lesson of her life, and she was beyond relieved to be free. She packed her books as fast as she could while the teacher reminded everyone about the test on Friday.

She filed out with the rest of her classmates and made a beeline for her locker across the hall. As she was packing up to go home, Eve approached.

“Hey, Lily. I’m really sorry—I have to cancel again. My mom wants me home. Some family stuff came up.”

“Okay… Do you know when you’ll actually be able to work on the project? It’s due next week, and Ms. Maken will kill us if we don’t get it done. It’s like fifty percent of our final grade.”

“I know, I’m really sorry. I’m not sure when I’ll have time, but I’ll let you know as soon as I can, okay?”

“Fine. I’m going to start on my section—it’ll take a while anyway. Just send me your part whenever you get the chance. I’ll handle the formatting,” Lily said, obviously annoyed.

“Thank you so much, Lily. You’re a lifesaver,” Eve replied with forced gratitude—her tone made it obvious she wasn’t planning to contribute much.

“I’d better go. See you Monday, Eve. Hopefully, everything’s okay with your family.”

“Thanks. See you Monday.”   Eve turned and walked away.

Not long after, Lily headed home. She had a mountain of work waiting for her and couldn’t afford to waste time. Wanting to beat the early evening darkness, she decided to take a shortcut.

The alley between the vape shop and one of the dozen nearly identical phone stores shaved several minutes off her walk. It let out just a block or two from her house—close enough to feel convenient, not far enough to feel dangerous.

At least, not usually.

Halfway down the alley, she spotted a couple of shadowy figures. She paused. Should she really walk toward them?

“Whatever,” she muttered. “It’s fine.”

It was not fine. Walking toward strangers in a sketchy alley was objectively a terrible decision.

As she got closer, the figures began arguing—loudly.

“What do you mean you lost it? You had one job!”

Lily stopped cold.   She knew that voice.   “Uncle David?”

He didn’t turn, too caught up in yelling at the stranger.

“You think I meant to? I worked my ass off to get that! You seriously think I’d just hand it over?”

Lily opened her mouth to call out again—but then she saw something that made her freeze.

Plants—real plants—were snaking up around the stranger’s neck.

She blinked.

She had to be imagining this. Where would plants even come from in the middle of a concrete alley?

Then the man collapsed.

David turned—and saw her.

His face changed instantly. Panic. Regret. Guilt.

Lily’s heart was hammering. That wasn’t just anyone. That was her uncle. And she had just watched him kill someone?

She took a step back.

“Wait! Lily, it’s not what it looks like!” David called.

“Oh really?” she snapped, eyes wide. “Because it looked like you just murdered someone.”

David raised his hands, staying where he was. “Okay, it was—kind of. But you can’t tell anyone. It’s not like they’ll believe you anyway. You’ll end up in a mental hospital, they’ll think you’re insane.”

Lily stared at him. “You’re my uncle, David. How am I supposed to process the fact that you just choked a guy with plants? What even is that?”

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” he muttered.

“You think that makes it better?” she said, her voice high and shaky. “How the hell am I supposed to act normal after this? I could still call the police and say you strangled him with a rope or something. That’d be enough to get you arrested.”

David let out a slow, tired sigh.

“Okay, but… are you really going to do all that?”

The way he said it—so calm, so certain—made her stomach twist.   And, frustratingly, he wasn’t wrong. Her brain was still catching up.

The alley was silent now, thick with tension.

After a long pause, David spoke again.

“Look, I know this is a lot. But what you saw wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“You mean the part where vines came out of nowhere and strangled a man?” she said, arms crossed. “Yeah. Not exactly the family reunion I expected.”

David nodded wearily. “Right. So, let’s start over. I’ll explain. But I have so many questions.”

“Shoot”

She narrowed her eyes. “So that thing with the vines… that was magic, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It was.”

Lily exhaled, trying to centre herself. “Okay. So magic is real. Cool. Just what I needed to round out my week.”

David gave a tired smile. “You’re handling this better than I thought.”

“Well, I haven’t passed out yet, so that’s something.”

“Yeah that’s a good sign. You said you had a lot of questions, you may as well keep going.”

“Yeah ok. How did you even know you could do magic? And what about me? Is there a chance I could do it too?”

“There’s a test for that.”

“Seriously? It’s that simple?”

“Pretty much. All we need is a piece of paper, a drop of your blood, and a basic spell.”

“That’s it?”

“You sound disappointed. We’ve got better tools these days. No full ritual required.”

She rolled her eyes. “So… when and where are we doing this? Because I want to know but I need to be home before my parents start asking questions.”

“I know a guy. He’s about ten minutes from here, and the test only takes five. I can bring you in and get the test done, but if you don’t test positive you have to forget that all of this ever happened. I’ll have you home right after. Deal?”

“Fine. Let’s go.”

and here's the link for the rest if you want to read more:

Wait, are you saying that magic is real?" "Yes." "And you can test if I have magical potential?" "Yes. It's simple: a piece of paper, a drop of your blood, and a simple spell."

[heartyluv]

Plz give the girls a full fwb!caleb fic ur little ficlet was so good like it had my cootamunk QUIVERING ‼️

Note: I just want you to know that cootamunk has had me in tears since yesterday. Literally couldn’t stop laughing and now I can’t stop saying it. You’re a hilarious genius and I luv you. This is for you, babe. Enjoy!

Creds to @/anitalenia and @/strangergraphics for the dividers!

Rating: Explicit - !!Minors DO NOT Interact!!

Warning: Smut, Caleb is a little controlling and rough.

Word Count: 2,251

Summary: Caleb finds out that you’re trying to go on a date and shuts that shit down.

Jealous&FriendsWithBenefits!Caleb/Reader

Hey. You up?

The notification that appears at the top of your phone screen stops your doom scrolling. You smile just a little to see that familiar message with the name accompanying it. You look at the time, not surprised that it’s almost two in the morning. You never go to bed at the time you intend to, unintentionally looking and reading through a whole bunch of things from your roulette of consistently used apps.

You open your messages, twiddling your thumbs before you get ready to answer. Tonight could go one of two ways: You’re either about to be put to bed with sex or you’re about be up for another hour or two watching something you’ve already seen before until you and Caleb pass out on the couch.

When Caleb proposed being your first after you shared your fears of giving yourself to someone who didn’t deserve it, you thought he was joking. But when he looked at you with those serious eyes you’ve grown to be able to identify so well, you knew that you were about to tread into some dangerous territory. But you let it happen, and you were convinced that if you ever had sex again, it wouldn’t be what Caleb showed you, what he did to you.

You’ll never forget his gentleness, his praise and respect. The way he put you and your needs above his own. Your thighs always press together just thinking about how you watched him slide on a condom and look into your eyes before he began to slip inside. You worried about pain, but Caleb had prepared you so well, gotten you so wet, that it was nothing but blissful pleasure.

“You’re doing so good for me. I got you, pretty.”

“It’s okay, hold onto me. I’ll make sure it feels good.”

“If you need me to stop, don’t hesitate to tell me. This is about you.”

You were addicted. And you were scared that your newfound desire for consistent sex was because it was Caleb who made you feel so good. You tried convincing yourself that you just wanted to feel that full and taken care of again, but you knew better.

No other man would do what he did—would feel like he did. So when you vented to Caleb about how much you enjoyed yourself, you played it off and said that it was going to be scary showing yourself like this again to a stranger. But, then he said what you would’ve never had the guts to.

“We can still have sex if you want. I mean, neither of us are dating or anything. Friends with benefits, you know? It doesn’t hurt to just feel good and we trust each other enough.”

You didn’t hesitate to accept and it’s been history ever since. He comes over all the time and you still operate like friends, but when he’s hard and you’re wet, you two fuck like a couple madly in love.

He always comes over at some point when he has a break or you go to his place. If he’s up for it—he always is—he’ll make the drive to your apartment when it’s past midnight because he tends to get off work late. Tonight is no different. Finally, you start to write your reply.

Hey. Yeah, everything okay?

Yeah. I’m outside. Open up?

Your eyebrows raise in shock. He’s outside already? That’s a first.

Your oversized shirts falls mid thigh when you stand and you walk to your front door, not needing any light to see since the moon is so bright that it casts a gentle light into your open floored space. When you open the door, Caleb looks at you with a tight smile.

“You sure you’re okay? You texted me like you weren’t here, yet you were standing outside this whole time,” you chuckle. But Caleb doesn’t laugh, he just holds that expression that you can’t read.

He steps inside when you move over and you shut the door behind him, locking it while looking at him take off his sweater.

“Caleb—” you start, but he’s cupping the side of your face and kissing you with so much intensity. You accept it, melting into his hold as your hands snake into his hair, pressing your body close to his as your tongue licks at his mouth.

It must be one of those nights where we talk after, you think. He’s done this before and so have you, where you’re so overwhelmed with something that you need to release physically before you can do it verbally.

He’s eager in his urge to pull your clothes off, tickling your skin with his fingertips as he grabs the hem of your shirt to lift it over your head. You’re just as grabby, pulling his shirt off and tugging at his pants to get them down. You kiss your way to the couch and he falls backwards when you gently push him.

You can see him, but just barely. You don’t feel like cutting a light on, so the moon illuminating through your windows will have to do. You slide your panties off and your pussy squeezes around nothing when you hear how ragged his breathing is and the wet noises that you know is him stroking his cock.

You crawl onto his lap, bracing your knees on both sides of him as you raise your hips. You put one hand on his shoulder and use the other to grip his length to put him where you both need.

“Caleb…Oh my god…” you whine as your body takes him inside, making you two become one.

You feel him twitch inside your walls as you start to move just a little bit, rubbing your breast against your palm as you hold onto him.

“I’m in love with you,” he finally speaks for the first time since his arrival and you nearly freeze, but he doesn’t let you. He keeps your hips moving, keeps thrusting into you from beneath as you choke on your breath from his words and actions.

“The thought of you letting anyone but me get the privilege to see you like this makes me fucking nauseous.” He kisses your shoulder as he moves snugly within your warm cunt, and all you can do is listen to him because he’s not giving you a second to speak.

“Could you deal with me killing a man for you? Because if you ever let him experience this, I wouldn’t hesitate. Tell me what you need from me and I’ll become that and more to fulfill your every desire.”

You whimper as he grabs your ass tightly, keeping you moving so that you take him ass deep as you can.

“Caleb, what are you—What happened?” you say breathlessly, confused and thrown off by his confession. Every time you try to stop moving, he won’t allow it.

Caleb doesn’t want you to stop because if you stop feeling how good he makes you feel, you’ll try and find a way to bullshit him.

“You think I’m going to let you leave me?” he groans when you squeeze him. “I know about your little date. Remember what you told me when we started this?”

You never told him anything, but you’re not surprised that he was able to find this out. Caleb always finds his ways and you’ve never understood how. The date was harmless, setup by a coworker of yours after she told you the guy liked you and he didn’t seem bad, so you figured—why not? Well now, you know you made a terrible mistake.

You do remember what you said, and it replays in your mind like a voice recording.

“If either of us start dating or anything, we have to cut this off. There won’t be anymore sex, but we could still be friends. But if someone can’t deal with that, it’s healthy for us to just cut ties entirely.”

“Yeah, you remember,” he licks your neck. “I never agreed, I just let you try and ignore your feelings because you said you weren’t ready for a relationship. But now?” he abruptly stands with him seated inside of you to the brim.

“It looks like I have to make the right decision for both of us.”

He walks through your dark apartment into your room with your small lamp on. You turned it on before you got up to answer the door and you’re glad you did, because you can see him so clearly now. And he looks hurt—hurt and angry.

“Caleb I didn’t mean—”

He roughly throws you down into the bed, still pulsing inside. You don’t even understand how he’s this fucking strong, but it’s turning you on so much that you know his cock is soaked with your slick.

“What?” he growls, cutting you off, grabbing your hands and placing them above your head as he starts to pound into you so hard that you can’t breathe. Your bed physically moves, you hear the frame grate against the floor.

“To hurt me, huh? To make me have to think that you were going to choose someone else over me? Over us?” He spreads your legs, spearing into you over and over while your breasts bounce in his face. He roughly takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking the peaked nub. He starts to suck on your breasts, leaving red marks that he intends to keep on you so you’ll always look in the mirror and know who owns you.

He angles himself, sitting on his knees and you don’t know how he’s able to make you so flexible right now, but you’ve never been so spread in your life. His hand comes to your throat, not putting pressure but it’s telling you what you two are without it needing to be said.

“Caleb…” you hiccup. “I can’t..I’m gonna—”

You’re going dizzy at how hard he’s fucking you, how he’s punishing your cervix with each brutally delicious thrust. His head falls to your neck while he keeps your throat in his palm, and when you hear him sniffle, you damn near cry yourself. You move your hands from above your head where he put them, tugging on his hair and tracing his back while his hips never lose their momentum.

“I’ll make you see. I’ll make you realize how much I belong to you. I want to live in your body, I want to stay a part of you forever. I’ll do everything in my power, baby. Please take me, please, please don’t make me have to know what it’s like without you.”

“I’ll never do that you,” you whine as he circles his hips to make you feel every thick inch. “I’m sorry…I’m here..”

“Show me how sorry,” you feel wetness of what you believe is a tear drop on your neck as he continues to hide his face in it. “I’m not pulling out. Let me put my cum inside you. I want you to feel it. You’ll let me, won’t you? Please tell me yes, baby… I’m so fucking close..”

“Yes,” you affirm, your own orgasm impending. “Give it to me, Caleb…”

And when he whimpers as he slams into you just a few more times, his heavy load floods your fertile pussy as his cock fucks it into you deep. Even when you cry out from how hard you finished, he’s still slowly rocking his hips, making you and him both feel that mix of pleasure and pain from overstimulation.

You feel the cum start to spill out, falling down and pooling beneath your ass. It sticks to your skin and stains your sheets but you don’t care. If you could stay like this forever, you would.

He finally pulls back to look at you and even if his eyes aren’t red, his face is flushed and you can see the wetness on his long eyelashes. Gently, you take your thumbs to his eyes to wipe his tears. You pull him down, kissing him so sloppily that you don’t care how messy it is. He follows your lead without hesitation, sticking his tongue down your throat and making you both pour the rest of yourselves into one another.

He bucks his hips, his cock slightly moving inside of you as a reminder that he’s still there—that he’ll always be. He’s not giving you a choice but to let him. And you can’t stop clenching, you can’t stop your hole from wanting to bring him deeper, to keep him there.

“Caleb,” you say softly when you two are forced to pull away to catch your breath.

He just stares down at you, his eyes dancing across your face as his breath becomes steady.

