#it's SPACE pizza okay???

[giggles-and-freckles]

hi abi!! partners in crime au with swcw characters of your choice please <3

from this prompt list

“I can’t believe you used to live here.”

Obi-Wan sighs. “That was a long time ago.”

“Still,” Padmé says. She looks up at the towering ceilings in wonder. “The Jedi Temple. It’s gotta —”

“Did you miss the part where we are breaking-and-entering?” Obi-Wan whispers. “A situation like that generally calls for some level of silence.”

“No one in this wing of the building is even awake.”

“There are many nocturnal Jedi, Padmé.”

They continue quietly down the long corridor. It appears Padmé is right. They don’t pass a single sentient being — which makes Obi-Wan have a bad feeling. It shouldn’t be this easy.

“Do you remember the combination?” Padmé asks, once they've stopped in front of the door.

“I don’t need the combination.”

“Oh, right.” She grins. “The Force.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, but lifts his hand nonetheless. It’s more difficult to do these menial sorts of tasks than it used to be, but he’s more than capable of picking a combination lock. He watches in satisfaction as the dials turn and click into place.

“Show-off,” Padmé laughs, bumping Obi-Wan’s shoulder as she hurries into the room.

The furniture is in the same place it always was. A couch against the window, a chair in the corner. The small dining table nestled between the countertops. 

But it looks as if a gundark has moved into the place.

“Stars,” he whispers in horror, looking around the disaster zone. There are grease spills across the floor, droid parts littering the furniture, and —

“No way.” Padmé squints her eyes to better see in the dark room. “Obi-Wan. Is that…”

“That’s a piece of pizza stuck to the wall.”

She begins to cackle in delight and turns toward Obi-Wan. “How’s your blood pressure? Are you alright? Do you need to lie down? It must be difficult to see your old home absolutely trashed.”

“Stay quiet,” he says with a scowl. “Let’s find it and get out of here. Before we develop a respiratory infection.”

He hasn’t been completely honest with Padmé. For the past several weeks, he’s warred with himself on whether or not to tell her the truth about this trip to the Jedi Temple. To fetch his old lightsaber, he told her. Realistically, he knows it’s not here. They’d taken it from him long ago and there was no chance of them stashing it in his old quarters. He isn’t sure what the Council does do with the lightsabers of Jedi who walk away from the Order, but it isn’t this.

At the same time, Padmé’s too smart to have believed him in the first place, so she must have an idea of what’s really going on here.

“Check the bedroom,” Obi-Wan says. Then, as an afterthought, “Stun only.”

Padmé snorts. “Yeah, yeah.” She disappears into the bedroom. 

It’s been more than ten years since he’s been in this room. Everything was different then. He was so young, naive…Qui-Gon was alive.

He doesn’t have time for sentimentality. Not right now. He moves to the cabinet under the sink and slides his hand along the inside wall, looking for the latch. When he and Qui-Gon lived here, there were cleaning supplies kept in this cabinet. Now, it’s empty.

Which shouldn’t come as a surprise, given the state of the rest of the quarters.

He finds the latch and lifts it, pulling the inside wall out to reveal the compartment Obi-Wan was looking for.

The door beeps twice.

Obi-Wan jumps up from the floor.

“Padmé!” he hisses. But it’s no use. The door to the bedroom is too thick, and if he yells louder, he’ll be heard.

There’s one more beep and then —

“Uh…” The man frowns in confusion. He’s holding a plate of — stars — pizza. “Did I go to the wrong room? Because —”

The bedroom door opens and Padmé emerges. “Obi-Wan?” The click of a blaster.

“No!” he shouts.

The man’s plate falls to the floor as a blue lightsaber quickly takes its place in his hands.

“No, stop!” Obi-Wan yells, throwing his hands up. “Put the weapons away! Both of you!”

“This is my room. You’re —”

“Obi-Wan, look at him, we could take this guy.”

Of all things, this draws a scoff from the tall man. “You could not —”

“We absolutely could! You —”

“Hey!” Obi-Wan cries, then looks toward Padmé. “Set down the blaster.”

“No way. He’ll kill us!”

“He’s a keeper of the peace,” Obi-Wan says, fixing the Jedi with a look that serves as both an olive branch and a reminder. “We’re in his home. If you put down the blaster…”

“Fine,” Padmé grumbles, lowering her weapon.

“Can we be rational?” Obi-Wan asks, emphatically. At this point, he’s willing to accept a response from either of the other individuals in question. He should have better prepared Padmé on how to interact with those who wield lightsabers. They don’t often come in contact with Jedi when running jobs. Because their business is unrelated, and because Obi-Wan does his research.

He has no desire to interact with another Jedi in his life.

“How did you get in here?” the Jedi demands, his lightsaber still beaming. It illuminates the room.

“Complicated question,” Obi-Wan counters.

“He picked the lock, dumbass,” Padmé contributes from behind him. “I thought Jedi were supposed to be smart.”

The lightsaber hums in intensity as the Jedi grips harder at its hilt.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes, wondering what he did to deserve this.

“We mean you no harm,” Obi-Wan assures him.

“Speak for yourself. I haven’t made up my mind one way or another.”

“Please, Pad—”

The Jedi steps forward. “If I don’t start getting some answers, I’m gonna stop being so agreeable.”

“This is you being agreeable?” Padmé questions. “No wonder you bailed on them, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan shuts his eyes, hoping if he can’t see the conversation taking place, maybe it will disappear.

“Bailed on…” the Jedi pauses. “No way.”

Obi-Wan takes a breath. “Just —”

“Obi-Wan. She keeps calling you Obi-Wan. You’re…no way.” The room is cast back into darkness as he extinguishes the lightsaber. “You don’t remember me.”

“What?” 

He moves across the room and flips on a light. It stings, to be so abruptly greeted with the insulting fluorescents he’d forgotten about. Qui-Gon had always kept lamps in here to avoid ever using the main light.

Obi-Wan isn’t sure he’s ever seen this room so bright.

The Jedi stands before him, boldly, and Obi-Wan realises this is no man at all. It’s a boy. He’s tall, to be certain, but still possesses all the gangliness of youth. His eyes, bright blue, are beyond familiar, but Obi-Wan can’t place them. 

“I’m Anakin Skywalker.”

Padmé’s blaster clatters to the floor.

“You’re…” Obi-Wan stammers.

Padmé regains her bearings before Obi-Wan. She moves out from behind Obi-Wan and stops with her boots practically touching Anakin’s. She pulls back the hood of her cloak and looks up at him. “Ani? My goodness, you’ve grown.”

Anakin doesn’t seem to know what to do with this, but Obi-Wan doesn’t miss the way his cheeks pinken at her words. 

“Padmé,” Anakin says in awe, his eyes moving over her. “I can’t believe it’s you. You…” He frowns. “You were a queen. How did you —”

“Not anymore,” she says quickly and steps back.

“But you were so good at it! I —”

“People change. So do galaxies.”

Anakin turns toward Obi-Wan. “And you. You left the Order. As soon as we got back from Naboo. I —”

“Yes.” It’s not a memory he cares to relive.

“Why?”

“It’s not important anymore.”

“Not important,” Anakin echoes cooly. Something shifts and Obi-Wan can tell the intrigue of this reunion has worn off for Anakin. “Huh. Thanks for giving me a heads up on that, by the way.”

Obi-Wan sighs. “It wasn’t —”

“No, no,” Anakin says, shrugging his shoulders in false nonchalance. “It was great fun, really. You know. Leaving behind everything I’ve ever known only for my first master to be murdered and my second one to completely abandon me.”

“I’m sorry. Truly. I didn’t mean for you to be hurt in the process.”

“Hurt?” Anakin questions. “I didn’t have a chance to know you enough to be hurt by you. Just betrayed. But I got over it.”

“Clearly,” Padmé mutters.

He rounds on her. “I don’t know how you fell from grace, but it must have been a pretty steep tumble if this is what your life has turned into. Breaking into the Jedi Temple? What are you even trying to do? Kill me?”

“Of course not,” Obi-Wan says quickly.

“Rob me?” Anakin asks in surprise. “You must have forgotten how being a Jedi works, old man. There’s nothing here worth having.”

“Who trained you?” Obi-Wan finds himself asking. He can’t get away from the what-ifs.

“Why do you care?”

“I’m only curious. After all —”

“After all, it could have been you, if you weren’t too much of a coward to try.”

“My leaving had nothing to do with you, Anakin.”

“Master Skywalker,” he corrects. There’s vitriol in his words, but there’s also pride. “Because I did it. Without you.”

“Congratulations,” Obi-Wan says, and he finds that he means it.

Anakin scoffs and folds his arms across his chest. “You didn’t answer me. Why are you here?”

Obi-Wan shifts his glance toward Padmé and begins to speak carefully. “I was coming to retrieve something.”

[baalzebufo]

If Peppino accidentally nicked himself with a cooking knife while in the kitchen, do you think Fake Peppino would be concerned, react like Bruce from Finding Nemo, or some other third thing 🤔

felt inspired so you get this response in Doodle Comic Format

hes never seen blood before. so now its convinced peppino is filled with Mystery Sauce that he, for some reason, isn't allowed to lick :(

im also of the opinion peppino is too confident in his knife skills so he regularly neglects safety. usually this works out, and he definitely chops like a beast, but he also cuts himself a lot especially if hes tired

[ask-the-totally-real-peppino]

Hey, not to alarm you two, but I think Gustavo is coming in.

Peppino, I’d suggest prepping an explanation, and maybe tell Pep to stay calm and use the grounding exercises we taught him.

If you don’t think Pep is up to it though, there’s a box out next to the dumpster. It seems to be his safe place.

Pep, don’t worry, people a lot smarter than me can help put the pieces together, but for now we need you to breathe. You’re in the restaurant right now, and you’re safe.

Peppino: "Gus is here???"

Gustavo: "Sorry, we're late, Peppino! Brick saw a cat, and we ended up the next town over-"

Peppino: "GUSTAVO!!!"

Gustavo: "AAA-!?!?"

Peppino: "GUS!!! MY CLONE THAT I FOUGHT IN THE TOWER WAS LIVING IN THE DUMPSTER FOR A MONTH, AND HE CAME IN AND WE TALKED, BUT HIS LITTLE MAGIC BOX OF A THOUSAND VOICES TATTLED ON HIM AND HE HAD A VERY MELTY PANIC ATTACK, AND THEN I WAS PUPPY-DOG EYED INTO LETTING HIM STAY AND WORK HERE, AND THEN WE WERE COOKING THE PIZZA AND HE HAD A MEMORY ABOUT USING A KNIFE, AND THEN HE JUST TURNED INTO SOMEONE ELSE FOR A SECOND AND NOW HE'S HAVING ANOTHER PANIC ATTACK, AND IT'S BARELY INTO THE AFTERNOON, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE HELP ME!!!"

