#left a huge comment under the fic

[stimtfil]

"Sang Woo, what's going on?"

[blkkizzat]

ꨄ︎『Toji x TumblrSmutWriter!Reader』ꨄ︎

Toji x TumblrSmutWriter!Reader

18+ Minors - DNI

Summary: You shouldn't have left your phone out in the open bestie because now Toji just discovered his cute lil gf has a big slutty imagination and that means you're really in for it ❤︎ . CW: daddy/dilf kinks, humiliation, backshots, outdoor sex, toys, voyerism, breeding, overstimulation, lots of mentions of various kinks, light spanking, light spit play, meta concepts WK: 4.2k Black fem reader coded but no descriptors.

A/N: Y’all can blame my forgetting to take my adhd meds and my hangover yesterday for this one. I was laying on my bathroom floor regretting life choices, waiting on McDs Doordash and thinking up outlines for kinktober when this popped into my head. I thought it would be a quick drabble like 1k words to help my writers block with the "Bumpy Ride" Geto fic but lord knows I can't write shit under 3k, who am I foolin? I don’t even have a song inspo for how spontaneous and random this shit was lmfao but I still had to do a graphic for this one regardless (editing those notifications were hell). Edit- I lied the song inspo is: Girls Need Love Remix - Summer Walker ft. Drake.

Enjoy!

Imagine you are dating Toji and he finds out you secretly write Tumblr smut fics on the low. 

He comes over to your apartment one night after one of his ‘jobs’ ran late. He has a key, but is wondering where the hell you are as you usually greet him at the door. Going into your bedroom, he finally hears you in adjoining bathroom shower. 

Toji begins to strip down in order to join you but he barely has his shirt off before he notices your phone blowing up. 

Picking your phone up off the bed he sees 206 notifications from an app called “Tumblr”. 

Toji has no fucking clue what the hell a Tumblr is but his jealously starts to soar. He already made your ass go private on Instagram and deleted your Tiktok dances. He got tired of threatening every loser who tried to slide in your DMs or even leave a comment for that matter. 

Imagine his surprise when he unlocks your phone (of course he had made you give him the password) and instead he finds out his new vanilla-as-fuck girlfriend is actually a kinky cockwhore who loves writing character x reader stories about fictional men plugging any n' every one of her holes. Sometimes it was multiple men simultaneously, with their massive cocks bullying your readers until you had them crying. Not to mention them fucking you absolutely stupid in every scenario imaginable, with a huge daddy kink/love of dilfs to top it all off. 

Y/N clearly has type, Toji thought smugly as he saw some art on your page of these animated dilfs that looked similar to him.

But goddamn, some of this shit even he hasn’t considered doing with you yet. Honestly, he’s been holding himself back for your sake as you had been pretty shy at first. His sweet naive little college girl, yet here you were a filthy closeted slut this entire time. 

Tsk, Y/N been holding out on me, eh?

At this point you were probably a bigger freak than he was, he mused with an arched brow as he scrolled through what you called your ‘masterlist’.

It was nothing but a collection of pure unadulterated filth. 

More than anything though while going through your Tumblr, Toji is rather impressed at how popular you are. He reads your intro post where you deem yourself the ‘Self-proclaimed DILF Smut Queen’ and an evil grin appears on his face.

Toji abandons his plans to join you in the shower and he waits for you on your bed while he links-surfs through more of your so-called fics, drabbles and thirsts.

You made your own little pictures to go along with your dirty stories too? Aw, what a sneaky yet talented little whore he had. 

ꨄ

When you finally exit the shower, wrapped only in a big fluffy white towel and your hair pulled back into a ponytail, you are surprised to see Toji sitting shirtless on your bed. 

Toji had promised to be here hours ago. He never even sent a text saying he would be late and you’ve been bored waiting for him all evening so he could give you some of the attention you've been craving. 

Your body is already warm from the shower and your legs rub together as you are already feeling a bit horny just seeing him bare chested.

Walking toward the bed you are eager to go pounce on his lap. That is, until you see it’s your phone he’s scrolling through again without your permission.

You loudly sigh which made his head snap up to look at you.

You’re so ready to tell him off again and remind him your Insta is still private and you only use TikTok to mindlessly scroll, not post dance videos anymore when gives you a dangerous look.

You stop dead in your tracks.

Your eyes grow wide as saucers as you recognize what he’s actually looking at when waves your phone around tauntingly in his hands. 

No.No.No. Not this. Please god, not this!

But your worst fears are confirmed when he starts reading aloud with a huge shit eating grin. 