“I’m in love with you too.”

He smiles hard, holding you tight as you wrap your arms around him. He’s more than happy that the feeling was mutual, that you want him just as much. Because he wasn’t exaggerating about killing a man for even daring to think that he could have you. He wasn’t playing when he said that you’d never leave him.

But hopefully, you’ll never have to find out how far he’ll go. A man like Caleb in love is a man who has no shame or fear, other than losing you. And he’ll go great lengths to prove that.

“Forever,” he mumbles. “You’re never leaving me.”

“Never,” you kiss his neck. “I promise.”

And he intends to make sure you keep it.

[h3catee]

Introductions Are in Order

Paring: Robert Reynoldsx Fem!Witch Reader! Past Avenger!  

Summary: Bucky asks a favor of you and ends up getting you entangled with one of Valentinas ploys. 

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS*,  talks of mental health, depression, anxiety. Some violence (bc its marvel), some language. Trauma. Angst. Decent amount of Hurt/ With some comfort! 

Word count: 2.7k

AN: Hi! Welcome to my fic! this is probably multi part idk my plans yet. I'm leaning more towards multi-part bc I'm usually a chapter by chapter writer so there isn’t a lot of Bob in this one but I hope its a good intro to maybe a 2-3 parts. I literally fell in love with Bob's character during Thunderbolts and this man gave me motivation to write again. I didn't have a Beta reader for this one so pls forgive any grammer or silly mistakes. Forewarning (y/n)’s powers based off of the Marvel character Morgan le Fay just to throw that out there, she’s definitely not Wanda but definitely not Morgan. Think morally gray/ hates everyone except like 3 people/ witch trained by the past avengers. Next part will have more Bob I promise, just wanted to introduce the story here >:3

Song for the chapter: https://open.spotify.com/track/09fDemXgXzRReTfb7UWxjD?si=7e0b5d606b824813 

xoxox

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“I need your help with something.” 

You sighed heavily before responding, “Hello to you too Senator Barnes!” You heard the man grumble from the other phone line. 

“You know I hate when you call me that,” Bucky said. 

“Well…what do you want, Buck?” You said, rolling your eyes. You look around your empty apartment for something to fidget with while Bucky chews your ear off about calling him another stupid nickname. 

“Y/N, Valentina’s got this guy apparently named Bob-” 

“Bob?” You ask, cutting him off. Who names their kid Bob in this day and age? 

“Yes, Bob! I’m with Nat’s sister and she said we have to go get him because he’s part of some Sentry project,” He explained, voices yelling at him in the background of the phone call. “Can you just meet us at the tower?” 

A wave of nausea rolled over you, “The tower? Bucky, I don't go around there anymore.” 

“I know, but I wouldn’t be calling you if I had anyone else to call.” 

“How nice,” you taunt. You were never any of the Avengers first calls. To be fair you weren’t sure if it is because they were scared of you or your lack of social skills. “Also Nat’s sister?” 

“Later,” Which means he says he’ll tell you later but in reality he’s never going to bring it up again unless you find the answer yourself. 

You sigh, walking over to the bookshelf in your apartment that’s filled with books, both regular and magical, and pictures. Your hand brushes across a photo of yourself, Steven Strange, and Wanda, “I don’t fight anymore Bucky. You couldn’t just ask Sam?” 

“He’s uhmm..busy,” He answered, “I know how you’re feeling y/n.” 

“You don’t,” You interrupt. How could he possibly understand how you’re feeling when he barely reaches out to you unless he needs something. Him and the rest of the remaining team abandoned you, after Wanda, you had no one to turn to. You felt the all too familiar dull ache in your chest. You chewed on the skin around your nails waiting for Bucky to respond. 

“ I think we need you for this one.” Which means in Bucky terms that whoever they are fighting is a mutant and something he can’t fight. 

“Fuck,” You mutter to yourself. 

Ever since Wanda vanished you refused to step back out on the field.She was the only one that truly knew what you were capable of considering she was the one that found you all those years ago. Not even Thor, a god, could hold you back during training sessions and the only avenger to understand your pain was Wanda. And now she’s- 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to ground yourself. You haven’t been able to sense her magic anywhere. No matter what realm you went to, you couldn’t find her. 

Fuck you Bucky Barnes. 

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“She already knows we’re here,” You try to explain to the group in front of you. Bucky gave you and the rest of the team a run down of Sentry and what Mel, Valentinas assistant, told him about Bob. That doesn’t stop them from driving a truck through the lobby destroying the front of the building in the process, “Awesome,” You have no choice but to join the fight to defend the group. Defense only, you tell yourself 

While Walker has his back turned, a soldier on the ground fires a few stray bullets, you toss your hand up and redirect the shots to the wall behind him, “Watch yourself walker,” You growled. Before he could reply you went back to the fight. Using your magic to cast illusions into the minds of the soldiers fighting to give the group an advantage when attacking.

“I just had that drywall put in. You can just come up, you know that right.” Valentina’s voice rang out over the intercoms, “But I know you knew that already y/n. Come on up!” 

Yelena and Ava looked at you, knowing you had previously stated that and they had just refused to listen. You just rolled your eyes at them before motioning them to go in the elevator. 

“You are not coming,” Yelena asked as the group of 5 squeezed into the elevator. 

You shake your head before pointing up. You close your eyes and feel the familiar stomach reeling feeling of teleporting to where the penthouse once was. Where you shared few but long lasting memories. Your eyes wander across the empty walls and fairly empty room before you look at Val. 

“Ah! Y/N, so lovely to see you darling. You see I’ve always wanted to work with you,” The woman said. 

“Can’t say the same,” You said in a sarcastic tone. 

“Hmm, well maybe he’ll change your mind.” You just raise an eyebrow.

You don’t have the chase to question her because Bucky and the team come through the elevator doors ready to arrest her for crimes. You look between each person and back to Valentina, honestly not sure what is going on. 

That's when you feel it. A humming. Power. You look around only to notice no one else in the “Thunderbolts”, as Alexie is calling them, notices it. You try to pinpoint a mind to tap into to find where this power is from but you can’t, a black shadow blocking you out. Shit. 

“Meet Sentry.” 

You look up to where a man is clothed in a…ugly suit, with unnaturally yellow blonde hair. 

“Hey guys,” He greats. You study him for a second, the power dripping off of him but there's something else there, something all too familiar. You try to invade his mind but there's something keeping you out. You pull and claw at the black void keeping you out. 

“Y/n.” You vacate the attempt on his mind and meet his eyes. You cock your head to the side, he knows what you were doing, “That won’t work,” his voice coming out cautious. 

“Take care of them Robert,” Valentina orders. 

“I don’t want to hurt you guys,” Bob says, looking around at all of them in front of him, “Please just give yourselves in.” 

“Wait-” Yelena tries to interrupt. 

Alexie yells before running towards the man. Instead of following the rest of the team you stand back and observe. Everything they throw at him gets blocked or countered. Teleportation. Flight. Strength.

Bucky shoots at Bob only for the bullets to be sprayed back at him and Walker. You hold your hand up blocking the bullets and directing them towards the already broken window. Thats when Sentry notices you. 

“I knew I liked her,” Walker says to Bucky, getting ready to fight again. 

“Wanda’s not here to save you this time.” 

You barely move after hearing the voice in your head when the rest of the Thunderbolts move to attack Bob. You shake your head as if to clear your thoughts but you feel his eyes on you. Instead of the blue you saw earlier, Bob’s eyes have a golden hue. 

“She left you, just like you told her to.” 

“Stop,” You whisper to yourself, rage boiling beneath your skin. 

The fight breaks out and you watch as Bob grabs Bucky's Arm. 

“God damnit,” You whisper, before running towards the two to save Bucky. Bob tosses Bucky to the side, his arm now torn off. You shot a blast of energy towards him only for him to teleport out of the way. I don’t want to hurt you, You try to telepathically tell him. 

“You can’t hurt me,” He says aloud. 

“Says who,” You taunt. Your feet leave the floor before you can’t register your rage taking over. Blast after blast and nothing is hitting him. 

He teleports in front of you and grabs your neck. What he doesn’t expect is to look behind you and see a beach. A sunset. He furrows his brows as he looks around in confusion. 

That gives you enough time to grab his wrist and teleport out of his grasp. 

The illusion collapses around the two of you as you lose contact. With every fight you’ve been in, usually your opponent will be thrown off once coming out of the illusion but Bob…He raises a hand before you can counter and you slam into the concrete wall of Avengers Tower, the wall cracking behind you. 

 You feel an arm hook under your shoulders and begin to drag you to the elevator which you see is already occupied with the rest of the team besides you and Yelena. “Get off of me,” You grumble. You teleport out of her grasp and out of the tower completely. Your knees are wobbly beneath you and you assess your surroundings. Guard still up. 

“Are you hurt?” You turn and see Bucky running towards you, the rest of the Thunderbolts following in suit. 

“You know I’m not,” You used your magic to heal yourself immediately after the hit, “I tried to help Buck but I’m not strong enough anymore. I’m leaving.” 

“No, let us regroup and we can go back in,” Alexie tries to argue. 

“All of you just got your asses beat, you especially-” 

“Well I am just rusty but now I am ready to go,” The older super soldier bellows. 

You see Yelena put a hand over her eyes. You just laugh out of disbelief and begin to walk down the street. 

“Wait y/n,” Bucky follows after you, “Just wait-” 

You turn, he can feel the rage dripping off of you, “What!” You shout, “What do you want from me?” 

He just stares at you, “I was going to ask if you were okay.” 

You laugh, “Am I okay? God, you should've asked me that when Tony died. Or when I lost Vision and then lost Wanda. Or Nat. Or Steve.” 

“You acted like you didn’t even care about half of the team, what did you expect me to do?” He argues. 

“I didn’t want to hurt any of you!” You exclaim, letting your emotions run wild on the streets of New York, “If you think that up there I used all my power, you're wrong. I didn’t want to hurt any of you so I stayed away.” 

“But Wanda-” 

“But Wanda understood me, more than you or Tony or any of them. You don’t understand what I went through, what I’ve done. Bucky, you don’t know who I really am.” 

There was commotion behind you, taking your concentration away from the conversation. Citizens were pointing up towards the sky. You and Bucky exchange glances before running to where you could have a clear view of what they were looking at. 

A shadow of man floated above Avengers Tower. You watched as he raised a hand and all of a sudden a helicopter came crashing into a crane. Concrete and rubble began to fall from the buildings that were hit. People were screaming. 

Typical avenger in New York occurrence. 

You and Bucky split off to protect the people from being crushed. You used your magic to stop concrete from crushing a family and urged them to get into a building. 

“You’re alone,” You turned to see the man closer to you now. You recognized the voice from just minutes ago, Bob, “You’ve always been alone.” You just stare at him, “It eats you alive doesn’t it, y/n.” 

People are screaming, you turn to look behind you and see shadows of people spread across the floor in dark black smoke. You heart drops, what the fuck is this guy. 

“The pain goes away. Just come with me,” Bob captures your attention once again, “I can make it go away.” 

“How?” You whisper. He reaches a hand out to you. 

“Y/n! Stop!” Bucky shouts behind you but something in your mind is telling you to go. Telling you that everything will stop if you accept his hand. Everything will be quiet. Will the pain finally go away? 

“Y/n,” The distorted voice urges. 

That’s when you close your eyes and walk into the void. 

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You open your eyes and find yourself in an all too familiar room. One lined with archaic symbols preventing you from escaping. Your heart drops because you see yourself, younger, wounded, broken standing on the other side of the room. 

You know this day, you recognize it by the energy alone. This was the first time you killed someone. The first time you disintegrated someone's body and brain. 

“Y/N, Before you is a man who is being convicted of crimes against countless women, including your own mother,” You watched as your younger self balled her hands into fists, “Your task is to eliminate him.” 

Younger you nodded. 

“N-no,” You ran over to where you stood and wrapped your arms around your younger self, “you don’t have to do this,” 

“Get off of me,” Your body is thrown a few feet away from your younger self. That's when you feel it, the pain of a curse of 1000 sharp white-hot knives digging into you, you scream and writhe on the floor. That was your punishment when you were captured, if you ever disobeyed or failed, they cursed you over and over. 

“Stop,” You sob, the curse diminishing, “Stop,” You whisper, tears falling onto the floor beneath you. Your mind whirls and your limbs ache, like you’re gripped by a fever that burns through you like wildfire. 

“Y/n?” A male voice. 

You look towards a doorway where Bob stands, not Sentry, not Void but Bob. You squeeze your eyes shut to stop crying. 

“Oh god, I-I’m so sorry,” He runs over to you, “I-I can’t stop it,” He apologized. 

“I don’t understand,” Your voice comes out as a whisper, “What is this?” You finally sit up and watch the rest of the scene play out in front of you. 

You watch as younger you raises her hand towards the man and he begins to scream in agony. You watch as his skin flairs and melts. 

“Don’t look,” Bob urges, grabbing your arm and pulling your attention from the memory. There are tears in his blue eyes. He has brown hair now instead of the fake gold that Val gave him. He’s clothed in a sweater and tan pants. He honestly looks like he’s going to pass out. “I can’t do anything right, I’m so sorry,” He mumbles, “I-I don’t even know you and you’re stuck here with me. It’s this…void.” 

“How do we get out?” You ask, looking down to study your shaking hands. 

“I-I don’t know. There’s different rooms and each one just gets worse. I’m so sorry Y/n,” He begins to cry. Your heart shatters for a moment thinking about what he must go through if he deals with this constantly, now with the serum it must have fully taken over him. 

“Let’s just get out okay,” You place your hand on his thigh and he tenses beneath you. You squeeze his leg in reassurance before standing up, “P-please don’t tell anyone what you saw, I-I can’t. No one knows.” 

“I won’t, Why would I tell them?” He asks sincerely. All you can do is nod, “Y-you can trust me.” Once again, you just nod. 

“Do you think everyone else is in here?” You ask, trying to change the topic. 

“M-maybe,” He saying, shrinking in on himself. 

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m fine. We’ll all be fine,” You soothe, “Let’s just find them.” 

Thats how you ended up finding the team, fighting Bob in a chicken outfit, and getting out of the void. Only to have Valentina throw a new title on the group right after. 

The New Avengers. Including you. Awesome. 

And that’s how you ended up here, living in the tower after some much needed renovations. Bob didn’t remember anything after the Void incident but something told you to tell him. So you showed him through your magic. He apologized profusely to the team and kept his distance since then. Honestly, he reminds you a lot of yourself when you first joined the Avengers with Wanda. But you refuse to let him fall into that dark of a hole like you did. 