Gustavo: "You know I am always happy to help you, Peppino, but can you please explain that again a little slower?"

Pep: *muffled hyperventilating*

Pep: "!!!"

Pep: "Si tahw...?"

Pep: "Efas... Mraw... …Tfos si…"

Gustavo: "Oh, good job, Brick!"

Peppino: "Yes, thank you, Brick. She's nice to cuddle with, huh, Pep?"

Pep: "...Mhm..."

Peppino: "Good, good. Now, what were your-a friends saying? There's a box outside? Would you like me to get it?"

Pep: "...Yes please..."

Peppino: "Alright, I will be right back."

-

Peppino: "Oh, there is-a box here..."

Peppino: "Oh... It is conveniently covering that hole in the wall I forgot about... Mm, fixing it will have to be put off again... Getting stuff for Pep is more important."

Peppino: "Hm? What's this? 'Peppino's Special Things'? I should-a bring this inside too. Must be important to Pep."

-

Peppino: "Pep, I got your box! But are you-a sure it's the right one? It seems-a really small for you-"

Peppino: "!!!"

Peppino: "Well, that answers that. You feel better?"

Pep: *quiet but relived gurgle*

Peppino: "Good. Here, let's let you rest with Brick and with-a your friends. It's been quite the day for you."

Peppino: "Okay, so Gus and I are going to-a continue the work day, but we'll put your pizzas aside for later, and when you feel up to it, you can finish them off. But if you feel like resting for the rest of the day, that's alright too. Does that sound okay?"

Pep: *soft burble that vaguely sounds like the word 'okay'*

Peppino: "Alright then. We'll be in the kitchen if you need us."

(Gustavo and Brick (the Rat) are now available for asks!

Pep is having a little break and is too tired to form a mouth, but you can still leave asks for him)

[paradoxgavel]

man, i had a rly nice day today! ;v;

[flandesuka]

nice of pizzaface to invite us over for a picnic, eh peppino? [falls down an entire flight of stairs and dies]

[pink-lemonadefairy]

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

I gravitate towards jobs and such in which I make decisions, and prefer to live alone which comes with many decisions, and then do creative hobbies that require me to make so many decisions, and I thought "Huh, decisions are hard, what would a nice day without decisions look like?" And then I realized I just meticulously planned out a whole day of no decisions by just making the decisions beforehand.

[twotriickhoofbea2t]

Hate when tech companies find a way to make computer devices take up less space and they make the whole device smaller instead of putting more in it.

[zhelin-thames]

Now pay interest - 10% per year

Masterpost

As the Bat-family processed what had just happened, Jason was already plotting.

“So,” Jason began, a wicked grin spreading across his face, “does this mean we have a ghost King in the family now? Because I’ve got so many questions.”

“Focus, Todd,” Damian snapped, though his own curiosity was evident in his furrowed brow. “That... entity was clearly powerful. Father, why did you not inform us of this connection sooner?”

Bruce didn’t even glance up from his computer. “It was irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant?” Dick exclaimed, gesturing wildly. “A glowing ghost guy just popped out of a portal in our cave to collect a debt, and you think it’s irrelevant?”

Tim, typing furiously, pulled up the mission logs from Bruce’s early years. “Okay, I think I found the mission in Prague where this all went down. It says here... wait. Danny wasn’t just some guy you ran into. You trained with him in the League of Assassins?”

Steph leaned over Tim’s shoulder to read. “Wait, what?! He’s an assassin ghost King?”

Jason let out a low whistle. “This just gets better and better.”

Duke raised his hand, hesitant. “Uh, just a thought… if he’s the Ghost King, doesn’t that mean he has control over, like, all ghosts? Including... uh, Lazarus Pits?”

Everyone froze. Slowly, they all turned to Bruce, whose expression darkened slightly.

“Yes,” Bruce admitted reluctantly.

“Holy crap,” Jason said, leaning back with a stunned look. “He’s the reason the Pits freaked me out after I came back, isn’t he? I thought it was just the resurrection thing, but you knew he was tied to them!”

Bruce’s silence was answer enough.

“I want to meet him,” Cass signed firmly.

“Seconded,” Duke added. “He seems cool.”

“No,” Bruce said, finally standing and cutting through the rising chatter. His tone was firm, brooking no argument. “Danny is not someone you want to get involved with.”

But before Bruce could elaborate, the room was bathed in green light again.

Danny reappeared, now sitting cross-legged in mid-air, holding what looked like a spectral clipboard. “Forgot one thing,” he announced casually.

Bruce’s glare could have burned through steel. “What now?”

Danny smirked. “I want interest. Fifteen years is a long time to wait for sixteen bucks. So let’s say... ten percent per year?”

Jason cackled as the rest of the family broke out into laughter. Even Damian couldn’t entirely suppress a smirk.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose again. “I’m not paying you interest.”

Danny shrugged, grinning. “Guess I’ll have to stick around until you do. Hope you’ve got extra space, because I’m moving in.”

The Batcave erupted into chaos. Jason and Steph cheered, Tim frantically calculated how much Bruce technically owed, and Bruce’s patience reached its breaking point.

“Fine,” Bruce growled. “But you’re staying in the guest room.”

Danny floated down, looking entirely too smug. “Deal. Now, who’s up for pizza? I’m starving.”

[lizziesangel]

RAFE CAMERON ⟢ not so cocky

F1!driver!rafe cameron x FEM!reader ⟢ MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: based on this request

WORD COUNT: +4.9k

GENRE: fluff

CONTENT WARNING: i couldn't help myself and made him drive for ferrari since thats the team i support :P

it’s a tuesday afternoon, and you’re in your pajamas—baggy sweats and an oversized t-shirt you probably shouldn’t still own. you’re curled up on your couch, a blanket cocooned around you as some random show plays in the background. the ice cream in your lap is half-melted, but you don’t care.

then the knock comes. a sharp sound that instantly makes you groan.

you don’t move at first, hoping whoever it is will just go away, but then your phone buzzes: “we know you’re home. open the door.”

you shuffle to the door and open it, blinking into the daylight like a mole emerging from its hole. standing there, arms crossed and looking unimpressed, are your two best friends.

“it’s literally two p.m.,” abby says, squinting past you into your dimly lit apartment.

“yeah? so?” you reply, scratching your head. “it’s only two p.m.”

“on a tuesday.”

you shrug. “time’s a social construct.”

they both push past you into the apartment, already on a mission. jen opens the blinds, flooding your space with light, while abby heads straight to the kitchen. “when’s the last time you ate something that wasn’t ice cream?”

“last night?” you lie.

“we’re ordering pizza,” jen announces. “and don’t even think about arguing.”

you don’t argue. honestly, it’s kind of nice having them here. soon enough, the pizza arrives, and the smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills your apartment. they bring out sodas, too, and one of them starts rifling through your collection of formula one merch—t-shirts, mugs, even the throw pillow you bought on a whim last year.

“okay, since you’re clearly still in your pity era,” abby says, rolling her eyes dramatically

“never say that again,” jen gapes at her.

abby rolled her eyes at her, “anyway, we’re doing a mid-week f1 sleepover. you’re not getting rid of us.”

you don’t even try to fight it. this has become a weekly-ish ritual at this point—your friends invading your space, throwing on a highlight reel from last weekend’s race, and forcing you to laugh at their awful commentary. by the time the sun sets, the couch is littered with pizza crusts and soda cans, and for the first time in days, you feel something close to normal.

the three of you are sprawled across your living room, pizza boxes open on the coffee table, the tv blaring the sound of engines as the formula one race unfolds. abby is clutching a throw pillow like it’s a steering wheel, yelling at the screen.

“i’m telling you, charles is going to take it this time!” abby declares, pointing wildly at the screen as charles leclerc manoeuvres through the track.

“please,” jen scoffs, leaning back with a slice of pizza. “verstappen has this in the bag, like always. he’s unstoppable.”

“unstoppable until he gets cocky and screws up his pit stop,” abby fires back.

you chuckle, keeping your eyes on the screen. “you two have had this exact argument every single week. neither of you is changing your mind.”

“because she’s wrong,” jen says, pointing at abby with a pizza piece.

“and she’s delusional,” abby fires back, throwing a pillow.

“oh my gosh, both of you, can we just watch without fighting?” you groan, though there’s a faint smile tugging at your lips. this bickering is as much a part of your race nights as the pizza.

jen smirks, not missing a beat. “oh, and you’re one to talk? we all know you’re obsessed with rafe cameron.”

you nearly choke on your drink. “i am not.”

“you literally blush every time his name comes up,” abby teases, nudging your shoulder.

“do not,” you mutter, sinking lower into the couch.

jen sits up suddenly, her face lighting up with an idea. “wait, speaking of him—did you guys hear about that competition? the one where you can win a seat next to him for a day? he drives you around in his race car, and it’s for charity or something.”

“stop.” you wave her off, your voice flat. “just stop.”

“no, seriously!” jen presses, pulling her phone out to look it up. “it’s legit. they posted it on the f1 page. all you have to do is enter, and they pick a winner. imagine sitting next to rafe cameron while he drives at, like, two hundred miles an hour!”

“jennifer, no,” you say, glaring at her. “that’s insane. why would anyone want to do that?”

“why wouldn’t you?” abby jumps in, grinning. “you get to sit in a race car, with rafe cameron. i mean, if i could, i’d already be entering.”

“don’t lie, you’d only go if it was charles doing it,” jen shook her head.

“you guys are ridiculous,” you mutter, shaking your head. “as if we’d actually made a chance.”

“besides” she says innocently. “i’m just saying. you love formula one, and you obviously love rafe. i’ve seen the way you look at the screen when he’s on.”

you groan, tossing a pillow in her direction. “shut up.”

“yeah,” abby chimes in, smirking. “all heart-eyes and ‘oh, rafe is such a good driver.’”

you scoff, though your face is heating up. “i don’t sound like that.”

“you do,” they say in unison, and you hate how much they’re enjoying this.

it’s friday morning when jen and abby show up at your door, both of them practically vibrating with excitement.

“open up!” jen yells, banging on the door.

you groan, dragging yourself out of bed and to the door, still in your pajamas. when you open it, jen is already halfway inside, holding up a bright pink duffel bag. abby’s standing behind her, an equally mischievous grin on her face.

“get dressed,” jen says, brushing past you into your living room. her dark curls are pulled back into a curly bun, and she’s rocking a pastel tracksuit that looks effortless on her. “we’re going out.”

“and not to the grocery store,” abby adds, following closely behind. her straight, glossy black hair is tied in a high ponytail. “but, maybe we should, just in case.”