“You moaned loudly as you threw your head back and bucked against him hungrily. You knew you had to finish quickly unless you wanted his wife to come home to discover the babysitter on top of her husband, making a mess all over his face. His thick tongue lapped into your drenched folds and he spread your puffy pussy lips wider to suck and nip at your swollen clit….” 

Your mouth was agape in shock. You were a deer in headlights.

A million and one thoughts raced through your mind as Toji continued on. He swiped over to the next one, this time a daddy and breeding kink drabble.

“Or how ‘bout… ‘Take it all like the good little slut you are for daddy, Y/N’. ‘N-No daddy, please I can’t cum anymore!’ You babbled as you succumbed to the overstimulation of him ruthlessly breeding your stretched cunt and filling you as you squirted on his dick for the fifth time that night…” 

You could only continue to stand there and gawk at him. This couldn’t actually be happening to you right now.

“Ya really wrote all this nasty shit, Y/N?” Toji teased while still looking at your phone as he found more of your filthy smut to read aloud to you despite the horrified expression on your face.

You of course had written all that ‘nasty shit’ but most of it was before you started dating him, breaking a long dry spell.

You really weren’t one to run the streets and sleep around but you had some kinky ass fantasies and you not getting any action had you needing to express them somehow.

It’s not like you didn’t eventually plan to open up and share a few of your kinks with Toji down the line. But this was a relatively new relationship and Toji was still a bit intimidating to you. Even though Toji treated you with way more care and concern than he did anyone else you’ve seen him interact with, you still had an insecure fear that he would reject you for a few of your kinks. 

Your last boyfriend had called you a weirdo for wanting to call him daddy in bed, so you resolved then to no longer share that part of you.

Hell, not even your IRL friends knew what you got up to. Only the Tumblr followers and moots, who you all shared peaceful anonymity with, were familiar with you and your writing.

Fuck. You had finally found the perfect DILF daddy too, you didn't want to scare him away. 

You cursed yourself for even opening Tumblr earlier. You did so out of restlessness waiting on his ass to come over. You just were going to read a few fics before you realized you had a story in your drafts you never posted that just needed to be proofread.

Wanting to kill time you decided to edit and post it on a whim, not knowing the mess it would be getting you into now. 

“Earth to, Y/N.” Toji snapped his fingers, interrupting your thoughts.

"Where did my perverted baby’s little mind go off to now, huh? So obsessed with being ruined by imaginary cocks you can’t even respond to your own daddy.”

You could have combusted on the spot as you were sure there was more steam coming off you from embarrassment than from the hot shower you had just taken. 

But wait– wtf, your frazzled mind just connected the fact Toji had referred to himself as your daddy. 

Those words sinking in made your entire body tingle. Your pulse quickened as you chewed your bottom lip and fidgeted with the edge of your towel.

Was he also into this?

The fact was Toji was very into this and you were about to find out just how much he was.

Enjoying your reactions fully, Toji stood up and made his way toward you with a crazed look on his face.

“You’ve written 96 pieces of filth Y/N…”

He inched closer and you instinctively moved back. Every fiber of your body sensing the danger in front of you. You wondered if this is how the targets of his ‘jobs’ felt when he approached them. Toji never lied to you about what he did for work but you never felt like you were his prey, until now.

“You’ve been a very naughty girl, have you nothing to say for y’erself, princess?” 

“I-I-I-”, you stumble over your own words. This was all way too much, way too fast, for you to process in order to say anything coherent back to him.

“I-I-I-” Toji mocked your pathetic tone, an evil grin back on his face. 

“Lost your words, Y/N?”

Your body instinctively keeps moving back to keep distance between the two of you as he continues to advance on you.

“But you have so many words to say here, isn’t that right slut?”

Toji toyed with your phone in his hand, spinning it around.

“Slut. That’s what you liked to be called in these stories, eh? The dirty slutty whore with a sloppy cunt just ready to slime all over her daddy’s cock, yeah?”

You gulped as your back hit the glass of your bedroom balcony door with a ‘thud’. You had no more room to run while Toji closes in on you.

He pressed both of his massive hands against the glass as they framed your head, his body hovering over you. You couldn’t help but notice how much bigger than you he was as his frame enveloped you and blocked out the rest of the room. You were trapped.

Too nervous to look him in the eyes, you settled for his chest and Toji’s muscles flexed tantalizingly under your gaze. You lost yourself for a moment as the familiar scent of his heady masculine musk invaded your senses.

Your eyes roamed lower and lower before resting on the bulge beneath his sweats and you softly pant. 