You want to save someone for yourself, for once. You want to save him. 

part two!

[popcornpoppypop]

Salvation

Summary: Jack needs you like air, but he's too wounded to keep himself from breaking everything.

A/N: I don't really know what this is, but it just sort of came out and I went with it. Just using broken characters to deal with my own breaking or something like that I guess. No warnings outside of heartbreak. Also, I was listening to Waiting Room by Phoebe Bridgers while writing this, so strap the hell in!

The ache never really leaves. It’s always gnawing at him. His leg throbs most of the day. He’s learned to ignore it. He’s learned to let it fuel him at times. The pain can motivate him at the end of a long day, push him forward just enough to finish his job. Lately, the ache has extended to his chest. It snakes it’s way up his body and wraps itself around his heart.

He knew that he was a broken man. Not just his leg, though it was a physical sign of what lay in his mind. A broken mind that pecked at him day in and day out. He fought himself every day.

If you were heaven, he was purgatory. He would never dream of saddling you with him and his damage. You fought with his mind as much as he did. He tried to hide the shame of it all. You could see him in a way no one ever had, ever would.

You didn’t flinch when it became too much for him and he exploded, shrapnel flying your way. You would take the wound, clean yourself and him up. Never shied from the pain.

“Jack, I’m not scared of you.” You whispered one night as he screamed, the pain overflowing like lava from his lips.

“I am! I’m so fucking scared!” He screeched, his hands tugging at his grey locks. He could never tell if the things he did were to keep himself together or tear himself apart. They felt like the same thing.

You wrapped yourself around him, keeping what you could intact. You held his face in your hands, it was red and the veins pushing harshly against his skin.

He saw his salvation in your eyes. The thing about salvation is that it isn’t always a guarantee.  

The ache radiated as he walked into the dark house. The quiet hung heavy in the air, a choking fog that floated throughout.

The only thing he could think about lately was the night you had enough. The night his salvation was denied by his own self-damnation.

“Don’t say that to me! Don’t act like I’m not sacrificing things here too!” Your tears fell down your cheeks; each one was a plea and a prayer.

“You are better than sacrificing anything for me! You’re stupid if you stay! Goddammit!” The venom left his mouth and stung his lips but he couldn’t swallow it back up. It hit you like a ton of bricks.

“Oh. Well.” Your voice shook and it reminded him of the first time he saw a child cry for their mother that wouldn’t open her eyes again.

“You’ll never understand this pain. I don’t know why you fucking try.” He dug the knife deeper. He never could tell if he was trying to keep himself together or tear himself apart.

“I’m done trying. I’m done, Jack. I can’t….I can’t do this to myself anymore.” You let the sob fall from your chest and smash his world apart.

The house felt sterile and haunted. He moved through it, never caring what was broken or battered. His body fell into the couch, his muscles screaming in relief. His mind still raced and pounded at him. He took the prosthetic off his leg, the ache easing from his wound but tightening in his chest.

He fiddled with his phone. The thought to reach out to you, try and find a lifeline, try and stay afloat, toyed with him. He didn’t realize he had dialed your number until your voice broke through his icy wall of self-hatred.

“Jack? Jack, are you okay?” Your voice was still so sweet. Still so soft and kind, like a balm for his depressed mind.

“I…I can’t breathe.” He mumbled.

“What do you mean?” Your voice getting worried, unsure how to help. Always wanting to save him.

“You were my oxygen and I held my breath.” He let his chest crack open a bit.

“Jack…I don’t know how to do this.” You were never one to lie to him. Your honesty kept him from raging against the world. But it didn’t stop the sadness from destroying everything good.

“I know. I don’t either. I just…I see a therapist now. I tell him about you. I tell him how I ruined everything, hurt you when you were trying to keep me alive.” His chest cracks more.

“Jack. Why did you call me? To tell me you’re in therapy?” Your sadness turning to rage for what he took from you.

“I’ve been trying to fix everything. I’ve been doing everything I’m supposed to but none of it fucking matters because you aren’t here. I…I don’t know why I called.” His breath leaves him like defeat.

The silence clings to him, tightening around his throat and making him see stars.

“Jack…if I hang up will you be safe?” Your voice is small and afraid of the answer. He squeezes his eyes shut and beats the edge of the phone into his forehead.

“Yeah, don’t worry about me. I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry. I miss you is all.” He leaves one last chance at your feet.

“I…I miss you.” You whisper, as if the words would ignite the world and never stop.

He feels his lungs ache for breath and realizes he stopped breathing as your words settled into his mind and put out a small fire.

“Can I see you?” He reaches out a little more. His chest is wide open, his beating heart vulnerable and waiting to be stabbed.

“We can start small. Coffee, tomorrow, at the café you liked near your place. With the park next door.” You grab hold of him, lifting him off the edge.

“Okay. Yeah. Small.”  It’s huge. It’s massive. It’s salvation.

[snottyped]

would u write naga filling u with two dicks?

Scales and Sweat

Naga x Female Reader nsfw

The air was thick with heat as you stepped deeper into the cave, drawn by the soft sound of flowing water and the promise of something exotic. The further you ventured, the more the scent of incense and herbs filled the air, mingling with the rich, earthy smell of the cavern.

You weren’t entirely sure how you’d ended up here—lost, or perhaps guided by something otherworldly. But as you rounded the final bend, your heart skipped in your chest.

He was there.

A massive naga, long, sinuous, and covered in glimmering scales that reflected the dim light. His upper body was muscular, the hard lines of his chest and arms dusted in a faint sheen of gold. But it was his gaze that caught you. It was warm, inviting—playful even—and something deep within you responded.

His smile was slow, knowing.

“Well now,” he purred, his voice like silk sliding over your skin, “what do we have here? A lost little human, wandering into my lair? How lucky for me.” His tail flicked lazily, coiling around a nearby stone pillar. The two thick, dark cocks that hung beneath him twitched with subtle interest.

Your breath hitched.

“Lost, or perhaps,” he stepped closer, his massive form taking up your space, “you were meant to be here?” He tilted his head, amusement dancing in his golden eyes. “I think we both know the answer, don’t we?”

You swallowed hard, heart racing. “I… I didn’t mean to intrude,” you stammered, your voice wavering, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

“Oh, darling,” he whispered as his tail slid up behind you, gently nudging your legs apart. “There’s no need to be shy now.” He leaned down, his breath warm against your skin, his tongue flicking across your earlobe. “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

Before you could protest, his hands were on your body, stroking over the curve of your hips, the soft swell of your breasts. His touch was soft, coaxing, making your skin burn with an unfamiliar need.

His lips trailed down the side of your neck, his teeth grazing against your flesh as his tail wrapped tighter around your legs, pinning you against the cold stone wall.

“Tell me, beautiful,” he murmured, nipping at your pulse. “Have you ever wondered what it feels like to be claimed by something far stronger, far more powerful?” His voice was teasing, but there was an edge of something sinister—something that made your breath quicken.

“I—” you tried to speak, but his mouth was on yours, soft and demanding, his hands tugging at your clothes, peeling them off like they were nothing. His scales brushed against your bare skin, sending little jolts of pleasure through your body.

You gasped as his hand cupped your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers with a soft growl of approval. “So responsive,” he purred, breaking the kiss to look at you with that gleam in his eye. “I think you’ll be just perfect for me.”

Before you could reply, he was on you again, his body shifting and sliding against yours, a perfect, sensual weight. One of his cocks pressed against your stomach, thick and heavy, the head already leaking with pre-cum. His other cock was pressed against your thigh, both demanding attention.

“You’re going to feel both of me,” he whispered, his voice dripping with charm. “One in your tight little pussy and the other, well…” He trailed a finger over your swollen lips, making you shiver. “I think you’ll enjoy that just as much.”

You tried to back away, but his tail held you tight against him. “There’s no running, little one,” he cooed. “You’re mine now.”

With a slow, teasing motion, he guided his thick cock into your pussy, the stretch almost unbearable at first. You gasped, your body shuddering as he sank deeper, taking his time, allowing you to adjust to his size.

Your cunt was so wet as easy to slip into.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his fingers grazing over your waist, soothing you as he continued to fill you inch by inch. “You’re going to take both of me, sweetheart. I’ll make sure of that.”

He pushed in completely, filling you to the hilt. You moaned, overwhelmed by the size, the heat, the fullness of him inside you. But he wasn’t done.

The second cock, slick with his pre-cum, brushed against your trembling thighs. He didn’t need to say a word—he just pressed it to your chest, guiding it over your soft, full breasts. You gasped as it slid between them, the head rubbing against your nipples, already hard with the stimulation.

“You’ve got such a lovely body,” he teased, his voice rich with desire. “I think your breasts are just the perfect place to rest this cock while I enjoy the other one.”

Your body trembled as he rocked his hips, the cock between your breasts rubbing against your soft skin, the sensation teasing and building. He was slow, deliberate, allowing you to feel every inch of his two cocks as he used you—taking, marking, claiming.

“Look at you,” he purred, watching you squirm beneath him as the wetness between your legs grew with each thrust. “So beautiful, so eager to be filled. I can feel how much you want this.”

He started thrusting harder now, the rhythm between his two cocks almost maddening, your body shaking with each motion. You were filled, stretched beyond your limits, and yet all you could feel was the overwhelming heat of him, the pressure building in your core.

It felt so good. So deep, warm and just right.

“Are you close, darling?” he asked, his voice smooth, his hands gripping your body tighter as he leaned forward to press his cock deeper into your chest, fucking your breasts with a slow, teasing pace. “I can feel you clenching, I can feel you dripping. Tell me you want it, and I’ll give you everything.”

“I—please!” you gasped, your body trembling as you reached your peak. “I want it, I want it all! Fuck me!”

With a final, powerful thrust, he pushed both cocks into you, filling you completely. His hot seed spilled inside you, filling you in ways you didn’t know possible. The feeling of being so full, so claimed, sent you over the edge, your body trembling as you came hard, the wetness of your release mixing with his.

As you collapsed against him, panting and spent, he whispered in your ear, his voice a low, satisfied hum. “You’re mine now, little one.”

“Completely.”

[pitlanepeach]

Brat Tax | Omega!Lando x Alpha!Reader

Summary — Lando has a terrible habit of hiding his pre-heats from his alpha. So when she comes home and finds him a mess, there’s only one thing to be done; tame him.

Warnings — 18+**. A/B/O dynamics. Pegging. Dirty talk. Begging. Explicit scenes. Pure filthy smut basically. Praise kink. Brat!Lando. Possessiveness. Implied fem!reader.

Notes — I will be writing more omega Lando after this… because why does the role suit him so well?

The flat is quiet when you step inside, all warm golden light and lingering scent—Lando. Faintly sweet, rich, unmistakably his. It coats your tongue and wraps itself around your heart.

He’s home.

You toe off your boots, shaking off the London drizzle, and sling your jacket onto the hook by the door. You’re tired. Your shoulders ache from travel. But there’s something else threading under your skin the moment you cross the threshold—instinct, coiled and pulsing low in your spine. Something’s off.

“Lando?” You call, casual, but there’s an edge to your voice you don’t bother hiding. “‘Mega?”

You don’t get a response.

Your brow furrows as you move through the flat. Everything’s in its place—tidy, still. But the air is heavy. Saturated. You can feel it clinging to your skin. He’s in pre-heat. Early. He’d messaged you two days ago saying he felt “weird,” but he’d just brushed it off like he always did.

He hates the vulnerability of it. Hates being seen like that. But he’s yours. And you know the signs.

You find him curled up in your bed, wearing one of your old shirts and nothing else, the sleeves too long, swallowing his hands. His cheeks are flushed. Pupils wide and unfocused. His legs are tangled in the sheets like he couldn’t decide if he was hot or freezing.

He blinks at you slowly. “Sorry. Didn’t hear you come in.”

You lean in the doorway for a moment, arms crossed. Take in the full picture. The restless twitch in his fingers. The old bite marks on his inner thigh. The scent spiking higher now that you’re closer.

“You didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

He shrugs, and it’s a pathetic little movement. “Didn’t want to bug you. You were working.”

You cross the room in three strides.

“Lando.” Your voice is soft, but it cuts clean. “You never bug me. How many times have I told you that you come first?”

You sit on the edge of the bed, hand finding his jaw to tilt it up. He leans into your touch like it’s oxygen.

“I know,” he mumbles. “Just… felt stupid. Needy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re an omega in pre-heat, baby. Needy is pretty much what’s expected.”

That earns a tiny laugh, and you catch the flicker of relief in his eyes. He trusts you. You’ve earned that trust a hundred times over. And right now, you’ll earn it again.

You stroke a thumb across his cheek. “You want me to take care of you?”

His breath catches. “Yes.”

“Use your words, ‘mega baby.” You cooed.

He swallows hard. “Please, please. I need you.”

There it is.

And it lights a match behind your ribs.

—

You don’t move right away.

You let your fingers trace the hollow of his throat, feel his pulse hammering beneath fragile skin. He’s so warm already—fever-slick, breath hitching every time your touch drifts just a little too low. And yet he’s still trying to hold it together. That’s the part that gets you.

“Strip,” you say, voice low, even.

He hesitates. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he knows what you’re doing. You see it in his eyes—calculation, hesitation, the ghost of a smirk.

“Make me,” he says.

You blink once.

Then smile slowly. “Oh, Lando.”

It’s the kind of laugh that doesn’t reach your eyes. The kind that makes him squirm.

“You really want to do this tonight? When you’re already laid there for hours and soaked through my sheets like a fucking pillow princess?”

He pouts, cheeks going red. “It’s not that bad.”

You grab the hem of the oversized shirt—your shirt—and yank it up. The fabric peels off him, clinging to his skin. He gasps, sharp and breathless, and your gaze drops.

He’s a mess.

Inner thighs slick, cock flushed and untouched, hole already twitching from the scent of you this close. And still—still—he’s trying to act like he’s got even an ounce of leverage here.

You toss the shirt aside. “Get on your knees.”

He obeys. Eventually. Grumbling, but flushed and trembling all the same. He settles between your thighs as you sit back on the bed, eyes flicking up to meet yours like he’s daring you to make the next move.

“You like being a brat, huh?” You ask, reaching down to thread a hand in his curls. “Makes it better when I ruin you?”

“You wouldn’t,” he says—too fast, too hopeful.

You lean in close, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You really want to test me tonight, omega?”

He whimpers.

—

You don’t touch him yet. Not properly. That’s the worst part, and he knows it. You just watch him—spread open on his knees, cock hard and untouched, the scent of slick thick and cloying in the air like it’s trying to pull you under.