“what is going on?” you mumble, yawning.

“spa day!” jen announces, setting the duffel down on your couch. “and before you say anything, no, you don’t get a choice.”

“why?” you ask, blinking at them. “i’m good here. i don’t need to go out.”

jen sets her bag down with a dramatic gesture. “girl, no. you’ve been ‘good here’ for three months, and we’re not letting you wallow anymore.”

“we’re going all out,” abby adds, stepping inside. her sleek ponytail swings as she gestures toward the bag. “nails, hair, brows, lashes—everything.”

you blink at them. “why do i need a spa day?”

“because you need to get ready for spa weekend,” jen says, emphasizing the word with a grin.

you stare at her blankly. “what are you talking about?”

abby rolls her eyes and flops onto your couch, crossing her legs. “the belgian grand prix. at spa-francorchamps. your favorite track. we’re going.”

your jaw drops. “you’re kidding.”

“we are not,” jen says, pulling out her phone and waving the email confirmation in your face. “two nights in a cute little airbnb, paddock passes for the race, and the works.”

“we saved for this forever,” abby says. “and let’s be honest, you need this.”

“and you just… decided to surprise me?” you ask, trying to keep calm and collected whilst wrapping your head around the idea of going to a fomula 1 race.

jen smirks. “well, we didn’t think you’d agree if we told you ahead of time. and now, you can’t back out.”

“besides,” abby adds, “you’ve been talking about spa for years. ‘oh, it’s so historic, it’s the best track, the corners are iconic.’ you’re gonna lose your mind when we’re there.”

you can feel your heart racing, the excitement bubbling under your skin despite yourself. you’ve dreamed of going to spa-francorchamps for as long as you can remember.

“so,” jen says, crossing her arms. “are you coming, or are you gonna sit here in your sad little cocoon and regret it forever?”

“obviously i’m coming,” you squeal with delight, a big grin painting your face.

“great,” abby says, hopping up and clapping her hands together. “then let’s get you race-weekend ready.”

the drive to spa-francorchamps is electric. you, jen, and abby are packed into a rental car, your bags crammed into the trunk, the radio blasting a mix of pop music and sing-along songs. every few minutes, one of you squeals about something—whether it’s the scenery, the fact that you’re actually going to spa, or the vip paddock passes tucked safely in jen’s bag.

“can you believe this?” you ask, practically bouncing in your seat. “we’re going to spa. i mean, eau rouge, blanchimont, la source—it’s iconic.”

“we know,” abby says with a grin. “you’ve been talking about it nonstop since we booked this trip.”

“you’re gonna cry when you see it,” jen teases from the driver’s seat. “i swear, you’re worse than those drivers who kiss the track.”

you laugh, but deep down, you know she’s right.

the airbnb is a cozy, modern expensive cottage just outside the circuit. the three of you walk in, and you’re immediately blown away. sleek wood paneling, a spacious living area, and a kitchen stocked with snacks and, most importantly, champagne.

“this is perfect,” abby says, dropping her bag on the floor and kicking off her shoes. “i feel like a celebrity already.”

jen pops open a bottle of champagne while you and abby explore the place, claiming bedrooms and marveling at the view of the surrounding hills. by the time you all settle in the living room, glasses in hand, the excitement is palpable.

“to spa,” jen says, raising her glass.

“to the best trip ever,” abby adds.

“to eau rouge,” you say with a grin.

you all clink glasses and take a sip, the bubbles fizzing on your tongue. for the first time in months, you feel light. happy. like yourself again.

“okay, okay,” jen says, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “before we get too tipsy, there’s one more thing we need to do.”

“what now?” you ask, sinking into the couch.

jen exchanges a look with abby, who’s barely containing her grin.

“we have a surprise,” abby says, pulling her laptop out of her bag. she opens it up and types something in while you watch, confused.

“guys,” you say. “what’s going on?”

jen leans over and taps a key, turning the screen toward you. “read this.”

you blink at the email in front of you. the subject line reads: “Congratulations! You’ve won the Scuderia Ferrari F1 Experience!”

“what is this?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“it’s that competition we entered,” jen says, smirking. “you know, the one to sit beside rafe cameron while he drives you around in his f1 car? yeah, you won.”

your jaw drops. “you’re joking.”

“nope,” abby says, grinning. “you’re meeting him. this weekend. in spa. we didn’t tell you earlier because we knew you’d freak out.”

“i’m already freaking out!” you yell, scrambling to reread the email. “how—when—why didn’t you text me?”

jen laughs, sipping her champagne. “because this reaction is way better in person.”

“plus, we knew you’d try to back out,” abby says. “and there’s no way we’re letting that happen.”

you stare at the email, your heart pounding. rafe cameron. the golden boy of formula one. the guy whose posters are still taped to your bedroom wall. the one you’ve lowkey crushed on for years. and now, you’re going to meet him.

“oh my gosh,” you whisper, looking up at them. “what am i supposed to say to him? what am i supposed to wear?”

“don’t worry,” jen says, smirking. “we’ve got you covered. now drink your champagne and start practicing your ‘hi, i’m not a complete disaster’ speech.”

abby laughs. “yeah, maybe skip the part where you cried during the monza race last year.”

“shut up!” you say, throwing a pillow at her, but you can’t stop the grin spreading across your face. because for the first time in forever, you’re genuinely, wildly excited.

monday morning feels surreal. the entire weekend at spa-francorchamps had been a dream—a whirlwind of roaring engines, flashing cameras, and the electric buzz of formula one. the race had been the highlight: the screams of the crowd as rafe crossed the line in p3, a hard-fought podium for scuderia ferrari. you’d cheered so loud you thought you might lose your voice, jumping up and down with jen and abby as the tifosi flags waved around you.

now, the reality of what’s about to happen is hitting you like a freight train. you’re sitting at the little dining table in your airbnb, staring at a perfectly brewed cup of coffee you haven’t touched. the sunlight filters through the windows, but it does nothing to calm the swarm of butterflies in your stomach.

“you good?” abby asks, leaning against the kitchen counter as she scrolls through her phone. she’s already dressed for the day, her outfit chic and effortless.

“define ‘good,’” you mumble, tapping your fingers nervously on the table. “because I think I’m having a heart attack.”

jen, who’s been rifling through her makeup bag, snorts. “you’re not having a heart attack. you’re just meeting rafe cameron. no big deal, right?”

“yeah, just the literal guy whose career you’ve followed for years,” abby says, smirking.

“the one you’re constantly defending on twitter,” jen adds with a teasing grin. “you’re basically his unofficial PR rep.”

“you’re both the worst,” you mutter, but there’s no real heat in your voice. you know they’re right.

abby sets her phone down and walks over to you, resting her hands on your shoulders. “listen, you’ve got this. he’s just a guy. a really, really attractive guy who drives at, like, 200 miles per hour for a living. no pressure.”

“you’re not helping,” you groan, burying your face in your hands.

jen laughs, zipping up her makeup bag and tossing it onto the couch. “ignore her. just remember: be cool, don’t fangirl too hard, and for your sake, don’t mention that you cried when he won monza last year.”

“i’m never telling you anything again,” you grumble, but the corners of your mouth twitch upward despite yourself.

after going to the ferrari hospitality room the three of you waited until—a knock at the door makes you freeze. all three of you exchange a look.

“it’s time,” abby says, her voice dripping with mock seriousness.

“go get him, tiger,” jen says, giving you a little shove toward the door.

your heart pounds as you open it, and standing there, in all his post-race glory, is rafe cameron. he’s in a casual scuderia ferrari polo, his signature blond hair slightly tousled, and those piercing blue eyes that seem even more intense in person.

“hi,” you manage to squeak out, which is honestly an achievement considering rafe cameron is standing two feet away from you, looking like he just stepped out of a Ferrari promo shoot.

“hi,” he says again, and the way his voice sounds—low, smooth, a little gravelly—sends your brain spiraling. “i’m rafe… uh, cameron. rafe cameron.”

your heart swells, you were sure your face was heating up. hearing his voice in real life was so much different then in screen. you give him a nod as you replied, “i’m y/n.”

“you ready?”

ready? absolutely not. but you nod anyway, because there’s no way you’re backing out now. “yeah, totally. let’s do this.”

rafe chuckles, his smile growing a little wider, and he gestures toward the bright red Ferrari waiting in the driveway. it’s the sleekest, shiniest car you’ve ever seen, and your heart skips a beat just looking at it.

“after you,” he says, stepping aside to let you pass.

you move toward the car, hyper-aware of every step you take, and slide into the passenger seat. the leather feels buttery-soft beneath you, and the interior smells faintly of something expensive and clean. you fumble with the seatbelt, trying to act casual, but the buckle refuses to click into place.

“uh,” you mumble, feeling your cheeks heat up as you wrestle with it. “this is fine. totally fine.”

“need some help?” rafe asks, already leaning over before you can say no.

your breath hitches as he moves closer, his arm brushing against yours. he smells like a mix of cologne and engine oil, and the proximity is almost too much to handle. his fingers brush yours as he takes the buckle, and you swear you forget how to breathe.

“here,” he says softly, sliding the buckle into place with a satisfying click. “got it.”

“thanks,” you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. you’re hyper-aware of how close he is, his face just inches from yours, his blue eyes catching the light in a way that’s downright distracting.

“no problem,” he says, his gaze lingering on yours for just a second longer than necessary before he pulls back. “safety first, right?”

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, forcing yourself to focus on something—anything—other than the way your heart is pounding.

“right. safety first,” you echo, trying to sound normal, which is nearly impossible when rafe cameron is looking at you like that.

he starts the car, and the engine roars to life, the sound sending a thrill through you. “ready?” he asks again, glancing at you with a small, knowing smile.

“ready,” you say, gripping the edge of your seat like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

but deep down, you know you’re not ready. not for the car, not for the speed, and definitely not for rafe cameron.

the roar of the engine vibrates through the car as rafe pulls out onto the private track, the red Ferrari handling like a dream under his control. you’re gripping the seat, trying to act chill, but the sheer power of the car is making your heart race. or maybe it’s rafe. hard to say.

“so,” he says, his eyes flicking toward you briefly, a small smirk tugging at his lips, “have you ever been in a car like this before?”

“not even close,” you admit, trying not to sound too breathless.

“figured,” he teases lightly, his smirk deepening. “most people don’t have ‘f1 passenger seat’ on their bucket list. you’re kind of unique that way.”

you raise an eyebrow at him, feeling a spark of courage. “unique? is that your way of saying I’m a little weird?”

he laughs, the sound warm and genuine, and it makes you feel oddly triumphant. “no, it’s my way of saying you’ve got good taste. not everyone appreciates what these cars can really do.”

before you can respond, he presses the accelerator, and the car launches forward with a force that presses you back into your seat. a surprised laugh escapes you as the world outside becomes a blur of colors.