“You’re staring at my dick like you want me to stuff that pretty little throat cunny of yours full. You aren’t making good use of your mouth right now anyway Y/N, might as well see how much of me it can fit.”

You looked away from him completely but that only ignites Toji's flames more.

“Look me in the eyes little girl...” Toji’s hand roughly grabbed your jaw and squished your cheeks together as he brought his face closer to yours.

“This shy act won’t cut it anymore, slut.”

His intensity was overwhelming you. Various emotions threaten to bubble to the surface as you squirm in his grasp and your eyes become glossy with tears.

“You didn’t think you finally had a man who would be into this wild ass shit, now did you?”

You wanted to question him further but you felt your gravity shift as the balcony door whipped open behind you. Toji ripped off the towel covering you as you practically tumbled backwards onto the small landing buttass naked.

The crisp fall night air hits your dampened skin giving you goosebumps. You shiver and immediately drop down in a crouch to cover yourself. 

“T-Toji!! Are you insane?!” You gasped at him in a hushed tone, your silence finally broken. 

Promptly, you scan the seemingly deserted neighborhood streets through the railing for any sign of movement or signal that someone else was outside.

To your relief there was no one in sight.

Thankfully this was a relatively quiet neighborhood and no one was ever really out at this time of night. Nevertheless the shock of it all was sending your nerves into overdrive.

“Toji my ass bitch. It’s daddy to you moving forward–,” he roared jerking you up off the ground, “–and we are going to do every single fucking thing your slutty mind has ever fucking written starting NOW.” 

Your eyes darted as around him if you wanted to run back inside but there was no getting past his brutish build as he quickly slammed the door shut, shaking the frame.

Frankly, you didn’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified as you had written some depraved ass shit over the past year in the midst of your cockdrought. Some of it you had never even seriously thought of actually doing IRL. 

“Let’s start right ‘ere, eh? Did you think I wouldn’t notice the description of the place in your little balcony story matched your own?” 

Your eyes almost popped out of your skull as you recalled what you wrote in that particular smut fic.

ꨄ 

“A-AH! N-NOOO TOJI, W-WAIIIIIIIT!” You whined through gritted teeth. 

You tried (and failed) not to release any noises from the unrelenting backshots Toji was currently giving you as he folded you over the balcony railing. The tips of your toes barely rested on the cold floor as your ass bounced back into him and had your clit throbbing when his heavy balls smacked against the sensitive nub.

You had previously only fantasized about Toji being this rough with you, but now that it was actually happening for real you couldn’t think straight. Your lungs burned from sucking in the frosty night air and your cunt pulsed from his thick girth stretching you open. 

Shockwaves ran along your body with every cruel thrust of his hips. The force of it reduced your legs to jelly and you were sure you would have collapsed had he not had you suspended like you were, between him and the railing. 

Toji seemed both unfazed by the cold and your cries for mercy as he shushed you with a harsh spank. He enjoyed the way your fat ass rippled under his heavy hand in the moonlight so much he gave you a few more for good measure.

Your tits violently swayed over the edge as one of your hands grasped the railing for stability and the other held your phone in front of you. Toji was making you dictate your story for him as he reenacted the play by play assault on your cunt.  

The bright screen you held was near blinding to your teary eyes. You mentally cringed as you knew it would act as a shiny beacon to view your activities if anyone walked by the small apartment complex or hell, even stepped out on their balcony. 

“T-Toj- Daddy, w-what ‘bout– neigh-h-b-bor-s?”

You managed to croak out over the sloshing of your cunt and slapping sounds of flesh that echoed into the atmosphere everytime he rammed into you. You couldn’t bear to look around to see if any of your neighbors had started to investigate.

“Pshhh, Fuck your neighbors Y/N! They clearly don’t have a cockcrazed baby to please that writes dirty little stories about imaginary men like I do.”

If you didn’t know better you would think he was actually jealous of the DILFs in your stories too from the way he was sadistically fucking into you. 

His thrusts caused your icy tears to run down your face and sent your tits bouncing into the wind. Your cold and neglected nipples hardened in the chill to the point of delicious pain.

“B-but- it's too c-cold out D-Daddy!”

“Mmn, yet your pussy feels warm enough, Y/N. Too hot even. This is for your benefit, you know–,” Toji stated matter-of-factly while he increases the speed his pounding into you, “–So you remember you have your own Daddy who will fuck you anyway you want, anytime you want…just, fuck, tell Daddy what his slutty baby needs.”