And you’re so fucking patient with him.

That’s what undoes him, in the end.

Because he wants you rough. He wants to be taken, not coaxed. But you never give him what he wants until he earns it.

You let your hand trail along his jaw instead, thumb brushing his cheek. His lips part, instinctive, ready to suck, to serve, to please.

But you don’t let him.

“You think if you brat hard enough I’ll lose control?” You murmur, still smiling. “That I’ll fuck the attitude out of you?”

His eyes flutter shut. “Maybe.”

You lean in, close enough that your breath ghosts over his neck. You inhale, long and slow, soaking in the high of his heat scent—intoxicating and sweet and desperate.

“I think,” you whisper, “you want to be forced to give up control. You want to fight just enough to feel like you’re not soft for needing it.”

He shudders, full-body.

You let that sit for a beat. Two.

“Lie back.” You tell him.

He obeys faster this time.

You grab the lube from the drawer, strap already buckled on your hips, slow and deliberate. Lando watches with that hungry, already fucked-out look—lips bitten red, pupils blown wide.

“You’re gonna prep me?” He asks, voice small.

You cock your head. “You want that?”

A pause.

Then he nods.

But you don’t give it to him.

You crawl over him instead, pressing your chest to his and pinning his wrists above his head with one hand. He gasps—arched, completely at your mercy now. Your other hand slides between his legs and barely ghosts over his slick hole.

He jerks beneath you, breath catching.

“God,” he breathes. “Fuck.”

You smile like a wolf. “That’s right. You beg, omega. You beg your alpha to open you up.”

And he does.

He breaks for you.

Just like he always does.

—

He’s panting by the time you get him on his back again, legs spread and trembling, arms limp against the mattress. His scent is everywhere now—thick and wet and drowning you in it. But you stay steady. Controlled. Calm.

Because you don’t spiral.

He does.

You slick your fingers without a word and reach for him. He tenses, but not from fear. From anticipation. He’s waiting for it, for the stretch, for the way you always make him feel like he’s coming apart and safe at the same time.

“Breathe,” you order, pressing in with your first finger. “Let me in.”

He gasps—sharp, desperate. His hips twitch, but he stays open. Stays good.

You add a second, scissoring slow, watching him unravel.

“God—fuck, alpha—” His voice breaks.

“Louder,” you growl. “I want the neighbors to know you’re mine.”

A sob. “Yours, I’m yours, I always—please—I need it.”

You kiss him hard, claiming and filthy, your strap nudging against the inside of his thigh.

He flinches. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

“Already have,” you murmur.

Then you line up—and thrust.

Not gentle. Not slow.

You bottom out in one smooth, practiced push, and he screams.

It rips out of him raw, guttural, like he’s never been filled like this before even though he has—by you, always you.

He thrashes under you, half-feral, slick soaking the sheets as you pull back and slam in again, setting a brutal pace. His cock bounces against his stomach, untouched, already leaking. You don’t need to stroke him. You don’t need to do anything but fuck him hard and deep. That’s what he likes. That what little omega bitches like him need:

His eyes roll back. His hands claw at the sheets.

“Fuck,” he cries out. “Alpha—please, please—”

“Shut up and take it,” you snarl, fisting your hand in his curls and yanking his head back. “You said you could handle it. Now you prove it.”

He whimpers. But he doesn’t beg you to stop.

No. He’d never do that.

He just begs you to give it to him harder.

So you do.

You fuck him into the mattress, brutal and relentless, until his thighs are shaking and he’s babbling nonsense—his pretty little brain turning to mush under the weight of the pleasure.

“You’re mine,” you pant, grinding deep. “No one else gets you like this. No one else could ever get you like this.”

He chokes on a sob. “Yours. Fuck. Yours.”

And then he’s coming untouched, big hands fisting the sheets, body locked tight as he sobs through it—wrecked, overstimulated, absolutely undone.

But you don’t stop.

Not yet.

Not until he’s seeing stars.

—

He’s trembling under you, boneless and slicked in sweat and your scent. The room smells like heat and sex, but under it—buried in the silence that follows his sobbed-out release—there’s something gentler. Something warm.

You stroke a hand through his curls, still tangled in your grip. “Breathe, baby.”

He nods, barely. Obeys.

You ease out slowly. His whole body flinches—too raw, too tender—and you shush him quietly, soothing with your hands and your mouth. Kisses pressed to his jaw, his temple, the tip of his nose. He shudders every time you move, but he doesn’t push you away.

He never does.

“You did so good for me,” you murmur as you unbuckle the strap and set it aside. “Took me so well. You’re perfect, baby. So perfect.”

Lando blinks up at you, eyes glassy and wet, but he’s still there. Grounded in your touch.

His voice comes out wrecked. “I love you.”

Your chest tightens.

You brush a thumb beneath his eye. “I love you more.”

He laughs—weak, broken—but real.

You slip off the bed to grab a warm cloth and a fresh towel. He tries to protest when you start to clean him, but you shut it down with a look. “Let me take care of you.”

So he lets you

You wipe him down gently, careful with every inch of his skin. You settle a hoodie over his shoulders, pull the blankets around both of you, and press him to your chest like you’re trying to stitch him back together.

He tucks his head under your chin, body still buzzing with the aftershocks, but finally—finally—he exhales.

You feel it. The way his weight shifts into you like surrender.

“Next time,” he mumbles, half-asleep, “you better kiss me before you rail me like that.”

You smile, kissing the crown of his head. “If you don’t want to pay the brat tax, don’t act like one.”

He hums. “But I’m pretty.”

“You’re a little shit,” you mutter, holding him tighter. “But you’re mine.”

Always.

—

The sun is hot on the Imola tarmac, shimmering off the halo of his car. From the private hospitality suite above the paddock, you watch him slice through Sector 2 like he owns the track.

Which—technically—he almost does. At least on a good day.

Lando’s voice crackles through the team radio, loud enough to catch in the background of the Sky broadcast, sharp and unbothered.

“Tell Max I’m not moving. He can cry about it later.”

Your mouth twitches.

A few engineers in the room wince, but you just sip your iced coffee slowly, hiding your smirk behind the rim.

You recognize that tone. The arrogant edge in his voice. The cocky little bite. You’d know it anywhere.

It’s the same one he used last month, right before you folded him in half and made him forget how to speak.

And he’s using it again.

In public.

Bold.

You don’t even say anything. Just reach for your phone and text him one sentence.

That mouth is writing checks your ass is going to cash tonight.

There’s no reply, not immediately.

But after the break between Q3 and Q2, the message goes from delivered to read, and on his next run, his sector time drops by a tenth.

Focus sharpened. Legs probably a little shaky in the cockpit. You grin and set your phone down.

Oh yeah.

Your omega needs to be taught a lesson in manners.

And you can’t fucking wait to teach him.

[forpsheturnpesbian]

Can you do somethin where Paige is having a hard time adjusting to Dallas and mentally just isn’t doing great so azzi comes and surprises her and they work through her thoughts and headspace and just some fluff

Home is you

Word count: 667

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

a/n: hope this is to ur liking, tried to do this ask justice. One of my first times writing please point out any errors and i’ll try my best to correct them eng isnt my first language. (Didn’t proofread it bare with me guys)

Dallas was..great

Nothing was wrong. She had chosen to be there. She had sworn to give this franchise the best player they could ever hope for, because they had chosen her

Out of all the players invited with the intent of contributing to greatness, she was their pick, their prospect, their player.

Paige was a franchise player and she was chosen to be exactly that

And as much as that is rewarding it is equally terrifying in its own unique way.

Everything was brand new, a new team, new coaching staff, new place, hell a whole new goddamn city. And P took it like a champ—Cheering on teammates, semi-unpacking, establishing her goals for the season, getting used to what Dallas has to offer, and training to get better everyday like she says everyday.

But the rook can only take so much. Till the tension has sinked completely into her bones, till she can barely breathe. Finally a breath of fresh air

Incoming call: Az💗

“Baby?” Paige asked her, breathing for the first time all day sinking into her overly expensive couch still in her sweaty gym clothes.

“Yeah im here” voice soft and tinged with concern

“This might be the wildest thing i'mma ever say” with a huff

“Uh..huh” Azzi raises a brow but follows anyways

“I think I- miss storrs?” She said rubbing her forehead

“Really? That's what you built up to?” She says trying to conceal her amusement but her tone was not convincing anyone.

“But seriously what makes you say that?” She asks in a tone so sweet and warming it puts honey to shame

“I just- I don’t belong here” voice cracking for just a second, barely noticeable over the line

“Paige” her voice softening even further

“Azzi” she says teasingly trying to ease away whatever worry she knows azzi’s feeling

“You fit anywhere and everywhere you go, and you know that”

“Do I? This is news to me tell me more” she snorts but she knows what azzi’s saying is real “yeah I know”

They talk about nothing in particular for god knows how long, during god knows when.

How they even find the time for it is truly a challenge itself.

But they’ll always find it, it doesn't matter if it’s 5 hours or 5 minutes.

…

A few days after that call she starts feeling all the isolation she didn’t know she felt in the first place rush back to her when she started unpacking the rest of her things.

It all hits her full force when she opens her polaroid box.

A shoe box she filled with pictures of everyone she could possibly need—her siblings, her dad, the team, coach, and the person who filled most of the box—her love

And that broke whatever show she tried so hard to put on.

That is until home finally found her, when she couldn’t find it.

When she sees the brown eyes she fell into when she was 14 and never left.

And before she knows it she latches all 6 feet of herself onto azzi with no space for air in between. She just stands there for a moment, head buried in her neck, wrapping her arms around azzi like if she held on tight enough her girl would never slip away.

“Do me a favour never leave again” Paige asks wholeheartedly, head still buried into all things azzi.

Earning a small laugh from her, and Paige thinks it’s the best thing she's heard since she’d gotten here.

“I’ll try my best for the 2 days I'm here?” She says slightly amused

“Shhh Im in denial let me have this” and it earns a real laugh from the brunette, the kind that makes you dedicate your life to hearing over and over again.

And as for Paige she’s heard 9 years worth of it and many more to come, whether it's right here or 1000 miles apart she’ll always find a way to hear it.

[empyrealix]

⊹ ࣪˖ GUILTY AS SIN? | #CL16

pairing. charles leclerc x wolff!reader

genre. angst; some fluff

synopsis. days after you showed up in the paddock wearing charles' shirt, toto wolff is still not talking to you. it tears at you, him, and your relationship with charles. tired of living life scared you'll disappoint toto, you show up to the paddock holding charles' hand.

warnings. none; guest appearances from carlos and george

word count. 3.1k

note. this is the second part to ‘but daddy i love him’. this makes sense if you haven't read that, but reading the first part provides context for a lot of the things happening in this part. i want to write drabbles set in this universe, so if you have requests/ideas, please send them <3

MASTERLIST ; part one ; requests open

LOVE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE EASY; loving Charles had—since the beginning of your relationship—been as easy as breathing. Until reality eventually caught up. The love you held for Charles had not become more difficult since that fateful moment when you walked onto the paddock draped in Charles’ jacket; everything around it had become more complicated—more difficult—ever since then.

Toto’s voice still rang in your ears; his voice lingered in your mind like an echo you couldn’t get rid of—“Can someone explain why my daughter is wearing Leclerc’s Ferrari jacket?”. You remembered freezing in your tracks, glancing over at Charles—who looked just as much a deer in headlights as you; then Toto’s narrowed eyes. The events which followed passed by in a blur; silence; you opening your mouth to explain; disappointment radiating off Toto; his silent���sharp—”I don’t want to hear it.”. That had been the end of it; Toto had stridden past you and disappeared into the Mercedes garage; Charles had gently placed a hand on your lower back and led you to the Ferrari motorhome, where he left you with a kiss to your forehead and a promise that everything would be okay.

George passed by—he stopped to chat for a few minutes before realising he was late to a strategy meeting and had to sprint across the paddock. Then Carlos walked by, he pulled out a chair opposite you—his navy Williams t-shirt contrasting against the bright red of the Ferrari motorhome—and sat down; he handed you snacks stolen from the Williams motorhome wrapped in a napkin—they were slid over the table as if they were contraband. 

“You know there’s snacks here, right?” You laughed, even though the laugh didn’t reach your eyes; Carlos noticed, he tilted his head, smiling at you.

“Yes, but they’re not as good, no?”

The former Ferrari, now Williams, driver nodded towards the snacks wrapped in a napkin sitting on the table in front of you, encouraging you to unwrap the snacks and eat one—you did. Inside the napkin was an assortment of grapes, chocolate, and cookies; you muttered a thank you to Carlos which he waved off, telling you that it was nothing. He sat there for a while, telling jokes; you tried to laugh at them, but the laughter never reached your eyes; it was all an act and Carlos could clearly tell.

“It’s going to be okay, you know. Toto might be pissed now, but we all know how much he adores you; he’ll accept it eventually.” Carlos’ voice was soft—comforting—as it reached your ears. You pressed your lips together, nodding solemnly.

“What if he doesn’t?” You didn’t want to admit it outloud, but the thought had pierced through every corner of your brain ever since that morning—ever since Toto had stormed off to the Mercedes garage with a “I don’t want to hear it”. Carlos stood up from his chair—he had to go to a meeting which was far less important than you—still, he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Then maybe he is not who you thought he was.” 

That had been days ago. You hadn’t spoken to Toto since; it was strange not speaking to him. You had gone back to Vienna after the race; you’d walked by the café you’d gone to with Toto for years ever since you were old enough to ask the barista for a hot chocolate—”Ich hätte gern eine heiße Schokolade, bitte”. A peculiar feeling—longing, perhaps—coursed through your veins, settled deep in the very marrow of your bones, at the sight of the table you and Toto used to occupy being empty. Usually when you walked through this part of Vienna, it was to meet Toto at this café; he would always sit and wait when you walked in—books clutched in your arms—he’d meet you with a smile and a comment about how the books made you forget about life again—that was true sometimes, other times it was because Charles distracted you, made you forget that there was a world outside the bubble which only contained you and him. You never told Toto this; you’d smile at him and tell him that ja, papa, it was the books again. The memory felt faint; the more you tried to reach for it, the fainter it became until it was like a sun faded cassette tape someone had left out in the sun for too long.