“whoa!” you exclaim, gripping the door handle.

“you good?” he asks, glancing at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“i think so,” you manage, your voice tinged with nervous laughter. “just wasn’t expecting that.”

“you’ve gotta trust me,” he says, his tone softening a little. “i’ve done this a couple of times before, you know.”

“oh, really? i had no idea,” you say dryly, earning another laugh from him.

he takes the first corner with surgical precision, the car hugging the curve effortlessly. you can’t help but admire how smooth and controlled his movements are, even at this speed.

“you’re good at this,” you say, half-teasing, half-serious.

“thanks,” he says, shooting you a quick grin. “i try.”

he slows down just enough to let you catch your breath before speeding up again. “so,” he starts, his voice casual, “do you have a favorite driver? besides me, of course.”

you roll your eyes, but you can’t help smiling. “oh, obviously you’re the best,” you say, playing along. “but charles and lewis are up there too.”

“charles, huh?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “i should’ve known you’d be a ferrari loyalist.”

“what can i say?” you reply with a shrug. “i love the drama.”

“well, we’ve got plenty of that,” he says with a chuckle. “but if i ever see you in a lewis hat, it’s over.”

you laugh, the tension in your chest easing just a little. “noted. no lewis merch around you.”

he takes another corner, and you feel the g-force push you sideways. he’s watching you out of the corner of his eye, clearly amused by your reaction.

“you’re handling this pretty well,” he says. “most people scream.”

“i might start,” you say, gripping the seatbelt as he picks up speed again.

he grins, his eyes sparkling. “don’t worry. i’ll slow down if you ask.”

“don’t you dare,” you shoot back, surprising yourself with the boldness in your tone.

his laugh echoes through the car, and for a moment, you forget about the speed, the track, and everything else. it’s just you and rafe, the easy banter between you making the world outside seem far away.

after the ride, your nerves are still humming, but it’s not just from the speed—it’s from him. rafe parks the car back in the paddock with the smooth precision of someone who’s done this a thousand times, then turns to you with that trademark grin that’s equal parts cocky and boyish charm.

“so,” he says, resting an arm on the steering wheel as he looks over at you. “what’d you think? am i as good as the commentators say?”

you let out a laugh, shaking your head. “you’re fishing for compliments already?”

“just curious,” he says, leaning slightly closer. “it’s not every day i drive someone who actually knows the sport. figured you’d have some… constructive criticism.”

you meet his gaze, trying to hold your ground despite the way his blue eyes seem to see right through you. “okay, fine. you’re good. but don’t let it go to your head.”

“too late,” he quips, winking as he steps out of the car and rounds to your side, opening your door before you can do it yourself.

“chivalry?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you step out.

“what can i say? i’m full of surprises,” he replies, and you can’t help the small laugh that escapes you.

stepping out of the car, you’re greeted by the crew from ferrari, their cameras pointed in your direction. you can see the bright red of the team logo on their shirts, and the reality of the situation hits you again—this isn’t just a dream. this is real. and rafe cameron is standing right next to you, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“so,” rafe says, leaning casually against the car, his arms crossed as he looks at you. “what’d you think? was i as good as you imagined?”

you roll your eyes, but the heat creeping up your neck betrays you. “you were fine. nothing i couldn’t handle.”

he laughs, the sound low and warm. “fine? come on, i saw you gripping that seat like your life depended on it.”

“it was a fast car!” you defend, crossing your arms. “anyone would’ve been nervous.”

“i think my soul left my body at least twice.”

he laughs, leaning casually against the car. “you didn’t scream, though. i’ll give you that.”

“oh, i wanted to,” you say, crossing your arms. “but i figured i’d try to keep a shred of dignity.”

“impressive,” he says, his grin widening. “most people lose it after the first corner.”

“what can i say?” you reply, your confidence bolstered by his teasing. “i’m just unique like that.”

his eyebrows lift with a teasing smirk. “oh, really? i should take those words back considering you couldn’t figure out their seatbelt.”

you groan, covering your face with your hands as the crew chuckles behind their cameras. “you’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“not a chance,” he says, his voice full of playful arrogance. “it’s going in the highlight reel for sure.”

“the highlight reel?” you ask, peeking at him through your fingers.

he nods, clearly loving the way he’s flustering you. “yeah, this is all for ferrari’s youtube channel. fans are going to love it. you’re a natural in front of the camera, by the way.”

the ferrari crew exchanges amused looks, clearly loving every second of the interaction. one of them steps forward, holding a mic. “so, what’s the verdict? would you ride with rafe again?”

you glance at rafe, who’s watching you with a smug smile, and decide to play along. “only if he promises not to tease me about the seatbelt ever again.”

“deal,” rafe says immediately, holding out his hand like it’s a serious negotiation.

you shake it, his grip warm and firm, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away.

“all right, that’s a wrap for now,” one of the crew members says, lowering the camera. “great job, both of you.”

“so,” he says, his eyes locked on yours, “any chance you’re sticking around? i owe you a proper debrief. you know, off-camera.”

you laugh nervously, your heart pounding again. “i don’t think i’m qualified for that.”

“sure you are,” he says, that cocky grin firmly in place. “besides, it’s not every day i meet someone who keeps me on my toes.”

you bite your lip, trying to play it cool even as your pulse races. “i’ll think about it.”

“good,” he says, straightening up. “but don’t think too hard. you might miss out.”

as he walks away, the faint smell of cologne and burnt rubber lingering in the air, you realize you’re smiling like an idiot. living in the moment, you remind yourself, and for once, it feels pretty damn good.

you’re pacing the airbnb living room, recounting every detail of your post-drive conversation with rafe to jen and abby. well, trying to, anyway. your thoughts are still jumbled, the memory of his smile and the way he said, “you might miss out” playing on a loop in your head like a song you can’t stop humming.

“wait, wait, wait,” jen interrupts, holding up a hand as she sits cross-legged on the couch, her expression equal parts amused and incredulous. “you’re telling me rafe cameron invited you to hang out after the drive, and you didn’t say yes?”

you stop pacing, throwing your hands up. “i was stressed! it caught me off guard! do you know how many things were going through my head? i literally blanked.”

“girl.” jen’s voice is dripping with disbelief. “how do you blank on that? it’s rafe cameron.” she says his name like it’s your earth’s purpose, as if she can’t believe you’re even capable of such an oversight.

“i know, okay?” you groan, collapsing onto the armchair across from her. “but the cameras were there, and everyone was looking at me, and he was being all… rafe about it!”

abby, who’s been lounging on the other end of the couch scrolling through her phone, looks up with a sympathetic smile. “it’s fine. you’re overthinking it. and, like, you might want to stop, because…” she trails off, her smile growing into something mischievous.

“because what?” you ask, sitting up straight.

“look at your phone,” abby says, her tone light, teasing.

you hesitate, your heart already speeding up. “why?”

“just do it!” jen says, practically bouncing now, her curiosity piqued.

with a sinking feeling in your stomach—and a spark of hope you’re trying to ignore—you grab your phone from the coffee table. as soon as you unlock it, the notification stares back at you, big and bold and impossible to miss.

rafe cameron is following you.

your jaw drops, and for a moment, you can’t even form words.

“well?” jen demands, leaning forward. “what does it say?”

you hold up the screen, and both of them erupt into chaos. jen is practically shrieking, while abby claps her hands together like this is the greatest thing that’s ever happened.

“oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!” jen yells, grabbing your arm and shaking you. “he followed you? this is huge. this is, like, life-changing!”

“it’s just a follow, right?” you mumble, though your face is burning, and you can’t stop the big smile creeping onto your lips. you were scared you were reaching too far.

“just a follow?” abby repeats, her eyebrows shooting up. “girl, this is rafe cameron. this isn’t just a follow; this is game on.”

“okay, but what do i do now?” you ask, your voice edging on panic. “do i follow him back? do i message him? do i do nothing?”

“you follow him back, duh,” jen says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “but don’t message him. play it cool.”

abby shakes her head. “no, you definitely message him. something casual, like, ‘thanks for the drive, it was fun.’ or maybe something flirty, like—”

“no flirty messages,” you interrupt, groaning. “i can’t. i’ll mess it up.”

“you can’t mess it up,” abby says confidently. “trust me, he’s already interested. the ball’s in your court.”

you stare at the notification again, your mind spinning. it’s surreal, like something out of a dream. jen and abby are still debating the best approach, but all you can think about is rafe’s smile, his voice, and the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

finally, you take a deep breath and follow him back.

“there,” you say, holding up the phone like you’ve just defused a bomb. “step one: complete.”

“and now we wait,” jen says, grinning. “but don’t worry. he’s definitely going to make the first move.”

abby smirks, raising an eyebrow. “oh, he’s already made the move.”

[aweina]

౨ৎ. MANSPREAD ( 17﹢) ; mike schmidt

tags fem reader. established relationship. dry humping / heavy petting. begging. no reader orgasm ( boo ! ! ). cocky to submissive mikey + 1.8k words.

mike cannot seem to keep his legs closed. literally. sitting next to him was a total hassle. his legs covering every perimeter of leg space he could reach — leaving your knees buckled together and tucked in whatever corner you’re forced into.

you’ve mentioned his bad habit before, in which he mumbles an indolent “sorry” and then the next day, continues to do the same thing he’s half heartedly apologized for. at this point, you’re not sure he was doing it to press your buttons or his permanent restlessness has caught up with his memory.

then playful slaps on the knee became another idea. a quick sting to his skin kept his reactions stunned, buckling his knees together from your sharp touches. each slap garnered a short cry and a sudden flinch like some invisible string tied his legs together.

it worked, but only for a few days.

now mike catches your wrist halfway from making contact on his knees, gently tugging you down in the corner of the linen couch with a delighted chuckle. either that or he tosses you a knowing glance when you come by the couch, a raised brow and his hands protecting the caps of his knees — glancing his soft hazel eyes towards the tiny empty space beside him.

what a total ass.

all your solutions to stop his leg spreading habit seemed to do nothing for mike. instead, it made him even more repulsive — the spatial width between his legs could nearly reach the arms of the couch, leaving your poor body folded to regain any left over space. then his arms spread along the plush pillows — his rough hand would ever so often teasingly tug at your ears or play with the loose strands of your hair, pulling the ends while playfully twirling it in his finger.

in the corner of your eye, you swore there was a smug smile etched onto his face.

yeah, he’s totally doing this on purpose.

you thought a bit harder after that day. re-enacting different scenarios in your head without it resulting in some unneeded argument — nearly burning abby’s lunch in the process. but like a flash of light, it suddenly hit you. if mike was going to rob you of personal space, why can’t you do so to him?