The way his hips are driving into your core knocks the wind out of you. Toji tightens the already brutal grip on your hips which assists him in pressing deeper into your cunt. The movement has you almost slipping. You nearly drop your phone off the balcony when your toes stepped in the growing pool of shared juices flowing down your legs and collecting at your feet.

“Hold that shit tight for daddy baby, got it? You drop it and we gotta start over, yeah? I’ll make you walk downstairs ass naked just like this to get it too,” Toji breathed out huskily. 

You realize you’ve never heard him sound this needy before now.

“What’s next, in y’er lil’ story huh?… Speak up so I can hear it over this messy cunt.” 

There was an edge of desperation for you clear in his tone. Although to your dismay it causes your body to gush around him harder meaning you would have to speak up even louder as your pussy squelches grew more vulgar in volume. 

You nearly shouted out the next part groaning and mixing in incoherent babbles throughout the smut filled paragraph as Toji doesn't slow to help you. If anything Toji picks up speed and grows even harder inside of you as he's encouraged by his baby's filthy words.

“...H-he- lifts your leg, r-resting your knee on the edge of the bal-c-cony. T-T-The angle allows h-him, fuck, deeper access to your c-cunt. Ah-h-h-a clear view of his c-cock badgering your core f’er a-anyone who happens to p-pass belowwww-ohmygod. Y-you seeeeee s-stars as he callously s-slams into your c-cervix, shitshitshit, n-nearly fa-fa-fucking you off the balcony if not for his s-strong hold on youuuu–ah. Y-you violently t-tremble as you c-cum s-screamiiiiing, not fuckdaddyfuckkkk, caring if your n-neighbors could s-see or h-hear you any l-longer.”

“HA! Is that so–” Toji lifts your leg just like you wrote in your fic, “–guess I am gonna to have to keep fucking this tight cunt until you no longer give a fuck about anything else but this dick, eh?”

You hear what sounds like a door slide open near you and you begin to whine about your neighbors again before Toji jerks your head back by your ponytail to whisper in your ear. 

“I wouldn’t worry that nasty, pretty little head of yours about these neighbors babydoll…” 

The new angle allows Toji to bury himself deeper into you just like you told in your story and his tip hits your cervix so hard you think he might actually penetrate. 

“...if I were you Y/N... I would think about how daddy’s needy lil whore is gonna make it through an entire day of classes tomorrow with clamps on your nipples and a remote control vibrator up your cunt.”

He licked the side of your face and spit in your mouth before carelessly pushing your head back. You loudly moaned as his bruising grip returned to your meaty hips as his nonstop aggressive assault on your cunt proceeds.

You feel yourself getting close, your eyes rolled back into your head and drool seeped down the corners of your mouth. You cursed your weakness for this shit as you felt yourself give into the pleasure. You surprise even yourself as you never actually thought this kinda sex could be so fucking good you wouldn’t care about shit else for real. 

“Goddamn mamas, squeezing me so hard–” Toji’s hips snapped into you with every syllable, his voice becoming more animalistic, “–you want me to fill this pussy up? Mmm, I fucking know you do the way she’s milking me. Fuck, might even put a baby in you, give ‘gumi a sibling. We won’t be able to do some of that kinky shit you wrote unless I knock a baby up in this cunt, ya know.”

Of course, Toji being the sexy ass DILF straight out of your dreams would love breeding kinks too.

His ramblings cause you to tighten and clench around him even more. You’ve wanted to beg for him like this since you first started dating. Just thinking of the words spilling out of your mouth nearly pushed you over the edge.

You were so close to release.

“I-Inside me D-Daddy pleasepleaseplease!,” you slobbered out, struggling to make sentences from all the pleasure within you.

“F-fill me– fill me D-Daddy, knock this tight little cunt up, w-want it– want it– w-want it–!!!”

Your voice caught in your throat and you nearly choked once you felt your peak hit. Your pussy sent tremors around his dick as you creamed around him. You can't think of anything else but him inside of you.

You just came but Toji allowed you no rest. He still pummeled inside you as he chased his own high and slurred vulgar curses of praise for his pretty lil’ whore's dirty mind, while planning the next debaucherous smut for you both to reenact.

“Ya think it's too late now f’er prime next day delivery for those toys, baby? Fuck, look that up while y’er still holding that phone.”

You didn’t even realize you still had your phone in your hand but were just thankful you didn’t drop yet. You didn't think it would survive the fall.

Groaning you tried to rally the strength to even lift the phone to face unlock when you locked eyes with someone below. You instantly recognized the person as the elderly woman with the flower garden from down the street.