You hadn’t seen Charles since the end of the race weekend. You went with Charles to celebrate Oscar’s Grand Prix win with the rest of the grid; your heart hammering in your chest—joy encapsulating you—as Charles wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you to him, kissing you in front of everyone in the middle of the dance floor; he had stuck close to you the entire evening, just as you had stuck close to him––now you were in two different countries, miles separating you. You missed Charles’ presence—his laugh, his small touches. He suggested you come with him to Monaco after the race; you declined, worried that you would inevitably run into Toto there—”Chérie, you can come stay with me in Monaco.” he’d pleaded, almost begged, looking at you; you shook your head, watching as his eyes filled with tears, as his bottom lip wobbled. Walking through the Viennese streets, you regretted every action you had taken, every word spoken, during that exchange. You had spoken to Charles occasionally and briefly ever since; it was as though a chasm had opened between you—one that neither of you knew how to close. The last exchange you had was Charles asking if you were going to the next race—Monza—you’d told him no, claiming that you were buried under schoolwork—that had been a lie; you weren’t buried under schoolwork, you just didn’t want to go to the paddock; didn’t want to face the disappointment Toto’s entire being would exude the moment he laid eyes on you. If you went, you would—for the first time—go as a guest of Ferrari and not Mercedes; there was something bittersweet over it.

Charles waited outside your flat when you arrived back home; he gently pried the bags you were carrying from your hands—warmth bloomed where his fingertips made contact with your skin. He smiled softly at you, muttering a quick “hi”, which you returned; he shuffled into the flat after you, closing and locking the door behind him. His presence in your flat felt familiar—welcome. During the months of your (secret) relationship, Charles spent many days in this flat; playing the pianoforte you never knew why you had—you couldn’t play piano—putting away groceries; laughing; smiling; kissing you whenever he could. Before you could say anything, Charles had slipped out of his shoes; his humming fluttered through the air as he put the groceries away.

“Charles? What are you doing here?” At the sound of your voice, Charles looked up from the grocery bag he was digging through—one hand cradling a bag of flour. He paused, his eyes searching yours. He turned, opening the cabinet you kept your flour in before turning back to you and sighing; his hands flattening against the countertop.

“I wanted to see you. We’ve barely talked since the race and when we have talked, it has been brief. Mon ange, tell me what’s going on; we’re in this together.” Charles’ voice had grown steadily quieter as he spoke; you could only stare at him, blood coursing through your veins, your heart hammering in your chest. Charles took a step towards you, then another, then his arms wrapped around you—his scent surrounding you—one hand placed on your back, the other on the back of your head; pulling you into him. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in the junction between his neck and shoulder. The tears flowed slowly at first; Charles didn’t speak, he just held you, waiting for you to speak, even though the feeling of your tears wetting his skin broke his heart—tugged painfully at strings attached to it. He wanted nothing more than for you to be happy.

“It’s papa. I love you, I do. I just feel like I’ve disappointed him.” You stumbled through the sentence, unsure of how to express your feelings, how to word them in a coherent—understandable—way. Charles understood; he knew you better than anyone—he would always understand what you were trying to tell him, even though it was veiled, slurred, or incomprehensible.

“You can’t live your entire life scared that you’ll disappoint him. He talks about you all the time when you’re not present; he’s so proud of you, of everything you’ve achieved. This—our relationship—shocked him, but he’ll come around eventually. He’s not unreasonable. I think the way he found out was jarring for him, unexpected. He’ll come around, chérie, I promise.” Echoes of Carlos’ words rang through your mind as you listened to Charles speak. You didn’t want him to be right, but he was—you couldn’t live life scared of disappointing Toto. Charles cupped your cheeks, his thumbs wiping away the remaining tears—his touch was soft, gentle, as it always was. You wanted desperately to believe him; your mind screamed at you to forget every worry you had bottled up since you started dating Charles. You nodded, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth—gnawing at it. The more you thought about it, the clearer it became that Charles was right; Toto would accept it eventually. He had no other choice.

“Where are you going?” Your voice was still shaky—raw—from crying. You vaguely gestured to the bags Charles had left in your entry. Charles, for a moment, glanced from you at his bags; his hands still cupped your cheeks, your bodies still pressed impossibly close together.

“The race. I just had to see you first, since you’re not coming.” Charles’ voice was tinged with hope—hope that you may change your mind and attend the race with him; there was no one he wanted there more than you. He often joked—as you laid beside him, his fingers drawing patterns on your skin—that you were his lucky charm; he insisted that he performed better whenever you were in the paddock. You weren’t sure you believed that claim. 

“Is it too late to go with you?” Charles’ eyes lit up, his lips widening into a smile as he shook his head, rambling in French—various combinations of “non, mon ange”, “il n'est pas trop tard”, and “j'adorerais t'avoir là”.

If anyone had asked you later what thoughts coursed through your mind as you agreed to go to the race with Charles, you wouldn’t have been able to give them an answer—the spur of the moment decision was inexplicable even to you; perhaps it had been the hope in Charles’ eyes, in his voice; or maybe it had been something else entirely—you were not sure. Charles pressed his lips against yours, pulling you closer. You led Charles down the same hallway he had walked through time and time again, pulling him into your bedroom. He stood by your bed—which he had been in more times than you could remember—putting items of clothing into your open suitcase as you handed it to him.

Standing outside the paddock gates, Charles entwined your fingers. This time—unlike the last—you wore your own clothes. Your heart hammered in your chest; Charles squeezed your hand, smiling softly at you. Whatever happened beyond the paddock gates, you would face together. The entire paddock stilled as you walked through the gates; Carlos smiled at you as he walked by; Charles pulled you closer to him as you made your way across the paddock.

Toto paused as he saw you and Charles walking hand-in-hand through the paddock, smiles plastered on both your faces; he sighed, his hand coming up to rub his temples. He pulled his lips into a thin line, greeting both you and Charles when he walked by you. You stopped, opening your mouth to say something; when no words formed, you closed it; your lips pulled up into a tight smile—Toto would recognise that smile anywhere, it was the same tight smile he wore when he had to be polite. He watched—from the Mercedes motorhome—as Charles kissed you— your forehead, your cheeks, your lips—before running off to a meeting. The day was littered with small, affectionate touches between you and Charles and conversations which left you beaming—smiling so brightly and so much that your muscles hurt.

“This went well?” You looked up at Charles, who had sat down beside you on the couch; he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

“It did.” Doubt still gnawed at you; crawling up your throat, clenching around your heart. Toto’s greeting had been brief, but it had been more than you’d talked to him in a week. He looked tired; bags had appeared under his eyes; he looked older than he did the last time you saw him—this was clearly taking a toll on Toto too. Charles pulled you closer to him, slinging his arm around your shoulder; brushing a lock of hair away from your face—you smiled at him, kissing his cheek. You couldn’t help but look over at the Mercedes motorhome—Toto was nowhere to be seen. Charles noticed the glances you would—periodically—throw in that direction; he nudged you gently, his eyes filled with a softness he only held for you.

“What’s on your mind, mon amour?”

“I think I want to go talk to papa.” You gnawed at your bottom lip, your gaze fixed on the motorhome across the paddock.

“Go.” Charles gently urged you. He could see—he had seen, this past week—how much this argument—which wasn’t really an argument—tore at you, threatening to rip you apart. You and Toto had always been close—Charles had discovered this on numerous occasions, from how you talked about your childhood with Toto to how you told him you couldn’t go on a date with him once because you had your monthly coffee date with Toto.

You left the Ferrari motorhome headed for the Mercedes motorhome. Stepping through the sliding doors, you saw George sitting in the cafeteria alone; he looked up as the doors slid open. A smile spread across his lips at the sight of you.

“Welcome back, you here to see Toto?” You swallowed thickly, nodding. George smiled, pointing in the general direction of Toto’s office, “Last I saw him, he was in his office. Good luck!” You shook your head, scoffing at him, muttering something about how you didn’t need luck to speak to Toto; that was a lie—you needed all the luck you could get.

Toto’s head shot up when the door to his office opened; the last person he expected to see stood on the other side of it—one hand clutched the door handle, only letting go when Toto gestured for you to come inside. He closed his computer, folding his hands on top of it.

“Schatz.”

“Hi, papa.” You sank down in a chair opposite Toto’s desk, his eyes followed your every move. On your way over, you had planned exactly what you wanted to say, but as you sat in Toto’s office—Toto sitting opposite you—your mouth dried, every word you had prepared disappearing into thin air; you had never felt like this with Toto—you had always been able to tell him whatever was on your mind. It was a strange feeling; one you didn’t revel in. Toto patiently waited for you to speak—he had a meeting, but you were far more important than the meeting; the meeting could be rescheduled.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Charles; I just didn’t know how to. I should’ve told you. I’ve thought a bit since then, and it wasn’t fair to you to find out the way you did.” Toto listened intently to every word pouring from your lips, “I love Charles, I’m not going to apologise for that. Charles is one of the nicest, kindest, people I’ve met and he treats me so well. You don’t have to like it, I’m not asking you to, you just have to accept it and stop being upset with me for, what, falling in love?” Your heart hammered in your chest, sweat beading on your forehead, your hands grew clammy; you tried to wipe them on your jeans, but it did nothing. Toto sighed softly.

“I’m not mad at you for falling in love; I’m upset you didn’t trust me enough to tell me, schatz. I’m upset I had to find out from you walking into the paddock in Leclerc’s shirt.” He looked at you for a moment, before glancing out the window; the Ferrari motorhome was clearly visible from where he was sitting, “I see how happy he makes you; how happy you are when you are with him. He’s one of the better drivers you could have chosen.” He laughed softly, his mouth quirking up into a smile, his crows feet appearing around his eyes. At the sound of Toto’s laughter, you couldn’t help the giggle that burst from your lips. You stood from your chair at the same moment Toto did; he pulled you into a hug.

“I’m sorry, papa.” You mumbled into the white button-up he always wore to race weekends.

“It’s okay. Tell that Leclerc kid that if he hurts you, he’ll have to deal with me.”

It was with much lighter steps that you walked back to the Ferrari motorhome. You found Charles exactly where you had left him—sitting on the couch—only this time, he was playing some game on his phone. He looked up when he heard steps; a smile etched itself across his face, his eyes filling with joy, at the sight of you; he—immediately—noticed a lightness in your steps, one that he had dearly missed. He stood up to meet you halfway—in full view of the Mercedes motorhome—you wrapped your arms around him; Charles had to take a step back to stop from stumbling from the force with which you hugged him.

“How did it go?” He could feel your smile—the smile which he loved so much; which he would do anything to see—break out across your face.

“It went well. I apologised and he said he was never upset at the idea of us dating; he was just upset because of how he found out.” You had to stop, a giggle forced its way up your throat, “he said that if you ever hurt me, you’d have to deal with him.”

Charles groaned, dropping his face in the crook of your neck. You threw your head back, laughter bursting from you at Charles’ ticklish kisses pressed to your neck.

“Good thing I’m not planning on hurting you, then.”

[heartsforkatsuki]

pining.  ｡°✩ k.bakugo

pov; you've been inlove with your now ex-bestfriend for 15 years

pairing: bakugo katsuki x gn!reader warnings: angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, unrequited (then requited) love, emotional confrontation, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, YEARNING KATSUKI!!! word count: ~1.2k - this is my first time writing angst btw ahah

i want someone badly

maybe it was the way you stopped paying attention to him. the way you stopped orbiting around katsuki bakugo like he was the sun and you were just some helpless, burning thing.

maybe it was the way you grew into yourself. someone with their own dreams now. someone who no longer waited for him to notice them.

it didn’t matter though. not really. because the result was the same.

after years of you trailing behind katsuki — always there, always his constant — now the roles were reversed.

you’d been in each other’s lives since you were five. your moms were best friends. you grew up side by side like a pair of badly stitched twins, bickering and inseparable.

you always lit up when you saw him. always hugged him tight like it mattered. told him you loved him like it was easy, like it wasn’t killing you slowly every time he didn’t say it back.

and god, did you love him.

you thought he knew. maybe a part of you hoped if you said it enough, did enough, he’d start to love you too.

but then came senior year. and izuku — your best friend since forever — sat you down one day, looked at you with tired eyes, and said:

“we’re about to graduate, y/n. you can’t chase him forever.”

and you knew he was right.

you started remembering things that used to slide off your back. like how katsuki never hugged you unless you were crying. how he never said “i love you” — not even in a joking way. how he’d call you annoying in front of people like it was funny. like you were a bit much.

you used to think it was just how he was. now, you weren’t so sure.

so you pulled away. slowly. quietly.

no more dropping by his dorm after class. no more late-night game sessions. no more laughing until you couldn’t breathe.

you made excuses. “my mom needed help.” “i’m not feeling well.” “sorry, i forgot.”

he didn’t buy any of it. but he didn’t stop you either.

and now it’s been two years. two whole fucking years.

katsuki hates every second of it.

he can’t sleep without thinking about what he could’ve done differently. what he should’ve said. should’ve noticed. he misses you in a way that’s physical, in a way that haunts him.

he misses your voice. your laughter. the way you used to throw your arms around him without warning. the way you’d look at him like he mattered more than anything.

you don’t do any of that anymore.

and it’s killing him.

so when he hears there’s a class reunion in some half-lit bar in osaka, he shows up early. waits. watches the door like a fucking lunatic.

and then you walk in. with izuku, of course.

you’re laughing. smiling. katsuki hasn’t seen you smile like that in two years and it splits something open inside his chest.

twenty minutes in, kirishima calls you over. katsuki hears your name and suddenly he’s sweating. your eyes meet his, and he knows that look. you’re nervous.

“hi, eiji,” you say softly. “bakugo.”

bakugo.

not katsuki. not suki. not anything that means he still matters to you.

he wants to punch a wall.

“y/n,” he says back, like it doesn’t gut him.

you talk to kirishima. a little small talk. fake smiles.

and then katsuki’s standing. grabbing your wrist.

“what the hell are you doing?” you ask, eyes wide.

he drags you outside. it’s raining. cold. your coat’s too thin. you’re shivering.

“it’s katsuki to you,” he growls. “or kats. or suki. i don’t give a fuck which nickname you use, just stop calling me bakugo like i’m a stranger.”

“this is inappropriate,” you snap, yanking your hand free. “let me go.”

he ignores you. stares at the ground like it might tell him what to say.

“what happened?” he asks. his voice is low. raw.

“what are you talking about?” you blink at him like he’s gone insane.

“don’t do that,” he snaps. “you know what i mean. you disappeared. one day you were just... gone. after fifteen years. what the fuck, y/n?”

you exhale shakily. look up at him through wet lashes.

“you know why i stopped talking to you.”

“no,” he says, voice cracking. “i don’t. tell me.”

you hesitate. because this hurts. it always hurts.

“you knew i loved you. i spent fifteen years loving you, katsuki. and it meant nothing. not once did you look at me like i meant something to you.”

he’s staring at you like you’ve punched him.