“um … are you okay?” abby glances up at your blank eyes in concern, the chicken that was supposed to be golden brown violently sizzled from the bubbling oil, grimly layered under a blanket of black charcoal.

“o – oh, yes i’m fine abs.” you assured the smaller schmidt, transferring the hot pan away from the scorching stove — your inner victory delayed by your own clumsiness.

to salvage her burnt meal, you both shared a box of fresh delivered pizza for lunch.

but now it was that time.

it’s nighttime, mike was comfortably splayed on the couch, mindlessly flipping through channels. as it always was, his legs covered every crevice of the couch — body propped completely in between the plush cushions. the gray baggy sweatpants he changed into clung to his frame well — heavily ruffled on the parts you would love to get an eyeful of. his shirt was slightly damp from a warm shower, the gentle curl patterns in his brown hair glistened under the colorful glow of the television.

mike catches your lingering gaze, a pleased smile on his face.

“you’re not going to sit down?” he slurred a quip, patting down on the other end of the couch — seized by his thick thighs.

he refrains from teasing you for your blatant staring, but instead, for your multiple failed attempts to get him to stop his obnoxious leg spreading.

“oh yeah i will.” you mocked his sluggish tone, going to get yourself a cold drink before you make your way over to the couch.

blocking his view from the blaring screen, you purposely bent down in slow motion — distracting him from his vacuous browsing to simply put your drink down. mike quirks a brow at your little act, but still makes no effort to scoot over, barely moving a muscle.

then your body began to engulf his vision, fluorescent light spilling in the sides of your shadow. confusion knitted into his brows until suddenly, the air in his lungs were punched out from an added weight. the heavy crash of your body made mike rasp a curse, making him pathetically adjust himself after being nearly sunken in the folds of the aged couch — one hand clawing at the cushions for some stability.

“r – really? on my lap?” mike managed to breath out, holding your waist steadily with his free hand — your body felt so good flushed against his.

the innocent attempt to adjust himself ended up with him grinding on your ass, eliciting a low groan from his lips.

gosh, he’s too loud.

you hurriedly fish out the remote from his weak grasp, changing the channel to something that could hopefully muffle the pathetic noises that spill from mike’s mouth. abby’s room was still nearby the living room, the lights off and the door completely shut.

“well … you never give me room on the couch, so i think this is fair.” you explained leisurely, tossing the remote to the side as you grappled onto his spread knees, lifting off some weight to rub slow, shallow circles over his clothed cock.

mike fought back a needy whimper, biting his lip until fleshy pink turned paper white. the cooling sensation of his damp hair did nothing from how much his body was burning up. both his hands cling desperately onto the handles of your waist — kneading and lightly grazing his nails in your soft skin.

a throbbing warmth brushed against your clothed clit, mercilessly constricted by the confines of his sweatpants. you fought back a whine yourself, desperately tugging at the gray fabric with sealed lips. every steady brush of your soft flesh made mike see stars, the urge to lift his hips and grind harder into the curve of ass sat heavy in his lust hazed mind. yet his obedience seemed to glimmer brighter than his deviant instincts.

“ha ha- harder – ngh – please go harder.”

he sounded so sweet, so needy. you couldn’t deny him when the pool of his sticky precum oozes through the gray fabric — gossamer strings that weaved your dripping arousal with his own.

“s – stay still then.” you whispered, now fully pressing your weight against his hard cock — your back against his panting chest.

mike does what you ask, gluing his hips down to the cushions.

his heartbeat was racing against time, pumping all the hot blood that rushed down to his cock. his warm breath fanned the back of your neck, sending electric waves down your spine. his touches were sweaty, latching and kneading anything that pertained to softness. the open mouthed kisses he planted on your bare neck blossomed into purple hues, the drag of his teeth and muted whimpers coercing you to absolutely destroy him.

your hips rocked faster on his cock, the throbbing imprint tucked between the curve of your ass. his grip felt extra tight on your hips, reddish crescent marks decorating your flushed skin. mike throws his head back on the couch, his usual deep groans replaced with airy sighs. he closes his eyes, the same stars dancing in his eyelids — your heady scent making it harder for him not to hold you down himself and hump his cock against your pussy.

he’s so close, he can feel it.

“might cum – ah fuck.” mike warns with a high-pitched whine, the blasting audio from the television really doing him a favor.

you can tell too. his cock hasn’t stopped throbbing ever since he’s accidentally grind against you. his seeping precum never seemed to stop, only staining against the seat of the couch. he was like a horny teenager, so desperate to get off and trying so hard to compose himself. not like the asshole who was taking up all the space on the couch.

this was a great plan after all.

with one hard press against his cock, a spill of scorching heat nestled into your clothed pussy — eating through his soiled fabric and coating your covered folds. with no restraint whatsoever, mike’s deep groan vibrated the dimly lit living room, mindlessly bucking his hips lazily over your cunt like he could possibly pump some cum along your walls. the stars that whirled under his lids dispersed into a warm, satisfied feeling all over his usual restless body.

the very last minute, your hands flailed over his panting mouth — looking over to the direction of abby’s room. he seems to realize how loud he was, eyes widening as he hastily grabs onto the discarded remote, amplifying the volume to a considerate tone. not too loud to wake her up but definitely loud enough to cover the after effects of your intense heavy petting.

the light in her room remains untouched, her delicate footsteps nonexistent. she’s still asleep, thank goodness.

still both hazy from your lustful highs, mike drops the remote and snuggles into the crook of your neck — taking in your addicting scent while admiring the love marks he gave you. his cock softened under the soiled fabric, the sticky feeling making him furrow his brows. but then he realizes one thing, the sudden flinch of his body made you alarmed.

“i – i’m sorry. you didn’t get to cum.” mike sheepishly apologizes, fiddling with the waistband of your soiled shorts.

you shook your head with a relieved sigh, leaning back to gently kiss his stubble jawline — combing your fingers through his soft curls, dried on the top but the ends damp with sweat.

“i’m fine, baby, but you can make it up with one thing.” you mumbled in the base of his ear, a playful smile on your face.

in the corner of his eye, he can see the curl of your lips — the sight earning an eye roll.

“i already know what you’re going to say, but let’s hear it.” mike’s voice was baritone next to your flushed face, completely contrasting his previous whines and whimpers.

“give me all the space on the couch for now on.” you laugh when mike groans, still pulling your body closer to his despite this new ordeal.

“okay fine.” he defeatedly mumbles into your shoulder, his rough hands tracing over your bruised hips to your neglected chest — reaching under to knead your soft skin for his own enjoyment.

the moments of comforting silence were therapeutic, not even the continuous dialogue and sound effects from the bulky screen could ruin its peace. there was something still ticking mike off, he didn’t want to ruin this sweet moment but he couldn’t help it.

“are you sure my lap isn’t good enough?” he pleaded, a glint of hope in his hazy eyes — the couch being his only source of possession where he could splay himself comfortably.

you scoffed, rolling your eyes in the back of your head.

“no.”

it was an attempt.

he huffs in defeat, now kneading at your chest for some comfort.

“okay.”

© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

[midnightbluebells03]

Request: The reader and ellie are friends, but the reader doesn't know if she likes girls or not, so ellie offers to let her experiment on her. Friends to lovers and mutual pining. 💓 a happy ending, preferably. Up to you whether or not to include smut!

FALLING INTO ME

CW - hair pulling, mentions of past experiences with men, oral (R receiving), thigh grinding

WC - about 2k - no outbreak AU

Leave me Ellie or Abby requests x

This was wrong right? Infront of you your childhood best friend Ellie sits crossed legged on her bed. The faded plaid sheets that have replaced dinosaurs from her youth clutched in your unforgiving grasp.

"We don't have to do anything" she says barely above a whisper. Like she's afraid to even suggest it. The air is tight, hot, like someone lit a fire and let the smoke invade the room. But there's Ellie. Her hand sitting on your thigh as her thumb swipes across bare skin, the floral sleep shorts you had opteded for letting her trace over it with no barrier. Her back pressed to the headboard like it's the only thing keeping her sitting upright. "I shouldn't have said anything I'm sorry". Her hand retreats with a slight tremble.

Just ten minutes ago you were sharing a bottle of some cheap wine Ellie had got from the corner store. Giggling and reminiscing on your intertwined lives, awkward teen phases that melted into adulthood when you let it slip.

You think you might like girls.

Of course you weren't sure, you'd never done anything with a girl, but all your experiences with boys just felt empty. Felt like a chore more than fun. And who better to tell than Ellie? She had been out for years, having had her fair share of girlfriends despite her slightly awkward attitude at times. When the word 'experiment' left your lips you saw a glint in her eyes.

It made her pause, wipe her mouth with the back of her hand and place the bottle onto the nightstand. Making space for it amongst the clutter. The way she looked at you made you tilt your head in confusion, until she opened her mouth.

"You could experiment with me"

"Ellie" you finally speak up, grasping her wrist gently to halt her movement. Fingers grazing over her tattoo and making her gaze snap from the floor to your eyes. God she did really have the prettiest eyes. You'd always thought so, oftentimes comparing the hues to the fresh grass during summer or the moss growing deep in your parents garden. "I want to"

"Yeah?" She looks like she doesn't believe you, eyebrows slightly knitted together. You swallow hard before nodding, Ellie beckons you over with her hand. "Cm'here" when you inch closer you can't help but watch how Ellie flicks her tounge over her slightly chapped lips. Feeling her slowly move to hold onto your waist as you start to straddle her lap while your hands rest on her shoulders. "If you want to stop just tell me okay?"

"Promise" you feel your heart speed up as Ellie leans in. Far enough where you could kiss her but she let's you make the choice. So you do. Pressing your lips to hers and letting your eyes flutter shut.

And it makes it feel like a firework has went off in your chest.

The two of you mesh together like puzzle pieces, soft and slow while your mind races with a million thoughts. You can feel how Ellie is holding back, her hands not moving from their position on your waist. But after a few minutes when you rock your hips forward slightly you could almost swear she groans into your mouth. So you do it again, making her pull back from the kiss.

"Can I touch you?" She was always like this, always asking a million question. Things like if you wanted the last slice of pizza or what movie to put on. She always let you take the lead, like she was afraid of making the wrong choice. You nod but she just chuckles softly. "Words darling" it makes you want to clentch your thighs together, the way her her accent slips into that semi texan drawl that she picked up from Joel.

Your hands come over the top of hers, guding her up and under your tank top "Please Els"

Her fingers are calloused from the years of guitar, running up your skin slowly. Too slowly. But you don't want to complain, not with the way she's looking at you. Eyes following her hands as she pushes the fabric further up your body. You decide to speed it up a little. Taking the fabric in your own hands and pulling it over your head, throwing it somewhere in the room.