The old lady had always been very kind to you, making pleasant conversation, offering you fresh flowers for your kitchen and praising you for how reminded her of her own sweet young daughter at your age. 

Unfortunately for you both, she was casually walking her two mini poodles when her eyes were affronted with you practically hanging off the balcony. A blissed out expression plastered across your face while Toji held you, battering your slick pussy full of his thick cock.

The old woman’s eyes widened in terror as if she actually witnessed a crime scene as she panicked, yanking her two dogs away swiftly back in the direction of her home. You knew you would have to take the long way home from now on.

Nevertheless Toji, who was none the wiser and wouldn’t give a single fuck regardless, merely continued planning out your next smut fic enactment.

“Nah fuck it, we’re going to the library tomorrow. See how many pages you can read of that dull ass biology book while y’er warming my cock... Tch, or should we do the one where y’er fucking the coach in the men’s locker room, whacha think baby?”

"Hmmmnmmrgh", you could only moan in reply.

You were already near hyperventilating from your own climax, the shame of now having to avoid your neighbor for life and Toji’s fiery body creating a storm of friction clashing with the freezing temperatures.

But your senses were now wholly overloaded once you felt him reach down to pinch and rub at your clit. 

“Cum again with Daddy baby, shit, can ya do that f’er me?” Toji sounded like he was close and he slapped your clit even harder causing you to scream out.

Cockdrunk and overstimulated you could no longer communicate as your entire body felt like it was an extension of your pussy. The thick fluids flowing out of your body increased the sizable puddle already at your feet. You utterly surrendered to the feeling and your body wrecked with pleasure electrifying you. 

You almost blackout as you feel his cock bust hot seed into your tummy melting your insides and causing you to cum all over again.

"Fuck, that’s it, take it all. Can't wait to see this belly and these tits full mama."

The aftershock of your orgasm feels near endless as Toji continues to fuck thick ropes of his cum into you. 

Losing track of time you weren’t sure how long it was before Toji finally pulled out and took you off the railing. Holding on to you so you can balance and turning you to face him he places you down on your unsteady feet. You immediately bury your head into his chest as his heat envelops your cold skin. Your breathing finally starts to calm in his embrace. 

“So good f’er daddy babygirl,” he murmurs into your hair, savoring your scent.

“Warm bath, yeah?”

“Sure, but you gotta carry me daddy.”

You yawned while Toji’s already lifting you princess style in his strong arms. You were exposed still in the night but at the same time you have never felt safer. 

You curl further into his warmth as he kisses your forehead and finally brings you back inside.

Once inside the bathroom Toji sets you down on the edge of the tub while the water runs and he leaves to grab some fresh towels.

You can’t help but feel euphoric as you smiled to yourself. You are too giddy!

You finally have the DILF daddy you always wanted and could be open about your kinks without any judgment. 

However your mood shifts when Toji returns. You give him an incredulous look as you see your pink waterproof vibrator in his hands. 

Toji turns it on and saunters over to you, his scar twisted into a devilish smirk.

“95 more fuckfics to go ma’, we don’t have time to waste…”

Fucking hell, you had entirely forgotten about the overstimulation in the bath drabble. 

You quiver in both anticipation and distress as you aren’t sure how your completely spent and nearly frozen body is gonna be able to cum four more times tonight. 

Could there ever be too much of a good thing?

You weren't sure what those limits were exactly.

“Ya know, Y/N–," Toji started slyly, interrupting your thought.

”If I hit up Shiu and you asked him nicely with that pretty lil' mouth, I’m positive he would be down for some double daddy Eiffel Tower action.”

However from the feral grin on Toji’s face he appeared determined to test those limits with you.

You could thank your Tumblr smut fics for that. 

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2023. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ.

A/N: I honestly have to say I am a bit impressed with myself as I’ve never finished a story in one day before ever (although it took most of today to proofread and I still think there might be errors soz). Hopefully this is a good sign for powering through those Kinktober fics once classes start up again this Weds. Also If there is any interest possibly a PT 2 after Kinktober featuring a threesome with Shiu at his office.

Edit: errors/grammar fixed as of 9/26.

This one goes out to all of us dilf smut queens who simp Toji ❤︎

Please reblog to have DILF Daddy Toji dick you down, but likes and comments are always appreciated just the same!

[writingsbychlo]

IS IT NEW YEARS YET? | lorenzo berkshire

summary; you're not a huge fan of new years, since when was it all about couples, anyway? luckily, someone else is in the same boat.

word count; 6712

notes; this is completely unedited, it's bound to be riddled with mistakes. this is the second to last christmas fic, just my baby mattheo to go! I saved the best for last.