“what the hell are you talking about?” he breathes.

“you never hugged me unless i was crying. you never said you loved me back. and every time someone brought up how close we were, you called me annoying. like i was some bug you couldn’t shake.”

“i hugged you,” he insists. “i did.”

“a pat on the back isn’t a hug, katsuki.”

you’re crying now. not loud. just quiet tears running down your cheeks.

he steps forward. wraps his arms around you. tight. too tight. like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he lets go.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, voice shaking. “i’ll fix it. i’ll do anything. these last two years... i can’t breathe without thinking about you. i can’t sleep. i can’t do anything. i’m so fucking angry all the time because you’re not here, and it’s my fault, and i hate myself for it.”

you’re sobbing. shoulders shaking. rain soaking through your clothes.

“don’t,” you whisper. “don’t say this now. i’ve spent years making peace with the fact you didn’t love me. i’ve moved on.”

“shut up,” he says, desperate. “just shut up and listen.”

you do. because you always do when it comes to him.

“you’re everything to me,” he says, and his voice is wrecked. “you always have been. even when i was too stupid to see it. i didn’t know how to show it. i didn’t know how to say it. but i do now.”

you’re frozen. staring up at him through rain and tears and years of ache.

“i love you,” he says.

and the world stops.

the rain, the noise, the pain in your chest — it all goes still.

you stare at him like the words didn’t make sense. like your brain needs to reboot just to process them.

you step back from his arms. look him in the eye.

he’s crying too. shaking. like he’s finally broken open.

“i’m sorry,” he says again, trying to wipe your tears with his thumb. “i’m so fucking sorry. don’t cry. please.”

you smile. small. sad.

and then you kiss him.

soft. slow. like you’re afraid it’ll disappear if you’re not careful.

he doesn’t pull away. for once, he pulls you closer.

the bar door opens behind you. someone gasps. but neither of you move.

because right now, the only thing that matters is that he said it back.

and this time, he means it.

“i love you,” you whisper.

he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years.

“i love you too, idiot.”

[b0kevi]

Okay so I loveddddd your writing of the let’s make out headcanons!!! Can you do a version where the character says it to the reader? Your writing is so good and you write the characters reallly well!!

the house wardens + jamil saying “let’s make out” every time YOU do something hot

summary: every time you do something attractive the housewardens can’t help but say ‘let’s make out’

trope: established relationship, suggestive themes, hurt/comfort, reassurance

info: name calling, cursing, self doubt, they/them pronouns, gender neutral reader, not proofread

characters: riddle, leona, azul, kalim, jamil, vil, idia, malleus

w/c: riddle: 373, leona: 398, azul: 346, kalim: 338 jamil: 366, vil: 424 idia: 424, malleus: 388

a/n: tysm! I always get worried i’ll mischaracterize someone but I really appreciate that <3 also sorry this took so long! I started a new job

Riddle

doesn’t know how to ask, will make up an excuse

gets shy and full on blushes

“we should make out.”

“w-what?” you accidentally painted the leaves instead of the rose.

“rule 879 states to make out with your partner when the sun is facing east after the first set of painted roses.”

you blinked. you were still working on the first bush of roses, you only painted three while there was still a lot more to go.

“we haven’t finished yet.”

riddles ears slowly turn pink. “it’s practically done.”

you could tell it was a lie but he looked so cute trying to justify his reasons.

“y’know you don’t have to make up stuff for us to make out, you could just ask.”

his whole face starts to turn a different color, “I did not make that up! it is the queens rules and I must follow them!”

riddle would never admit he was in fact making it up because you looked absolutely stunning, he loved spending alone time with you. the two of you were painting the roses, riddle was going to reward you with dessert but he couldn’t wait. you just being there, painting was making him flush and wanted to kiss you badly.

you laughed then grabbed him by his bow tie, pulling him closer to your face.

“well then, who am I to question the house warden? go on, you’re not going to break a rule aren’t you riddle?” you smirked as you fiddle with the ends of his bow tie.

riddle moved forward before he could process anything. his body moved faster than his brain so he lunged back, flustered.

“w-wait! ahem. it’s also the queens rule to do it in private… someone could see…”

“hmm what if it was the rule to do it in public? would you do it?”

“absolutely not! I don’t want to hear it from ace or trey… please let’s just go inside before I change my mind…” riddle was already rushing inside hand in hand with you, using his other hand to hide his red face.

“you’re the one that said it was a rule, you’re going to break that rule now mr. roseheart?”

he sighs, you’ll be the death of him.

Leona

nonchalant king

it’s not a suggestion, you ARE making out right then and there

there’s nothing more attractive to leona than you claiming him as your own.

he’s always been second to everyone and everything. but seeing you like this?

“we’re going to make out.” it’s not a question, he’s demanding it.

leona was waiting in the botanical garden for you, enjoying the quiet when he started hearing students near by. he tried to ignore it but he suddenly heard your voice, he wasn’t super interested in the conversation until he heard his name.

“you’re really dating leona? I bet he buys you whatever you want right?”

“what a gold digger. you’re only dating him for his money. plus he’s a prince, you hit the jackpot.”

“too bad he’s the second prince, not much going on. you should have tried for malleus.”

leona was getting pissed, he was going to march his way over there until he heard your booming voice.

“you’re lucky I don’t slap the shit out of you two. it’s none of your business, but for the record I am not dating him for his money. I couldn’t care less and he’s still a prince who has more class than you.”

your face darkened as you stalked close to them

“I’m dating leona for him, he’s the most sweetest and thoughtful person I know, and he knows how to treat people right instead of taking out his jealousy on other people.”

you were defending him, leona knew you could defend yourself but you were also defending him.

leona could have easily stepped in before the whole situation started but seeing how things played out, he’s glad he didn’t.

“is there a problem here?” leona was towering over the two as they were about to continue. shutting them up they shook their heads and left with a scoff.

“babe I’m sor-“

“we’re making out. now.” leona tugged you behind a tree, leaning down to attach his lips to yours, leaving you no room to deny, caging you in his arms.

leona is acting like a starved man by the way hes devouring your lips, leaving you no time to think.

“that was kind of hot herbivore.” it was extremely hot to him but he’s just going to show you how attractive he found you defending him was. just wait until you get back to his room.

Azul

full of bull

also will make an excuse, says it’s his payment for doing smth for you

“y/n dear, could you meet me in my office to discuss something.”

what did you do now… you don’t remember doing anything wrong.

you were helping out in the lounge since it was busier than usual.

once azul closed the door shut,

“I propose a deal. we make out right now and later.. and I’ll give you the day off tomorrow with some of our newest drinks that i know you love.”

honestly, azul has been stressed all day and is just throwing out random ideas to have an excuse to make out with you.

he’s not going to just straight up ask, this is a give and take world.

“uhm, but it’s still pretty busy out there—“

“I assure you they’re capable of running things for a few minutes. or hour..”

you were his escape and he needed it badly, it was a madhouse out there. he usually could handle it but it also didn’t help how attractive you looked while taking peoples orders, persuading them into buying more than what they came for.

“please my pearl, remember that time I babysat grim? you still owe me for that.”

that one time that happened two months ago that you’ll never let happen again.

you remember azul used that the last time he wanted to make out with you, but you weren’t going to rain down on his parade just yet.

you knew azul was just going to keep persuading you until you agreed. he would never outright say he wants to kiss you no, he has a reputation to uphold.

you sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck and smashing your lips against his.

he let out a squeal from shock, he didn’t expect that.

his face flush from that embarrassing noise he made but held you close, deepening the kiss as he felt his stress melt away. he’s not planning on letting you go anytime soon, the outside world can wait and deal with themselves.

Kalim

he just loves kissing you, you don’t have to be doing anything and he’ll still say it

will get pouty and pepper you with kisses until you agree

“let’s make out!”

"kalim... we're supposed to be studying right now."

"we have! don't I get a reward for studying? sometimes once I finish jamil gives me a treat!" kalim has been staring at you for the past 20 minutes.

you promised jamil to study with kalim and make sure he gets his work done but its not going so well.

"okay but you only answered two questions then started staring at me."

"you look so pretty! your serious face is so cute, how am I supposed to focus when you look like that! I want to make out with you!” he doesn’t give you time to say anything, kalim is already pouting and putting his best puppy dog eyes while peppering small kisses across your face.

“pleaassseee, just a small break then i’ll do my work! i promise!! pleaseee let me kiss youuu” he whines as he wraps his arms around your neck, practically on top of you while leaving sad kisses on your cheek.

“I need my daily y/n kisses or I can’t make it throughout the day! i’ve been deprived for so long…”

“I gave you a morning kiss, a kiss when I saw you, a kiss when you asked for one, a kiss when I left…”

kalim furrowed his eyebrows, “that doesn’t count! I need my daily make out kisses, completely different!”

you laughed at his kicked puppy look.

how could you say no to that face?

sighing you state, “alright. just for a minute then if you get an answer right i’ll give you a reward.”

“kisses reward?”

you nodded, “kisses reward.”

he giggling as he won, he slams his lips towards yours. playing with your hair as he deepens the kiss, he smiles every time you make little noises. kalim absolutely loves to kiss you silly and will do it every chance he gets.

Jamil

he just needs a break

usually says it at his breaking point so it’s really rough and quick sometimes

“let’s make out.”

it caught you so off guard. Jamil had pulled you into a storage room, you were carrying some paperwork you had to turn in but they soon were scattered from how quickly jamil pulled you in.

“w-what? babe I-“

“please, it will be quick I just…” his hand cupping your face as his lips brushed against yours, muttering against them

“I need this.” he murmured breathily before pressing his lips firmly while running his fingers through your hair.

“you looked so hot earlier,” he pushed you against the wall, gently squeezing your hip while traveling down kisses to your jawline

you didn't know how to react. it was rare when jamil showed pda especially this passionate in public. well you two were stuck in a closet but still anyone could walk in at any moment.

“you putting kalim and the others in their place.. you were so assertive.” his lips never leaving an inch away from you, “very hot of you.” he smirked as he looked up at you through his eyelashes.

he loves seeing how flustered you get because of him. he may not show much interest in public but that’s just because he’s a private person and loves teasing you when you two are alone.

he loves your little reactions.

“I-I just wanted them to give you a break”

“I appreciate you so much.” jamil sighs between your lips, rubbing circles on your hip while deepening the kiss.

jamil knew he should get back to his things but you were so addicting. how could he leave you right now?

he groans as he pulled away to look at you, smirking at your blown out expression

“let me show you how much I appreciate you, later tonight.” he winked before getting one last kiss then picking up your papers, leaving the room to turn in your work as if nothing happened.

jamil was completely unfazed unless you looked real close but you were red the rest of the day, clearly not thinking straight.

you will never get used to this side of jamil.

Vil

hear me out, he's secretly a freak

stress reliever

“are you sure it looks good?”

“my dear.. we’re not going out. we’re making out. right now.”

“w-huh?? but my outfit… is it not, or my makeup?”

the two of you were getting ready for date night, you had bought a new outfit for this occasion that you really liked but now you weren’t so sure if it looked good now.

vil on the other hand couldn’t look away. you looked absolutely radiant and you’re over here having second thoughts? please, he obviously needs to show you how good you look.

“my love you look stunning, there’s no need to worry.” vil was kissing you all over, you had some lipstick stains but he wasn’t going to tell you about that yet.

“baby.. we’re going to be late to our reservation..”

“we can reschedule or go somewhere else.”

vil couldn’t care less, he needed to make out with you now and show you how much he loves you.

“v-vil you’re going to mess up our makeup…”

he leans down, leaving more stains scattered across your neck and collarbone as he smirks against your warm skin.

“good. you look even more divine like this.”

he guides you to his bed not once breaking the kiss as he sets you down

“you’re perfect love, this outfit compliments you so well and you’re makeup looks even better now~” he smirks, caressing your face looking at you longingly

you turn to look at yourself through the mirror to see all the lipstick stains he left. you blush over how much of a mess you look.

“v-vil! I can’t go out like this! it’s going to take another 40 minutes to take this off and redo it.”

“why not? I think you look breathtaking, why not show everyone your beauty?” he mused, still trailing kisses over you.

“vil your makeup is messed up too” you state as you try to fix the smudges around his lips but he keeps diving back down into you.

“does it look like I can right now darling? right now I need to show you how much you mean to me. we can go out another day, I have all I need right here.”

vil cages you down before roughly yet gracefully devouring your lips.

he’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel comfortable in your own body just as you make him comfortable enough to look like an absolute mess in front of you, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Idia

he would mumble it, thinking you didn't hear it

he didn’t mean it! (he totally meant it he just doesn’t know how to ask)

"we should totally make out..."

"okay."

"wh-HUHH?? y-you heard that?? I-I didn't mean it!”

you were helping out idia with some equipment he needed to fix. you picked up a couple things from watching him tinker plus this was a great opportunity to spend time with him.

idia wasn’t in the best mindset today so he kept messing up and getting frustrated when it still wasn’t working right so you wanted to give it a try to help him out. you fixed it just like that in seconds.

he watched you in shock. not only did you fix in on the first try but the face you make when you’re focused was just too much for him.

a strand of hair fell in front of your face, he wanted so badly to tuck it behind your ear but that would be totally cringe otome vibes.

“idy you can ask if you want to, I won’t judge.”

the tips of his hair are pastel pink as he fidgets with his sleeves.

“w-what the… can I exist and restart.. there’s gotta be an autosave before this…” he murmurs mostly to himself under his breath

even when he really wants to kiss you, he still gets in his head so even when he wants to, you have to initiate it.

you hold onto his hands and kiss his cheek. “no need to restart. this route is perfect.”

he gasps while looking at you with full blown out eyes, staring at you like you just deleted his saved file.

“you’re an ultra rare SSR…”

you laugh as you place your lips to his. you couldn’t get enough of this dork.

idia fiddles with the ends of your shirt as he ease into the kiss. you’re too good to him, he doesn’t know how or why you picked him but he’s beyond grateful.

and just like that something flipped inside him, he curled his hand around your neck before taking the lead. he still has self doubt so he’ll slip up but when you encourage him he grows confident.

leaving you two breathless with his hair full pink with blue accents. he smiles at you before kissing your temple then diving back into your lips, holding your hand with his free one to ground himself, letting him know this is okay and he’s doing good.

“I must have crazy gacha luck to have pulled you..”

Malleus

you breathe and he’ll say he wants to make out

100% whip, simp, yearning man

“child of man. I believe we should make out.”