Normally this is when you'd start to feel weird. Your body would almost stiffen and your brain would be flooded with thoughts of leaving. A deep guilt or twisted knot in your throat.

But not now.

Not with Ellie.

Instead your stomach tightens at how her eyes take you in. Slowly scanning over you like you're the most breath taking thing she's even seen. Her hands pause just before reaching your breasts, her pupils so blown her green eyes as almost black as she looks up at you.

"Take it off?" She whispers. Her finger coming up to ghost over the band of your bra. You nod, reaching around with shaky hands to undo the clasp. Letting the bra fall onto Ellie's lap in the sliver of space between you two. She picks it up and moves it to the side, carefully. Like it was priceless even though it was the cheapest one you owned. Some target bralette that was on sale. It was nothing like how your previous partners treated your belongings. With them it was always thrown across the room like trash, nothing more than an obstacle to their pleasure. "You're so- you're just so- fuck" Ellie mumbles before chewing on her bottom lip. Her cheeks flushed the sweetest shade of pink as her hands slowly creep up your sides, inching towards your breasts.

"Ellie" you whine softly, the ache between your legs become worse with every passing second. Like you were dying for her to just touch you. It makes her lock eyes with you, as her thumb runs over your nipple. Making them stiffen and forcing a soft gasp from your lips.

"Just tell me what you want baby" her lips trail down your neck slowly as she mumbles into your skin. "I'll give you everything just tell me"

Your voice cracks slightly as you finally manage to say "Touch me"

You can feel as a slight smirk creeps onto her lips. Her fingers continuing to toy with your nipples. Just enough to make you needy but not enough to scratch the itch in your core. "I am". The faux innocence in her voice makes you roll your eyes.

"Ellie" you huff, feeling your face heat up at what you're about to say. "Fuck me please? Wanna know what it's like" with that Ellie leans into your neck fully while her hands keep on your chest, starting to place kisses down your skin as your head tips back. You can feel her smile as she moves further down, nipping slightly at your pulse point. Your hand moves to her hair, gripping softly while your hips uncontrollably start to rock against her. Desperate for any friction. Ellie pulls back but before you can complain she taps your hip.

"Straddle my thigh" you tilt you head confused but she gives you a smile before brushing a lose strand of hair out your face. "Trust me". So you do what she's asks, shifting until your legs are either side of her thigh. Ellie brings her hands to your hips, starting to steadily rock you against her. You gasp then moan softly. Almost teary eyed at finally getting some real touch from her. Even if it's clad by several layers of fabric. "See? How's that feel?"

"Good" you say with a shaky voice as Ellie sets your pace. Guiding you with a tight grip. "Feels good Ellie fuck"

"Mm" she coos softly, kissing over your collarbones before nipping at the sensitive spot where your neck and shoulder meet. "Just gotta get you ready yeah? Get you all wet for when I fuck you so good you'll forget about all the guys that couldn't make you cum". Her lips move down to your hardened nipples, wrapping around one of them as you throw you head back in pleasure.

Now this Ellie?

This was a whole new person. Like her awkward shell broke away and left someone who you were going to be thinking about forever. Suddenly all the girls she managed to get with make sense, because she's hardly touched you and you're soaking through your panties.

"Fuck" your hands tighten on her shoulders as her tounge rolls over your nipple. You still your hips, almost afraid that she'll make you cum just from this and that makes her pause. Detaching from you with a confused look.

Her eyebrows knit together and her hand comes up to cup your hot cheek. "You okay?"

Maybe it's the wine, maybe it's the years of subtle crushing. Or maybe it's the way your almost certain there's a wet patch on Ellie's pyjama bottoms but you can't help stumbling out. "Fuck me Ellie"

Her hand snakes back down to your hip and she flips you over, making you squeal as your back hits the sheets. A slight giggle leaving your lips before Ellie crashes hers with yours. Her hand moving down your stomach to the band of your shorts. She pulls back but you don't give her a a chance to ask, already pulling off your shorts and panties. Kicking them onto the floor as Ellie moves down to between your legs.

"What you doing?" You ask with a slight tilt to your head, propping yourself onto your elbows to look down at her.

"What's it looks like?" She asks with a slight chuckle, starting to pepper kisses up your inner thighs but pausing before reaching your dripping pussy. "What? No one eat you out before?". Her smile fades when you shake your head, eyes darting between you and the sight before her. "That's just criminal dude"

Before you can comment on the fact she's just called you dude her tounge licks a fat strip through your folds. Making you gasp and grip the sheets. Skilled tounge circling your clit while her eyes stay focused on you. With a certain flick your hand flies to grab onto her auburn locks, tugging from the root as Ellie moans into you.eyes fluttering shut as your hips start to rutt against her face, changing a high you've never even come close to with others.

"Ellie" you whine as your back arches, soft pants filling the room as her hands creep up your hips and pull you closer. Making you moan so loudly you're almost certain anyone walking by outside would've heard. "Fuck, fuck, Els- gonna-!". Ellie doesn't falter, doesn't give you a second to breath as your orgasm rushes through you. Hips desperately trying to escape Ellie's grasp as she works you through it, no sign of caring about the way your thighs clamp around her head unforgivingly.

By the time she pulls away to lick your slick from her lips your brain is fuzzy. Staring up at the same ceiling you helped pull glow in the dark stickers off as Ellie taps your shin.

"You...you okay?" Her voice sounds so small. You finally manage to hold yourself up to look at her. Lips swollen from your teeth sinking into them and face hot to the touch.

"That...Els that-" your words get caught in your throat so instead you reach for the collar of her shirt. Pulling her up until your lips crash together, the taste of yourself filling your mouth as Ellie places a hand on the back of your neck.

When you two part she gives you a cocky smile. Gliding her fingers across your cheek before moving the loose babyhairs out of your face. "I'm gonna take that as a five star review then?"

You giggle before fake thinking. "Hmm I don't know Els think I need to try it again, yknow get all the data".

She nods with pursed lips, a serious expression taking over her face. "For science".

"For science".

[ask-the-totally-real-peppino]

Hey peppino, do I see a...

A ring??? Are you married to someone??? How's the lucky guy/girl my man??? :00

Peppino: "A ring...? I'm not... Wearing a ring...?"

Peppino: "Not-a sure where the sudden interest in my relationship status came from, but no, I'm not married, and I have never been married."

Peppino: "Maybe-a someday, but I haven't even-a been on the dating scene in a long time..."

Peppino: "But enough about that! Pep, are you alright?"

Pep: "My head hurts a little... But I'm okay."

Peppino: "Well, it-a has been quite the couple of hours for you. Probably getting a bit of a headache from overstimulation. How about you sit in the main room, and I'll get you some water, okay?"

Pep: "Okay."

Pep: "Xob ym dah I hsiw I... Ecaps hcum oot... Ereh tuo thgirb oot..."

Pep: "Niaga tegrof I neht dna... Truh daeh ym sekam... Sneppah ti nehw em sesufnoc ti... Em si ti tub... Em ton s'ti tub... Sgniht rebmemer... I, semitemos... Yako m'i..."

Pep: "Oot ti was... Sdneirf tub...?"

[luveline]

hey love! first of all: i have to admit i started watching criminal minds for the first time earlier this year only bc of your spencer fics! can we get more stripper!reader and spencer? love your writing!!!

thank you!! It’s a slow routine. You begin in a crouch in your underwear, just like at the club. Chest to your knees, arms twisted with the backs of your hands touching. But, unlike at the club, this underwear is comfortable. There’s nobody watching, and you won’t make any tips. You don’t have a pole nor a stage. 

You run through the routine but forgo any pole tricks. You stretch for long, slow minutes, dancing from one space to another. The music in your head isn’t anything you’d play at home, but it works to keep time. You end on your knees again. 

It’s not fun. 

You stretch toward your phone and pick it up. Spencer’s texted you twice in the ten minutes you weren’t on it. 

Hi gorgeous, the first begins, do you want to sleep over? I can make you dinner. 

The second, Sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever called you gorgeous before, is that weird? Please come over and pretend I didn’t say that if it was weird

A third pops up while you’re reading. Can I come get you? 

You text him back with pleasure. He’s the only guy in your life who talks to you just to talk, without thinking he could fuck you if he says enough right things, even though he has fucked you. Hi babe you can call me anything it’s not weird, I’ll come over! Not working this week, maybe I can stay two days(?) let me know so I can pack enough clothes 

You can stay all week, if you want to. I miss you 

You imagine him holding his phone, his cheeks pink with blush. 

I miss you too, you text back. 

Just bring what you want to and we can work it out later

Working it out later could mean anything with Spencer. He’s silly enough to try and put you in his clothes, and generous enough to take you shopping if it saves the time it takes to drive you home. 

You’ve packed a bag of clothes and shower things when your phone rings. Spencer’s contact photo covers the whole screen, the two of you together with your face cut out, his smile wide. You were both a teeny bit tipsy. 

“Hello?” you answer, bringing the phone to your ear. 

“Hi!” He sounds nervous. “I’m outside. Am I gonna get towed?” 

“Not if you stay in the car. I’m on my way down right now.” 

“Okay, see you in a second,” he says. 

He never looks comfortable behind a steering wheel. You aren’t sure why he doesn’t sell his car, maybe because it’s dirt cheap to maintain. He never seems happy to be driving is all. 

He smiles when you approach his door, which is better. He rolls down the window. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. You bend at the knees to see him better. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I had a weird feeling about you, like you weren’t alright.” 

You lean down further. “I’m okay.” 

He grins. You’re waiting for a kiss he doesn’t give, finding yourself a subject for his staring, completely still as his gaze follows around your face. He makes no move to kiss you, and for a moment insecurity blossoms. 

“Well, you look okay. Are you getting in? It’s cold,” he says, nodding toward the passenger side.

“No help with my bags?” you ask, closing the door when he tries to open it. “Kidding.” 

You round the hood and climb inside. Then Spencer kisses you, polite but emphatic, one on your lips and another just under your jaw as he squeezes your shoulder. You feed into them lovingly.

“Maybe you can stay at my place forever? That way I can stop missing you all the time,” he says, pulling away slowly. 

“And when the mystery is gone?” you ask. 

“I don’t want mystery with you.” 

Spencer takes your bag from your lap and shoves it into the back seat. You drop the smaller one on your shoes. 

“Do you wanna get pizza or something?” he asks. 

You hold your jaw where he’d kissed you. “Sure,” you say, tingles of his kiss lingering under your hand. 

“Or Chinese? What do you want?” 

You want more kisses, but you love that he always gives you options. “Pizza for sure. Curly fries, too. Hold my hand?” 