Sitting at the table, you did your very best to hide the scowl sitting on your face. Pansy had left you only a moment ago to dance with Luna, Astoria had pulled Draco away onto the floor ages ago, and Blaise was off flirting up a storm with every girl possible. Regulus was sulking at the bar with his brother, while Mattheo and Theo had long since snuck away to smoke and hide from the party. 

That just left you. Sat alone at the table, trying not to get too drunk as you watched all the happy couples around you mingle. The Christmas period had always been so fun, but lately, it only seemed to be a holiday for couples. Which, really wasn’t fair, in your opinion. They already had Valentine’s Day, why the fuck did they need this one, too?

However, everything seemed to be spinning around kissing at midnight, and dancing, and romance, and Luna’s bag full of grapes, for whatever that was about. You’d tuned out when she’d begun explaining. 

Glancing around the room in search of the only remaining member of your party who was unaccompanied, perhaps a little reprieve from the loneliness, you spotted Enzo near his parent's table. He looked, in a single word, uncomfortable. Scratching at the back of his neck, he wore a scowl, and while you couldn't hear over the loud music and chatter what he was saying all that distance away, it was clear that he wasn’t happy. 

His mother glared at him, and his anger dimmed only a second, a flash of fear in his eyes, a bob of his throat, but he didn’t back down. Finishing off the last of your drink and standing, the sequins of your dress glitter under the lights, falling perfectly in the simple, floor-length dress you’d chosen for the evening. 

As you wove through the bodies, heels clicking on the floor, you started to be able to pick out the deep rumble of his voice throughout the other conversations. He didn’t have a great relationship with his parents. Certainly, not as bad as others in the group, but strained He rarely wrote them, he only ever went home at Christmas and Summer, and they never came to visit. In almost a decade of knowing Enzo, you’d perhaps spoken to them three times, and once, was merely your introduction. 

“I’m not going to date a girl I don’t know just because you think I ought to!”

Your brows furrowed, stilling momentarily as his words raced through your mind. Regulus’ parents had tried to set him up with someone recently too, only six months ago, they’d sent him letter after letter about the eligible girls from other noble families he could woo. You’d gone pale upon discovering your own name on the list, quite highly ranked, and Regulus had assured you that as much as he loved you dearly as a friend, he had absolutely no interest in pursuing you romantically. Nor, any of the girls on the list. 

However, you hadn't expected Enzo’s parents to leap on him so fast. Your mother had been making some subtle comments about relationships lately, but nothing nearly so bold, not since your break-up. Enzo dragged a hand through his hair as he groaned, this conversation obviously wasn’t going in his favour, and you pitied him. 

In a generous mood, you finished your walk, closing in by his side and putting on the charming smile that you knew could win over any adult or peer, with a few simple words and a bat of your lashes. Anyone, except, perhaps Enzo’s mother. Her eyes narrowed on you as you placed a hand on Enzo’s lower back, standing respectably by his side, by far closer than could be considered friendly, as you smiled up at him. 

“Enzo, sweetie, Draco is looking for you.”

“Wh— What?” His brows pulled together, obviously confused, and you slipped your arm around his waist, settling in by his side. 

“Lorenzo, who’s your friend?” His mother’s cold tone sliced through the space between you as his gaze scanned over your features. 

“Hi, Mrs Berkshire.” You held your hand out offering your name, and she only hummed, shaking it loosely before returning her hand to her side, elegantly. “I’m Enzo’s… well, we haven’t quite figured out terms yet, have we? I’m his date tonight… at least, I hope?”

He did well to hide his flicker of surprise, before finally seeming to understand the aim of the game, his arm snaking around your body like a boyfriend might do, and curling you further into his side. “Of course you are, darling.”

“Well, that’s good to know.” Your giggle was far more high-pitched and sweet than usual, but the tension bled from his mother’s shoulders just a fraction, as she analysed the pair of you. For emphasis, Enzo leaned in to press a polite kiss to your temple, and you stretched your smile wider, like a happy girlfriend would. “I’m so sorry to have interrupted, I promised Draco I’d find you, and you left me all alone at the table. I was starting to miss you, but now I see you were doing something important. I thought perhaps you’d snuck away with the boys.”

The piercing gaze of his mother drilled into you, but you didn’t falter, or show any weakness. In your social circles, one cowering sign was just an opening for snapping teeth at throats, and you wouldn't give anyone such an opportunity. 