“hmm?”

the two of you were taking a nightly stroll that you usually do mostly every night when you can.

it was a peaceful night, you would share things that happened during the day or whatever popped in your mind as you held hands.

the conversation soon died down into a comfortable silence as you took in sight of the night sky.

malleus was too busy staring at you to appreciate the night. the way the moonlight hit your face just right making you eternal which made his face feel warm.

he wanted nothing more than to take your breath away if you’ll let him.

“I would very much like to kiss you. I want us to have a make out session and leave you breathless to show you how you make me feel every time I lay eyes on you.”

your face heated up with every word malleus spoke.

you stopped walking to process his request. malleus is a gentleman so will only make a move if you’ll let him, if you don’t want to he’ll understand. he will get pouty but wants nothing more than for you to be comfortable.

he waits patiently but has that longing look in his eyes with a hint of desire.

“o-okay.” you nod, still flush as malleus steps closer, one hand caressing your face as if you’re a piece of glasswork then dipping down to capture your lips.

he pulls back to see your face then dives back in. each time becomes longer than the previous kiss. he sure was making you breathless.

you finally had to pull back to get some air but malleus goes down to nuzzle your neck, occasionally leaving kisses.

“you are absolutely ravishing child of man. what you’re feeling is how I feel every time you’re near, and I adore it. I would want nothing more than to leave you sweet kisses and show the world my queen.”

you don’t know what makes you more breathless, malleus’s words or his kisses.

“you sweet talker, get over here.” you needed to shut him up before you exploded. you pulled him down and smashed your lips to his.

malleus was in paradise.

﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒

a/n: that scenario has been on my mind for leona but the others idk what to do T-T sorry if this is short! have a great day/night !

[elswhore]

hey gorg! congrats on the 2,000!! you deserve it. i was wondering if you could per chance do a angst to fluff with prompt 7? with ju, maybe someone was sending mixed signals and and they get in a lil argument but work things out.

(i’m so sorry this is long i wasn’t sure how to explain it🙃)

prompt 7 "tell me what you want" ── angst to fluff.

thank you so muchh!. sorry i dont get it.. but i tried hope i did wrote it right. (btw i loved writing this)

you paced the living room, your phone clutched tightly in your hand, replaying the last few weeks in your mind, juju’s laugh, her teasing smirks, the way her hand lingered on your arm a little too long moments that felt like promises.

but then there were the days she’d pull back, her texts short and distant, her eyes avoiding yours when you tried to get closer, the mixed signals were driving you up the wall, and you were done, the front door clicked open, and juju stepped inside, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her gym bag slung over one arm.

she looked at you, her brows lifting slightly at the tension radiating off you. “hey,” she said, her voice casual, like she hadn’t noticed the storm brewing in your eyes. “what’s up?” you stopped pacing, turning to face her, your grip on your phone tightening.

“what’s up?” you echoed, your voice sharp with the frustration you’d been bottling for weeks. “juju, I’m so fucking tired of this, one day you’re all over me, flirting, acting like you want something real, and the next you’re cold, like i’m just some friend you barely care about, do you even know how confusing that is?”

juju’s expression faltered, her bag sliding off her shoulder to the floor as she straightened, her eyes locking onto yours. “what are you talking about?” she asked, but there was a defensive edge to her voice, like she was bracing for a fight. “don’t play dumb,” you snapped, stepping closer, your emotions spilling over.

“you know exactly what i mean, you’ll text me at midnight, saying shit that makes my heart race, then ghost me for two days, you’ll hug me like you never want to let go, then act like it’s nothing when i try to talk about us, i can’t keep doing this, juju. i’m not some game you can pick up and drop whenever you feel like it.”

your voice cracked on the last sentence, and you hated how vulnerable it made you sound, but you couldn’t stop now. “i like you, okay? i’ve liked you for so long, and i thought—i thought you felt something too, but if you don’t, just say it, stop stringing me along, because i can’t take it anymore.”

the room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging between you, juju’s face softened, the defensiveness melting away as she took in your trembling hands, the raw hurt in your eyes, she stepped forward, closing the distance, but you took a step back, shaking your head.

“don’t,” you said, your voice quieter now, but firm. “eon’t just hug me or say something cute to smooth this over, need to know where you stand.” juju stopped, her hands falling to her sides, for a moment, she looked lost, her usual confidence replaced by something softer, almost uncertain.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice low, genuine. “i didn’t mean to mess with your head, i just… i’m not good at this.” you frowned, crossing your arms, still guarded. “good at what? being honest? caring about someone?”

“no,” she said quickly, her eyes searching yours. “figuring out how to let myself want this, want you, without freaking out..i know i've been all over the place, and that’s on me, i get close, and then i pull back because… i don’t know, i’m scared of screwing it up..but i do care, i care so much it fucks me up sometimes.”

her words hit you hard, unraveling some of the anger but leaving the hurt behind, you swallowed, your throat tight. “then why can’t you just show it? why do i have to feel like i'm chasing you all the time?”juju’s shoulders sagged, and she ran a hand through her hair, exhaling shakily.

“because i’m an idiot,” she admitted, a small, self deprecating smile tugging at her lips. “and because i’ve never felt like this before, not this much, i keep thinking if i hold back, i’ll protect myself or whatever, but all i’m doing is hurting you, nd i hate that.” ehe stepped closer again, and this time you didn’t pull away.

her hands hovered near your arms, hesitant, like she was waiting for permission. “tell me what you want,” she said softly, her voice raw, her eyes pleading. “i don’t want to lose you, i just need to know how to fix this.” your heart ached at the vulnerability in her voice, the way she was laying herself bare for the first time.

you took a shaky breath, your anger softening as you looked at her, really looked at her, and saw the sincerity in her eyes. “i want you to stop running,” you said, your voice quiet but steady. “i want you to be real with me, even if it’ messy, if you’re scared, say it, if you want me, show it, just… be here. with me.”

juju nodded, her eyes glistening slightly as she closed the gap, her hands finally settling gently on your arms. “i’m here,” she whispered, her thumbs brushing soft circles against your skin.

[dannyriccsystem]

congrats on 1k!!!!! can i get 12 and 46 with logan sargeant?

SOON YOU WILL BE MINE, OH, BUT I WANT YOU NOW.

1K SPECIAL - LS2

Friends to lovers + Overstimulation

SUMMARY: Logan tells you one night that he’s planning on moving to Monaco. You give him a reason to stay.

WORD COUNT: 1.1K

WARNINGS: Reader is American, Smut, P in V, Overstimulation, Soft sex that turns rough

FEATURING: Logan Sargeant x Best Friend!Reader

NOTE: He’s so fine holy shit. I miss him. First time writing for Logey Pookie 😩

“I’M MOVING TO MONACO,” HE SAID, as if it wasn’t a life-changing statement.

You were peacefully sitting beside your friend on his couch, red wine poured into your own glass. Logan, however, had only one beer to drink. Some random IPA you didn’t recognize—not that it mattered. When he broke the news, you froze. Your hands shook, squeezing the glass like you were trying to break it.

“What? Monaco?” You repeated incredulously. He nodded, almost nervously. Logan was refusing to look at you, his eyes pinned to the far off wall right above the TV, which was playing an American Football game. You sucked in a breath, holding it for longer than you meant to.

You couldn’t imagine him leaving. It felt like just yesterday you were helping the guy, fresh out of school, move into his very own apartment. It was then that he told he wanted to get into Formula racing. It was always the goal to reach Formula One. Now, you were potentially about to help that same guy move out after he had already accomplished that.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I think I want to,” He finally turned to you, setting his can down on the coffee table. There was a coaster right next to him, but he completely disregarded that. You watched the condensation from the cold drip down onto the wood, forming a pale ring. “Unless I can find a reason to stay.”

Your eyes dodged his, but when they finally locked, you realized he was a lot closer than you initially thought. You could hear a soft whistle from his nose with every deep breath, and you could see his pulse in his neck—that’s how close you felt.

“What kind of reason?” You breathed out, your voice somewhat weak. You felt like crying, because you were just about to watch your best friend leave everything behind. And for what reason? You didn’t know. It was impossible to know.

Logan leans in, and you don’t pull away. For once, you don’t pull away from love, because deep down you know this is what you want. You’ve yearned for him for ages—ever since you were young, and now you might be the only person who can keep him there with you. Your lips meet, and it’s so sweet. It’s like years of want are finally blossoming.

Your fingers were tangled in his shirt as you pulled him desperately closer. Logan groaned softly against your plump lips. It was electric, full of years of regressed yearning and adoration for one another.

Logan’s hands were everywhere. Your back, your waist, your thighs—your ass. These were all places he was familiar with, but never in this way. Places that were once intimate in the friendly way were now destinations of lust and desire. He gripped your ass. When he pulled you onto his lap, his breath hitched.

“Y/N, if you want me to stop-”

“No,” You whined against his lips, slowly grinding your hips on him. “Don’t stop. Ever.”

Clothes came flying off after that, desperate hands yanking at fabric to get it off. You shared quiet laughter as he struggled to get your bra off, eventually yanking it off out of anger. You gasped as he hoisted you up, your bare cunt rubbing against the tent in his boxers, finding it entirely unfair that you were stark naked and he still had some sort of coverage.

He stumbled between kisses to his bedroom, wincing as he knocked his head against a wall. You giggled on his lips, your hand gently cradling the spot he had bumped. You threw your legs around his hips, knocking something over in the process. Out of surprise at the shattering noise, you pulled back with a gasp.

Logan, however, redirected your gaze. “Don’t worry about it, baby,” he mumbled as he pulled you back into a kiss. He gently tossed you onto the mattress, and you landed gracefully. Logan took a moment to dim the lights before climbing on top of you, pressing his growing erection against your thighs as he kissed your lips.

His mouth trailed away to your jawline, peppering your skin in kisses. You whined, tugging at the waistband of his boxers. He grinned. He knew what you wanted, and he’d give it to you. Logan sat back, shimmying out of his boxers until his large cock was freed from its constraints. “Fuck,” You whispered just at the sight.

He’d be lying to say it didn’t inflate his ego. “Tell me what you want, Y/N.” He whispered as he leaned back down, his chest pressed to yours. He felt your breasts squished against his skin, groaning at the sensation. “Come on…”

“I want you inside me,” You whimpered into his ear, your arms thrown around his neck to hold him as close as possible. “Please, Lo.”

He buried his face in your neck as he carefully guided his cock into you. He groaned, trying to stifle those sweet moans against the soft skin of your neck. Your mouth fell agape, and you choked on your own moan. “Fuck, Y/N,” He nipped at your skin, suckling to leave a dark purple mark.

He moved back, lifting your legs up over his shoulders. The new angle allowed him to hit deeper, the tip of his cock brushing against that sensitive spongy spot along your inner walls. He watched you squirm, your arms spread out to grip the sheets, back arched upwards.

“Yes- Oh, fuck yes!” You shuddered, your legs spasming. “Logan, I’m-… Coming! I’m coming- Shit-!” You squealed, your head thrown back and your eyes squeezed shut. Logan reached down, circling his fingers on your clit, throwing you over the edge. Your orgasm washed over you like a rough wave.

Logan flipped you over onto your stomach, pushing your back down and pulling your ass up. He pushed his cock back in, leaning over you and pressing his chest to your back to whisper, “Think you got a few more in you?”

You nodded weakly, your body melting against the mattress. He pulled back and gripped your ass as he continued thrusting, using you to bring himself to the edge. You felt a second orgasm come and then go, and then the third started to build up. You were entirely fucked out of your mind, barely able to comprehend anything at this point.

Next thing you knew, he had pulled out to come on your back, and the collapsed on the bed beside you. You rolled over, resting your head on his chest. He wrapped his arm around you, the pair of you panting and gasping for air.

“Was that reason enough for you.” You peered up at him, and he smiled back at you.

“It really was.”

Looks like Logan will continue to live that tax-filled life.

[inkedinshadows]

The Morning After

Pairing: Tamlin x f!reader

Summary: After a wild night at Summer Solstice and one too many drinks, you wake up in the bed of the High Lord of the Spring Court with no memories of how you got there.

Warnings: hangover, allusions to sex

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: I normally write in past tense, but I realized after a few paragraphs that I was writing this one in the present tense. Since it came so natural, I decided to leave it that way bc I was too lazy to change it all lol

Main Masterlist | Week Masterlist | Tamlin Masterlist | AO3

@sjmxreaderweek

You wake up to a constant, throbbing pain in the back of your head.

The first thing you notice when you open your eyes with a groan is the blinding sunlight streaming in through the open curtains.

Who leaves their curtains open before going to bed? Especially in the Spring Court, where the sun shines brightly most days. How can anyone sleep like this?

Once you adjust to it, blinking several times, you finally take in your surroundings.

The room is decorated in shades of verdant green and golden yellow, with high-end furniture far more expensive than you could ever dream of. There’s even a fireplace on the opposite wall.

Whoever you went home with last night must be really rich to afford a place like this.

Your head throbs, as if reminding you exactly why you can't remember who you went home with.

Maybe you shouldn't have drunk all that wine. You knew you couldn't hold your liquor.

You can hear someone breathe softly on the other side of the bed and, hoping you have at least made a good choice and picked a good-looking guy, you turn around.

Unbound blonde hair, slightly tousled from sleep, frames a handsome, tanned face you recognize instantly.

You went home with the High Lord himself.

And the worst part? You can’t remember a thing.

You remember the celebration in the vast rose garden facing his manor and how you stopped to admire its roses and their beauty when you first arrived. You remember drinking the first glass of wine to relax and enjoy the Solstice, even among all the faeries gathered there. You never liked big crowds.

After the second glass, you were dancing freely. Tamlin played the fiddle alongside the other musicians, and your eyes had been drawn to him from the start. He just looked so good in his elegant, bright green tunic, long hair tied in a braid that fell over his shoulder. You couldn’t stop glancing at him every so often.

The third glass came after you imagined—for the tenth time—that his gaze had lingered on you while you danced.

Thinking back on it now, maybe it wasn’t just your imagination after all.

But as much as you try to recollect, you can’t remember why you drank a fourth glass or what happened after that. The pounding headache doesn’t help, and you’re left wondering how much more you drank for your memory to be gone.

Tamlin sighs softly in his sleep, and you freeze.

If he wakes up, what are you supposed to do? You can’t tell him you have no idea what happened. You don’t even know if you slept with him.

You’re wearing the thin camisole you had on under your dress, and you catch a glimpse of his shirt as he shifts under the cream-colored sheets. So neither of you is naked. And you’re on opposite sides of the bed, which is large enough for at least four people. You wouldn't be able to touch him even if you fully extended your arm toward him.

So maybe nothing happened.