Spencer takes it with gusto over the gearstick, and whatever felt like it was missing earlier fills itself in. “Wait,” you say softly, before he can take the car out of park, “just…” You grab his side and drag him toward you for a hug. Holding hands wasn’t gonna be enough —Spencer doesn’t know it yet, but you love him, love how safe he makes you feel, love how fun he makes your life. You can be yourself with him, no matter who that really is.

Spencer holds you, his hand across your shoulder blade rubbing soft lines. 

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two Three Four Five

“Called?”

“Errr…well.” Steve goes over to where Eddie is sitting on the kitchen floor, and opens the cupboard door, “this part,” Steve swings the door forwards and back, “door,” he closes the cupboard, “cupboard.”

Eddie seems to ponder this before moving across the kitchen and opening the fridge, “door?”

“Yeah, but that,” Steve points, “is the fridge.”

“Idge.”

“Yeah.”

“Idge door,” Eddie swings the door a little to demonstrate.

“You got it.”

Eddie pulls a pear out of the bottom of the fridge, “called?”

“Pear.”

“Pearrrr.”

“Yeah.”

Eddie nods.

“Called?”

“Chair.”

Eddie nods, then points to the couch, “chair?”

“Kinda’, but it’s actually called a couch,” Eddie cocks his head, and Steve knows he’s said too many words, so he points to the couch and says, “couch.”

“Couch.” Eddie nods. “Stee. Eddidie. Couch. TV. Pear.”

“Yeah, sure, we can definitely do that later.” Eddie cocks his head, “uhm. Stee finished for little bit,” Steve brings his hands together to try and indicate a short amount of time. Eddie frowns at him, “Stee go out.” And Steve points to the front door of the house.

Eddie nods, heading into the dining room to look out of the window onto the front drive, pointing, “called?”

“Car.”

“Stee Eddidie car?”

“No. Stee later- oh shit, now you’ve got me doing it. Steve later.”

Eddie moves back through the house, Steve following curiously, watching as Eddie goes into the fridge and pulls out a beer, showing Steve, “lat-er?”

“Yeah! Yeah that’s right buddy, you got it.”

Eddie smiles big, showing off his only slightly pointy teeth.

“He’s a prick Rob, I need to you bat your lashes at him and get us both on the same shifts. Have you seen his stupid duty rosta thing? You’re all on opens, with him, and I’m all on closes with that pizza faced waste of space-!”

“Yeah, I saw, it’s shit, I’ll see what I can do.”

Steve had come into the front door just as Eddie had come in the back, Steve can only assume he’d heard the beemer pull up, and now he’s waiting patiently while Steve talks to Robin on the phone.

“Be kind, rewind.”

“Christ, he said it about forty thousand times, like he came up with it himself.”

“I know! That’s what I thought,” Eddie’s tugging gently on Steve’s shirt, “hang on Eddie’s here, what is it buddy?”

Eddie points at the phone receiver in Steve’s hand, “called?”

“Oh, it’s a phone.”

“One,” Eddie says, but he’s frowning and shaking his head, he leans up to tap the plastic, “called?”

“Oh, do you mean...it’s Robin. Birdie. I’m talking to Birdie, you want to say hi?”

“Hi Birdidie.”

“No, here,” and Steve hands Eddie the receiver.

He takes it carefully, gingerly putting it to his ear, “hi Birdidie.”

Steve can’t hear what Robin says, but Eddie frowns and then carefully volunteers, “beer later,” another brief pause before Eddie says, “Stee good,” and then Steve almost startles when Eddie says “bye bye Birdidie,” and hands back the phone.

“Robs did you just say ‘bye bye’ to him?”

“No, he did it himself, why is that new?”

“Yeah, no idea where he got that from, unless the TV maybe...hey, Eddie, you been watching TV?”

Eddie nods, “Eddidie couch pear TV.”

Steve snorts, “you stuck to your plan without me then, huh?”

In his ear, Robin says, “he’s picking all this up real fast Steve, you’re doing a great job, I think.”

“Thanks. Hopefully soon he will get to the point where he can like...tell us things.”

“Yeah, hopefully.”

“Uhm...no good. Bad.”

Eddie tilts his head, “work bad,” he says with absolute certainty, making Steve laugh.

“You don’t like me going to work?”

“Stee inied bad.”

“Awwww buddy, that’s sweet.”

“Sweet.”

“Okay, so this is a walkie talkie.”

“Alkie talkie.”

“Yeah, and it’s like the phone, so you press this button,” Steve demonstrates, startling Eddie when static blasts from the other walkie he has. “Here, you have this one, remember, press the button,” Eddie takes it, holding it to his chest as he sits in his tent, “right, stay.”

Steve jogs into the house, closing the door behind him and going out of sight, pressing the button, “hello Eddie,” he hopes Eddie picks this up pretty quickly, since he’s mastered the buttons for the TV just fine.

There’s a long pause, long enough that Steve thinks he’s going to have to go outside and show Eddie again, then there’s a cautious, “Stee?” And then it goes quiet, so Eddie let go of the button, which is great considering Steve didn’t even tell him that part.

“Hi buddy. You good?”

“Eddidie good. Stee good?”

“Yeah, I’m great.”

“Beer later?”

Steve laughs, muttering ‘I’ve created an alcoholic,’ to himself as he heads back outside, satisfied Eddie knows how to use the walkie. That was way easier than Steve thought it would be.

“Called?” Eddie pokes Steve in the face. His nails aren’t sharp exactly, but they are kinda pointed. Plus they must be like, super strong.

“Ow,” Steve says, but its more reflexive than anything, and then rubs his face, “come on man, you know my name.”

Eddie scowls, but does say, “sorry.” It’s not long before he comes back, poking Steve again, “called?” he demands, poking Steve yet again in the side of his neck.

Steve flaps at him, “hey. Personal space. And they’re moles. Moles. Leave them alone.”

“Mollleeees?” Eddie queeries.

“Yeah. Moles. Like...they’re just there. It’s fine.”

“Moles.” Eddie replies, deadpan, looking at Steve like he’s absolutely full of shit.

Steve nods again, “uh hu, moles.”

Eddie sits for a minute before he slithers off, going half into his tent before he comes back. He moves a little awkwardly, one hand being occupied with carrying his book, but he manages to bring it to Steve where he’s sitting on a pool chair.

He lays the book out on the chair next door, flicking confidently through it’s now well worn pages until he finds the one he wants, he turns it, holding it up to show Steve with a very accusatory look on his face, “moles!”

He says it with the same tone you’d call someone a liar.

He’s showing Steve the page of The Eastern Mole. He’s presenting it like he’s just won an argument.

Steve sighs, “oh boy,” because he does clearly remember reading that page to Eddie.

Steve lies on the living room floor, Eddie lying nearby. Eddie can hold a pencil fine, even if his grip is a little odd because of the webbing between his fingers. So far Steve’s written out the alphabet, numbers one to ten, the days of the week, the months, and Eddie’s own name.

Eddie’s been copying them all dutifully, line after line, and he is kind of getting it. His handwriting is picking up fast at least.

“I’ll get more paper next time I go out. Some proper stuff with lines on.”

Eddie’s frowning at what he’s doing, a look of great concentration on his face, eyebrows drawn together into a frown, tip of his tongue poking absently between his teeth. They’ve been inside long enough that his hair has completely dried; it goes all bouncy and curly when it’s completely dry, but it’s still completely black.

“Eddidie go out?”

“No buddy, you stay.”

“Stay?”

“Yeah, it’s safe here.”

Eddie hums, carefully writing his own name.

Eddie had watched curiously as Steve and Robin had moved all the furniture, but hadn’t investigated. He’s lying on the grass, copying whatever takes his fancy from his book and into one of his lined notepads.

His tail is half curled in the air, the tip flapping back and forth, like Eddie has his knees bent.

“He’s definitely put on weight, it’s really noticeable to me now.”

“Yeah, I think so too, but I see him all the time so it’s probably more obvious to you.”

The kids wanted to do a little get together today, maybe get the grill out. Steve backed it; this is probably one of the last nice days they’re going to have this year. If they don't come up with a plan sometime soon, Eddie might find himself wintering in Steve’s bathtub.

They decided to move the furniture away from the pool so they didn’t stress Eddie out, and they’re far enough away that, when the first kids arrive, Eddie does sit up, but doesn’t immediately move towards the water, which is a win.

“Just play it cool okay, ignore him and he might come to you. Don’t you little dipshits stress him out.”

By some miracle, the kids seem to actually listen. Steve keeps it simple, grills up a bunch of burgers and some hot dogs. The vegetable skewers that Robin made. The kids play on the lawn and generally enjoy the sunshine. Steve keeps half an eye on Eddie. He gets in the water a couple of times; mostly when the kids horsing around gets too loud for him, otherwise he seems content to lie on the grass with his book and his pencils. He's got his shades on, but his skin is so milky pale Steve worries vaguely that he should be putting sun lotion on him.

He supposes a lifetime in a place with no sun will do that to you.

It’s late afternoon when the kids settle in, finding jackets and pull overs as the dusk starts to darken the sky. They’re quiet now, tired out, they just sit and talk.

“He’s there,” Max says, nodding.

Steve turns, she’s right. Eddie’s maybe fifteen feet away.

“Don’t make a big deal,” Steve tells them. He takes a sip of his beer, and then leans back, setting the bottle on the grass. Then he makes a point of ignoring it, “just keep talking okay, don't freak him out.”

The kids are pretty shit at keeping the conversation going now there’s a distraction, and they’re all blatantly watching Eddie. Steve can hear him moving across the grass, so he dares a look; Eddie’s maybe two feet back, sipping the beer.

“Eddie?” Eddie cocks his head, not seemingly over stressed by the situation, “who is that?” And he points.

“Dust bin,” Eddie replies, confidently.

All the kids are lost to fits of sniggering giggles. All except Dustin, who looks suitably affronted.

Part Seven

[lipglossanon]

Dirty Little Secret

Stepson!Leon S. Kennedy x Stepmom!Reader <one shot>

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pseudo incest, cheating, loveless marriage? lol, mommy kink, breeding kink, mentions of lactation kink, dirty talk, noncon, slight somno, mention of a rape play scenario, unprotected sex, creampie

not proofread ✍️ just smut

title from Dirty Little Secret by The All American Rejects

You thought it was love. This guy wined and dined you then showed you the world. So when he proposes to you only three months into your relationship, you’re so smitten that you agree before he even finishes asking. 

It must’ve been the honeymoon phase because a year later, you’re stuck at home while he galivants around the globe for his business. It’s not like you have a hard time, but you’re lonely, done begging for attention from a man who apparently just wanted someone to live in his empty house while he’s gone. 