“Why would you now simply tell us that you had a date, Lorenzo?” His mother eventually questioned, finally dragging her stare away from you and back to her son, and you felt like you could breathe again at last.

“Well, as you heard my girl say,” He murmured, stumbling only slightly over the words, and recovering them smoothly with a cough. “We haven’t settled on any kinds of labels yet. I didn’t want to be presumptuous, or too forward.”

“And how long have you been seeing one another?” She wasted no time, raising a brow. 

“Just two months.” You smiled, and she flickered her sights to you for only a moment. “You raised a real gentleman, Mrs Berkshire. He’s been so patient and sweet, it can be so hard to find times between classes to see one another and spend time together. We’ve been taking it slow. I apologise if I come as a surprise to you tonight, that’s my fault. I asked Enzo not to write to you, because I haven’t told my own parents yet, you see.”

Leaning in to whisper your joke, as if you were passing secret information;

“My father can be a little over-protective, I wanted to spare Enzo, so I knew my father wouldn't scare him away.”

At that finally, a smirk broke on her lips. She made a vague sound of agreement, and you could feel your friend relax a little where your hand was rubbing his side, gently. “Well, I suppose I can understand that. Lorenzo, you may leave for now. But I do not expect to be kept in the dark on such matters again.”

Waggling a finger at him, he only nodded, eyes wide. “Of course, Mother. It won’t happen again.” 

Leaning in to kiss her cheek, he gave a hurried goodbye, before steering you away with his arm still around you, and guiding you back toward the other side of the room. When you were far enough away he knew his parents wouldn't hear them, he let out a shaky laugh, and turned to look down at you. 

“I don’t know if you’re brave, stupid, or both. Taking on my mother like that? Impressive, and also insane.”

“You have a funny way of saying ‘thank you’, Berkshire.” You tutted, and he only grinned. Dipping down, he kissed your cheek now, coming to a stop beside your table. 

“Thank you, for saving me back there.”

“Well, you seemed like you needed a save.” You shrugged, his arm still looped around your waist, hand on your lower back, rubbing lightly as he looked around the room. 

“You don’t have an actual date, right?” Leaning in, his breath brushed your ear, and you shuddered at the feel, “Because there’s a guy over there glaring at me like I kicked his dog.” 

His fingers touched your cheek, guiding your gaze to casually follow where he had been looking. As your eyes fixed on the man on the other side of the dance floor, you hardly concealed a scoff. He wasn’t glaring, so much as staring with curiosity now that you were the one looking. He smoothed a hand up his girlfriend’s leg as she sat beside him engaged in another conversation, not noticing where his attention now lingered. 

Turning your gaze away with a heavy sigh, your motions caused you to curl a little further into Enzo, who leant back enough to look down at you. “Is that the dickhead-ex that broke up with you in a letter a few months ago?” He whispered, and you could only nod, swallowing back the lump in your throat. 

Over him, you might be, but that didn’t make it sting any less. You’d suspected for a while he might be cheating, based on how soon he’d moved on, how ingratiated into his social circles she seemed, but this was the first time you’d ever seen her. 

She was pretty.

“That would be the one.” You replied, and Enzo only hummed, freeing his other hand from his pocket to tip your face up, an act that was far more intimate than any touch the two of you had ever shared. His thumb smoothed over your cheek, flicking a gaze back to the other side of the room and smirking slightly. “I don’t need to make him jealous, Enz. As much as I appreciate the sentiments, this is unnecessary. 

It wasn't needed, but you couldn't deny it felt good. Felt good to be held again, to settle your hands on someone’s chest, to feel his steady heartbeat under your palm as he touched you so tenderly. “I know, but isn’t it nice? To make him see what he let go, to show him how you should’ve been treated. We’re stuck together all night anyway, might as well make it count for you too.”

“Why is it that we’re stuck together?” You murmured, scowling a little at his choice of words, even more so when he only chuckled. You both knew he didn’t mean it like that, but it felt better to channel a little bitterness than let in the hurt. 

“My parents now believe we’re a couple. Your heroic act of saving me now has consequences.” He clicked his tongue, his hand smoothing down to your neck, thumb under your chin to force you to look up at him. 

“I figured you’d sneak away to see the other boys once I got you out.”

“And abandon my doting girlfriend who comes to my rescue?” He gasped dramatically, shaking his head, and a small laugh fell from your lips. “I would never. So, what do you say? I’m in your debt, let me be your real date for the night. I promise I’m a fun date.”