But then why are you in his bed?

You can’t face him like this. A pounding headache, no memories… not exactly the proper way to meet your High Lord. What if he considers it rude? You wouldn’t be able to live with the shame.

Slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible, you rise from the bed. Maybe leaving before he wakes up is also rude—especially if you did sleep with him—but it’s something you can live with. You can slip out of his room, find your way out of the massive mansion, and never have to face him again.

As soon as you stand up, you have to brace yourself against the wall. The room spins around you, and it takes blinking a few times for it to finally stop. Once you’re sure you won’t stumble and fall, you pick up your pale yellow dress from the chair next to the bed.

Someone—probably not you, if you had to guess—took the time to neatly fold it before draping it over the back of the chair. The fabric barely has a crease when you put it on.

Fortunately, the rustle of clothes doesn’t seem to bother Tamlin. His eyes remain close, his breathing steady.

To avoid making unnecessary noise, you pick up your shoes and tiptoe toward the door, praying it won’t creak when you open it.

“You're not staying for breakfast?”

For a moment, you don’t move. You just stand there—back rigid, one hand on the door handle, shoes held in the other.

Maybe if you don’t move, if you don’t speak or even breathe, he’ll forget about you and go back to sleep.

But you can feel his eyes on you, piercing and curious, and eventually, you turn around.

He is breathtaking.

His hair is molten gold in the morning sunlight, falling over his shoulders in soft waves. A hint of amusement dances in his green eyes as he studies you.

Forcing the words out, you stutter, “I’m… I’m sorry, my Lord. I was—”

“My Lord?” Tamlin repeats. “You sleep in my bed, and now you go back to calling me by my title?”

His voice is still laced with drowsiness, yet it carries a note of playful teasing.

A deadly mix.

At least he’s not annoyed.

“I don’t…” you begin, but you don’t really know what to say. Should you apologize? Tell him the truth about just how drunk you were last night? Or should you start by asking him for explanations?

Before you can make up your mind, he speaks again.

“How’s your head?”

At your confused frown, he adds, “You drank a lot last night. I’m assuming you have a hangover?”

Your hand finally falls away from the handle, but you don’t step away from the door. Keeping your distance seems like the safest, least embarrassing option right now.

“A little,” you admit reluctantly. “I was just about to…”

Your voice fades. Slipping out while he was sleeping is one thing, but now that he’s awake, maybe you should ask him about last night. You can’t just leave without knowing what happened. He’s the High Lord, after all. If something happened between you two, you need—and want—to know.

“About to leave without saying ‘good morning’?” he teases, brows raised.

Taking a deep breath, you prepare yourself for the dreaded question, hoping you won’t embarrass yourself any more than you already have. You already wish you could simply disappear.

“Yes,” you answer, then immediately add, “No! I mean, yes, but it’s just because I… I don’t really remember what happened…”

The beat of silence that follows is deafening, and you brace yourself for his judgment.

But Tamlin only chuckles.

“It’s that kind of hangover, then,” he comments, shaking his head as if disappointed. But rather than at you, he seems disappointed in himself. After a moment, he mumbles under his breath, “I should have seen it coming.”

At last, you take a step forward, your shoes still clutched in your hand.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

He runs a hand through his hair, the golden strands tangling between his fingers. Your eyes follow the movement before settling back on his face again.

“When you approached me last night,” he explains, meeting your gaze, “you seemed only slightly tipsy. I didn’t think too much of it. You just looked a little… overexcited.”

You hold back your groan. Of course you looked overexcited. That’s what alcohol does to you, and you can’t blame him for not realizing you were far beyond ‘slightly tipsy’. Your problem with drinking isn’t your behavior while drunk—it’s the morning after. Though it has never been so bad that you couldn’t remember things before.

“We talked for a while,” Tamlin continues. “And when the celebration was over, we came back here. But as soon as you saw the bed, you jumped on it and collapsed.” He flashes you an amused smile. “You fell asleep in seconds.”

You look down at your bare feet, fingers tightening around your shoes. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“Don’t be,” he reassures you. “You looked quite adorable, to be honest.”

His tone is gentle enough that you dare to glance at him again.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed now, that smirk still playing on his lips.

Adorable.

Drunk and passed out on his bed, and he still thought you were adorable. You refuse to think about how your face must look right now—or your hair.

Not knowing how to respond to his compliment, you change the topic instead.

“You took off my dress.”

You don’t know why you said that. It’s obvious it was him. And as you watch Tamlin’s smile fade, you worry that your words came out more like an accusation than a simple statement.

“I did,” he replies quietly. “I’m sorry if I overstepped. It didn’t look comfortable to sleep in.”

Something flutters in your chest at his thoughtfulness. He has a point—it probably wouldn’t have been comfortable. Not that you would have noticed with all that alcohol in your veins.

“No, it’s alright,” you assure him with a small smile. “Thank you.”

Tamlin relaxes again, then he finally stands and pads closer, barefoot like you.

Has he always been this tall? You have never been so close to him before. Well, not that you remember, at least. His earthy scent floods your senses, reminding you of cut grass and fresh mint, soothing the dull pain lingering in the back of your head.

You can’t tear your eyes away from him as he stares down at you, and even though a racing heart doesn’t exactly get along with a headache, you feel too drawn to him to care.

Needing a distraction from his intense gaze, you decide to speak again.

“So we didn’t…?”

You leave the question hanging, unsure how to properly ask him. A part of you hopes the floor will open up and swallow you whole rather than face this topic.

Tamlin raises an eyebrow, and you can’t tell whether he’s waiting for you to finish the sentence or if he’s genuinely surprised by the question.

“No, we didn’t,” he answers eventually. His lips curl up at the corners. “I’d be very offended if we did and you didn’t remember it.”

Now you really wish the floor would swallow you.

You already assumed the answer was going to be no, so why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut? Why did you have to make it even more awkward for yourself?

“I slept on the bed just because there’s enough space.” Tamlin shrugs, glancing back at the oversized bed before turning back to you. “I figured it wouldn’t be a problem.”

You shake your head and regret it a moment later. Stupid hangover.

Tamlin’s gaze softens as he notices your slight wince, speaking before you can tell him you didn’t mind sharing the bed.

“Will you stay for breakfast?” he asks gently. Seeing your hesitation, he adds, “We can get you an infusion to help with your headache.”

You’re not sure it’s a smart idea. What if you say something else that makes things weird and awkward? Yet Tamlin doesn’t seem uncomfortable at all. Quite the opposite, actually. And maybe if you stay, if you get the chance to talk with him a little longer, you might find out what else you did last night. If he was so struck by you that he took care of you—and your dress—then your drunk self must have done something right. Hopefully, he won’t be disappointed by your sober self.

“Alright,” you agree with a shy smile. “I can stay for breakfast.”

Tamlin’s smile widens. He takes the shoes from your hand and sets them back on the floor, then offers you his hand.

“Shall we go, then?”

When you accept, his fingers are warm as they envelop yours. He gives them a gentle squeeze before leading you toward the door.

The long hallway outside is less colorful than his bedroom, but just as elegant. Pale green carpets—soft and plush under your bare feet—cover the white marble floor. A few paintings hang on the walls, and pots of small plants and pink flowers line the path to the staircase.

As you walk, Tamlin glances at you. “You know,” he begins with a smirk, “we might not have slept together last night, but we did kiss, though.”

You gasp, almost stopping in your tracks to gape at him. “We did?”

He nods. “Oh, yeah,” he replies, sounding way too pleased with himself. “Too bad you don’t remember that either.”

You are at a loss for words.

You kissed him. Tamlin.

You kissed the High Lord.

It makes sense, you suppose. If you went back to his room together, the intention was obvious. You would have slept together if you hadn’t fallen asleep immediately. Of course you had kissed before that.

You only wish you could remember. It would be nice to know how it feels, to know what his lips taste like.

But maybe… maybe you will.

After all, he invited you to stay for breakfast. Your shoes are still in his room, so you’ll have to go get them before leaving. He is leading you downstairs, his hand warm and steady in yours, his eyes still on you as he smiles softly.

Hopefully, you’ll find out.

“Yeah,” you echo in a murmur. “Too bad indeed.”

*lovely divider by @slytherin-pen

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34 @yesiamthatwierd @lreadsstuff @littlest-w01f

[emmylksblog]

LOVE TATTOO // FERRAN TORRES

summary: it's your anniversary and ferran surprises you with a fresh tattoo that carries your name.

genre: fluff, married au

based on this request

warnings: mention of sex

a/n: writing this i found out i would kinda like a guy whose personality is similar to ferran’s 😔

You had barely unbuckled your seatbelt when Ferran rushed to open your door, grinning like an idiot. He leaned down slightly, arms already out, as if about to scoop you up like a princess.

"Should I carry you like I did on our wedding day?" he teased, but there was something in his voice that told you he would, injury and all.

You laughed softly, eyes twinkling under the dim garage light. “I’d love that, but you’re injured, love. Plus, you've already been wonderful tonight,” you said, pointing back at the mountain of shopping bags stacked in the backseat. You’d told him not to go overboard. He didn’t listen. Of course.

You leaned in and kissed him, slow and sweet, like a reward he’d definitely earned. Ferran accepted it like the absolute champion he was, one arm sliding around your waist, lifting you just slightly off the ground like he couldn’t help himself.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering against your cheek. The way he looked at you then, like he was memorizing your entire face, made your heart ache in the best way. You were his world, and he didn’t hide it.

"I’ve got one more surprise for you," he whispered, the hint of mischief unmistakable in his voice. "But you’ll have to wait until we’re in bed to see it."

Your cheeks burned instantly. “Ferran!” You swatted his chest. “I knew it! You lasted way too long without mentioning sex.”

He gasped in mock offense, clutching the spot where you hit him. “I hate to break it to you, cariño, but this time you’re the one with the dirty mind,” he said with a grin, nudging you toward the house. “Come on, inside.”

He gave your butt a playful tap to encourage your pace, which only made you roll your eyes and laugh as you walked through the garage door into the warmth of your shared home.

Later, you'd already finished your nighttime routine and were slipping into your favorite soft pajamas. Ferran was still in the shower, and you were half-expecting to see him walk out in just a towel, like he always did. Especially on nights like this. But instead, he came out fully dressed in a fresh white t-shirt and sweatpants, towel draped over his shoulders.

You raised a brow, trying not to sound too curious. “What, you cold tonight or something?”

Ferran saw right through the nonchalant act, smirking as he walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, warm and lingering. “Relax, love. The surprise has something to do with this. Don’t be mad.”

That made your curiosity skyrocket.

“Stop scaring me and just tell me. If it’s a new scar, I swear I’ll kill you.” You turned to face him with narrowed eyes.

As a footballer, his body was a roadmap of bruises and minor injuries. Sometimes he’d tease you at night, saying he had a new scar to show you, usually when you were too tired to scold him properly. It never worked. You always gave him the lecture the next day anyway.

He chuckled. “Okay, okay, sit here.”

He gently guided you to sit in the center of the bed, sheets cool under your legs as you settled cross-legged. He knelt in front of you, his hands on your thighs. “Can you give me a shoulder massage, love? I feel a bit tight.”

You tilted your head, softening. “Are you sore? We probably shouldn’t have stayed out so long. I know how intense your week’s been.”

“I’m okay,” he said quickly, “just need your magical touch.” He lifted your left hand, the one with your wedding ring, and kissed it sweetly, brushing his thumb over your fingers.

“Well, who am I to ignore the pleas of my poor loving husband on our anniversary?” you murmured, brushing a kiss over his hair before turning to the nightstand for the massage oil you always used for him.

He watched you move, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smug little smile. Everything was going to plan.

By the time you returned, Ferran was sitting up straight, his back toward you, anticipation radiating off him. You climbed back onto the bed behind him, hands resting on his shoulders.

"Okay, champ. Arms up."

You grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward, the fabric slipping over his head with practiced ease. You tossed it aside, not expecting anything unusual… until you saw it.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your eyes widened.

There, inked on the left side of his upper back, right over his shoulder blade, was a tattoo. Your name. And just below it, in elegant script, the date of your wedding.

You blinked, overwhelmed, your hands automatically finding his waist for support. Then came a quiet, high-pitched gasp.

“Ferri! No freaking way.”

You dropped back from your knees, now sitting with your legs tucked under you, one hand covering your mouth in disbelief. Your eyes glossed over as you stared, the tattoo still slightly red around the edges, clearly fresh.

You reached out with trembling fingers, gently tracing the lines of it, like you couldn’t believe it was real.

Ferran turned around, finally unable to wait. “Do you like it?” he asked, his voice laced with nervous excitement. “Say something, amor…”

You didn’t say anything at first. You just threw your arms around him and buried your face in his neck. "Hey… baby, I’d do anything for you," he whispered, stroking your back, kissing the top of your head like it was instinct.

You pulled back just far enough to look at him and whispered, “I love it.” Then your lips met his in a kiss that felt different, so full of everything. You cupped his jaw, and he responded with soft desperation, the kind that said he was already yours and had always been.

“When did you even get it?” you asked between kisses, pressing one to the tip of his nose.

He grinned sheepishly. “When I said I was going grocery shopping this morning. And that I had to swing by Pedri’s place. Yeah… that was a lie.”

Your jaw dropped. “The first time one of your plans actually works and it involved lying to me? I don’t like this at all.”

You shook your head, grinning despite yourself. Ferran laughed, clearly proud of himself.

He shut you up with another kiss, this one more impulsive, messy and full of laughter between your lips. You kissed him back harder, still smiling, arms wrapped around his neck as the warmth of his skin seeped into yours. He was your home. He always would be.

After a while, when the room had settled into that quiet, sleepy intimacy you only get when you're with the love of your life, Ferran pulled you closer under the covers and kissed your forehead gently.

“Seriously though,” you murmured, touching the ink again, “it means so much to me that you did this.”

“I love you,” you replied, your voice barely audible as you traced the tattoo on his back again with a single finger.

“I love you too, mi vida,” he whispered in your hair.

The silence that followed was warm, filled with nothing but your breath and the sound of fabric shifting as you tangled your legs with his. His hand ran up and down your spine lazily, tracing circles.

Then Ferran broke the silence.

“So… the family tree expansion project… still happening?”

You groaned, your fist flying toward his bicep, only for him to catch it mid-air, laughing.

“You seriously have no filter,” you muttered, shaking your head as a smile tugged at your lips. “If you didn’t ruin every romantic moment, you wouldn’t be Ferran.”

He kissed your cheek in response, looking far too pleased with himself. And honestly? You wouldn’t change him for anything in the world.