Then after months of stilted phone calls and cut short video chats, he drops by only to surprise you with a son from a previous marriage. Something you knew nothing about. After introducing Leon to you, he leaves him there—some flimsy excuse of letting you two get to know each other—and is off again once more. 

Leon smiles at you as his dad leaves, “Sorry to drop in like this.”

Your frown smooths out as you take a deep breath, “Not your fault, sorry if I’m off kilter. He didn’t even tell me about you til now.”

You wince after saying the words out loud but Leon only laughs. 

“It’s okay. I’ll stay out of your hair as much as possible.”

You wave your hand, “Don’t be silly, it’ll be nice to have company again.”

He smiles again but this one makes you feel a little more on edge, something about the way it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“Well then, I’m sure we’ll get on like a house on fire.”

You settle into a new routine, Leon fitting into your day to day pretty easily. He’s sarcastic and mouthy, but it beats only having yourself for company. Your husband dropped off his son in late January and it’s now early May; it’s like you blinked and realized you haven’t even had anyone else visit except for Leon’s actual mom. (She’s surprisingly a sweetheart and quite helpful even if she makes Leon all moody to have her in your shared space). 

It’s after one such visit that left Leon in an irritable mood where you decide to have a little movie night in order to cheer him up. You’re unsure as to what started it this time, but the ex missus just gave you a quick smile and wave goodbye as Leon stormed off upstairs. Taking in a deep breath, you rap your knuckles on his closed door and listen for any movement.

Half a minute passes by before you hear him walk over and open the door. You take in his sweats and loose white tee. Good, it doesn’t look like he's headed out—you tilt your head before looking back up into his face. 

“Yes?” He raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms, a corner of his lips ticking up into a half smile. 

“Wanna watch some shitty horror movies and order pizza?” You smile, pleased with yourself when he drops his arms. 

“Sure,” he shrugs, tossing his phone back onto his bedspread and pushing you away from his door, closing it behind him, “w’nna order a cheese pizza?”

“Sounds good,” you lead him back downstairs, flopping down on the couch and grabbing your phone. 

Leon sits on the cushion next to you, leaning over to watch as you scroll through the app. 

“Want any sides or anything?” You ask, attention still on your phone. 

“Pizza’s plenty.”

You feel his breath ghost across your neck and it sends a chill down your spine. Scrunching your shoulders up, you laugh and bump against his side. 

“That tickles, Leon,” you shift a little and you feel him move to face the television. 

Once you place the order, you lock your phone and sink into the couch. Leon’s close enough you can feel his body heat, but you know if you move he’ll end up next to you again. It’s something you’ve noticed over the time that he’s stayed here; you’ve only brought it up once and he admitted he likes being close since he misses his mom. 

You frown to yourself as Leon channel surfs, not wanting to start any movies only for it to be interrupted by the delivery guy. For him to miss his mom so much, he’s always pissy when she visits. Maybe he’s just salty that she let him end up living here with you? Glancing over at him, he notices you looking and shoots you a grin. 

“Have any idea on what movie we start with?”

You return his grin and drum your fingers against your thigh, “Hmmm, you ever watch Spookies?”

He shakes his head, “I’m assuming it’s bad?”

“The worst but in the best way,” you laugh.

He studies you for a moment. 

“Thanks for trying to cheer me up.”

Giddy warmth bubbles in your chest, “Of course, Leon. I know the situation probably isn’t ideal, but I’ll take care of you.”

He laughs low in his throat, “We’re nearly the same age.”

You wave him off, “Yeah, yeah, but I’m still older though.”

Lapsing into a companionable silence, you mindlessly watch as Leon zips through different shows until the doorbell rings. After stuffing your faces with pizza, you settle in comfortably on the couch, feet laying over Leon’s lap after he tugged your legs away from you. 

“No reason to stay curled up like that,” he pats your calf. 

Unsure how to feel, you eventually relax into him. If it doesn’t bother him, then why should it bother you? The heat from his lap must lull you to sleep because the next thing you know is blinking your eyes open to some random movie playing on the tv. Another beat and you groggily glance down your body at the new weight pressing you into the cushions. 

Sandy blonde hair fills your vision as you feel Leon softly suck a nipple into his mouth. Without you noticing, he has pushed your flimsy shirt up and tugged your bra cups down. Squirming under him only leads to him sighing softly, eyes fluttering shut as he licks around your stiff peaks. 

“Stop, stop,” you pant, feeling sluggish and out of sorts, arms and legs feeling wooden as sleep tries to cling to your senses.

Leon only laughs and goes back to softly sucking on your nipples, mouth drifting from one hard bud to the other with quick swipes of his tongue. 

“But mommy, you said you’d take care of me,” his low voice raises the hair on your arms, “mmm, and what I really need is to suck your sexy tits.”

There’s no denying the rush of slick that fills the gusset of your panties. 

“S’wrong, Leon,” you counter, weakly crying out when he gently bites your nipple. 

“Maybe, but I think you need this, need me to take care of you. After all, my dad’s not going to,” he growls and roughly sucks the puckered skin around your stiff bud, “you need a husband who wants to stuff your hot little pussy.”

A loud keening moan leaves your mouth before you can clamp your lips shut.

His eyes are bright as a grin lights up his face, “See? C’mon, no one has to know that you let your stepson dick you down on the couch.”

Hips jumping, you mewl as he goes back to lapping at your nipples, hands coming up to grope the soft fat of your breasts. 

“Been waiting for this,” he murmurs into your sternum, mouth leaving a trail of hot kisses across your skin, “fuck, I’ve wanted you so bad, mommy.”

The condescension in that one word makes you drip, pussy throbbing for more than just words. 

“W-we shouldn’t though,” you try to get a grip on yourself, hands hovering over his hair, “god, I’m married to your father.”

“Is he here? Is he ever here?” He raises up and sneers at you, “never around when you need’em huh?”

Raising up onto his haunches he gives you a nasty smirk, “But that’s why you have me now. I’m gonna pound your hot little pussy day and night. Maybe it’ll even make you a real mommy.”

“Leon!” You gasp, nipples tightening at the thought, hands digging into the couch.

But he’s telling the truth. Your husband is never home— hasn’t called you back and barely replies to texts. You’ve been lonely and neglected even before Leon got here; so what if it’s wrong? It won’t kill anyone just to go along with him this one time. So that’s what you decide to tell him. 

“This one time,” you whisper, biting your lip as you give in to him, “just once.”

He laughs, “Sure, I can work with that.”

Once turns into twice. 

“It’s still just the one time,” you pant as he fucks into your squelching pussy, face mashed against the armrest of the couch, “it’s still the same round.”

“Sure, mommy,” he murmurs in your ear and you clamp down on him tighter, “whatever you say.”

Which turns into three and four and then five…

By the next afternoon, you're bouncing on your stepson’s fat cock in your own marriage bed. 

“Fuck, fuck, I need it, please, I wanna cum,” you whimper, grinding down onto Leon’s dick, “please.”

“Take it then, mommy, take your son’s cock deep in that little pussy,” he growls, thumb rubbing your clit in tight rough circles. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, eyes rolling back as Leon’s fat tip kisses your cervix, “god, it’s so good.”

“Yeah? Better than dad’s?” Leon asks, flashing you a smug little smile. 

“Uh huh,” you whine, hands pressing on his broad chest so you can ride him harder, “you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.”

“Goddamn,” he growls, grabbing your waist and flipping you onto your back. 

Pulling halfway out, he bullies his cock back into your sopping wet hole, pace fast and hard making you wail as he rams against your g-spot. 

“Tell me mommy, tell me who’s making this fat pussy feel so good,” he pinches your nipples, “c’mon mommy, say it.”

“You,” you whimper, tears clumping your lashes, “you’re making mommy’s pussy feel so good.”

“Who?”

“My son,” you cry out as he tugs your nipples roughly, “my son’s filling my pussy and making me cum.”

“Good girl, mommy,” he coos mockingly and you squeeze his cock, pussy walls snug and wet around his thick length. 

“I’ve given you so many creampies,” he sighs, “fuck, I hope one of them takes. Wanna drink your milk.”

You shudder, hips stilling, “That’s so—”

“Hot?” He slaps your thigh and you start grinding on his cock again, “these tits leaking milk for me would be a dream come true. Let me breed you, mommy.”

“I can’t,” you mewl, clit throbbing as you rock your hips into his thrusts, “can’t get knocked up by my stepson.”

Leon groans, “It’ll just be the one time. Besides, I’ve been dumping load after load into this tight little cunt. We both know you want it, mommy. Making that pussy crave to have me stuffing her to the brim.”

You lean forward, face pressing against his neck as you moan brokenly. 

“I shouldn’t,” you hiccup, hips writhing as Leon reaches underneath you to grip your ass. 

“It’ll be our little secret,” he humps your pussy, cock knocking against your cervix and making you squeal, “let me breed you, mommy. Let your son breed your fat pussy.”

“I’m gonna cum,” you slur, mouth panting and drooling against his skin, “oh god, you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Next time, I want you to fight me,” he whispers in your ear and you moan, “fight me so when I pin you down, I’ll be raping your hot wet pussy until you cream all over my cock, mommy.”

Your nails dig into his back and you scream, orgasm wiping out your thoughts as your body thrashes under Leon.

“I’m cumming, fuck, mommy, gonna fill you up again,” he rambles, hips pistoning his cock in and out of your pussy as you continue to orgasm. 

The last thing you see is Leon’s blue eyes staring down at you as your pussy milks his cock while he spurts rope after rope of thick cum inside your clenching hole. 

You wake up sometime later with Leon running his fingers along your arm and shoulder. 

“You okay?”

You hum and nod, stretching out along the bed, feeling a slight twinge in your hips. 

“May’ve over done it,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands. 

Leon laughs and drops a kiss to your head. 

“Yeah I got that after you passed out.”

Giggling, you turn on your side to face him. 

“Need to drink more water I guess.”

He nods, a funny sort of smile overtaking his features. 

“You’re not gonna tell anyone right?”

You scoff and roll your eyes, “Why would I? Even if we’re both adults, I don’t think anyone’s gonna be happy it happened.”

Sighing, you push up until you can swing your legs over the side of the bed. 

“I’m gonna take a shower.”

Standing up, your thighs shake but you’re able to walk over to the en-suite bathroom. At the doorway, you turn back to see Leon staring at you, a hungry look in his eyes. You bite your lip knowing what you’re about to say isn’t a good idea, but what the hell. You’re already in it this far. 

“If you wash my back, I’ll wash yours,” tone flirty as you smile at him. 

Not waiting for an answer, you walk into the bathroom, listening as the sheets ruffle from Leon climbing out of bed to follow you.