“You don’t have to beg, Lorenzo. I’ll let you be my date.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen me beg yet.” He smirked, a wicked look glinting in his eye, before he stepped back from you. Slipping the hand from your waist to slip into your own, he grasped tightly. “How about we go and get a drink?”

“I have a drink.”

“A real drink. I hate champagne, and I know you do too.” He cringed at the sight of your half-drunk glass, and didn’t wait for an answer, beginning to lead you both through the party and towards the bar. 

Settling in together, he pulled out a stool for you, tapping at the surface of it for you to sit on. When you shifted towards it, his hands settled on your waist, boosting you up to sit on it, and winking at the surprised sound that slipped free. 

He flagged down the bartender with a quick wave, before stepping in closer to your side, his hand finding a home on your lower back once again. Your spine was stiff, and you tried to convince yourself to relax, mumbling your drink order to the waitress as she passed by and took them both. 

Leaning back into his touch, he responded in kind, hand rubbing up and down your back softly, and turning to face you. Twisting your body on the stool, your knee bumped into his thigh, and your hand dropped to sit over the top of his on the bar before you. 

“So, didn’t expect your parents to be pushing your impending marriage so hard.” You murmured, tracing a finger over the prominent veins and marks in his hand, along each finger, all the way to the tips until they twitched, before returning to the back of his hand. On one finger sat a prominent family ring, the Slytherin ring on his thumb, and a couple of varied bands stacked amongst the others. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel like I’m far too young to be considering marriage. I haven’t seen the world yet, I’ve never been in love. Not— Not that soul-shredding, intense kind of love. I want to experience that at least once. I want to pick my own wife.” He shook his head, casting you a downtrodden look, a pout on his lips. “Doesn’t seem like that’ll be in the playing cards for me.”

“You could always leave. After we graduate, we get to leave. Maybe you should just… run.”

He only raised a brow at you, shaking his head slightly. It was a stupid suggestion, really. There wasn’t a place he could go that he wouldn't be followed by the reputation of his family, of his magical status. Unless he were to give it all up, disappear as a muggle, and spend the rest of his life feeling like he’d chopped off a limb, or had a vital organ removed. 

“Sorry. Dumb thing to say.”

“No, it was sweet. You were just trying to be comforting.” He whispered, and the drinks were placed down before you both. Pushing your drink to you with two fingers, you tapped them together gently, glass clinking, before taking a sip of your cocktail. “I might milk this little situation you’ve gotten us into for a while, though. Let my parents believe I’m courting you back at Hogwarts, and when we call it quits, I’ll be heartbroken. I’ll tell them I need time to get over you.”

Shaking your head with a small laugh, the sound brought a smile to his face.

“I’ll milk that one too. I reckon I can buy myself… at least a year, all in all.”

“Only a year, is that all my fictional love is worth?” You raised a hand to your chest, and he stepped even closer, playing into the act as his arm tightened around your waist. 

“You’re right. You're the one. When you leave me, I’ll be devastated. I’ll never get over it. You’ll be my one that got away.” He gave a heavy sigh, a groan at the end of it, slumping slightly into the bar and only increasing his dramatics as you giggled. “Don’t leave me, I’ll be better! I’ll buy you more flowers, I’ll stop sleeping with my secretary!”

You were gathering odd looks at his declaration, an older couple behind you tittering disapprovingly but you didn’t care. Not as he straightened back up, standing closer to you still, and smiling at you so widely. Your cheeks flushed as he took in your features, and you sipped at the cold alcohol in your glass, fingers raising to your cheeks to hide the blush.

“Truly, though. Thank you. That was sweet of you, you didn’t have to step in for me.”

“I know, but you’re my friend. One of my best friends. I know you’d help me out in a pinch, too.” Your hand fell back to his, toying with the house ring on his thumb, and he twisted his hand to give you better access. Such a small gesture, but you appreciated it nonetheless, as he fed into your anxious habits with no extra thought, your chest flooding with warmth and gratitude for him.

“I would, but, my parents are more than just a pinch. You were brave, my mum likes to pride herself on being intimidating.”

“She doesn’t have to like me, but I knew she wouldn't hurt me.” He raised his brows, silently questioning, and you looked at his hand. Unfolding his loose fist, you laced your fingers through his. “You were there with me. I knew she wouldn't hurt me.”

His hand tightened around yours, and his throat bobbed slightly. Lifting your raised hands, he kissed your knuckles softly. Instead of finding words to respond, he used gestures, his eyes fixed on yours as everything that needed to be said shone in them. He wasn’t his parents you saw him for that and trusted him. This was real, it wasn’t just for show, and when he moved his lips from your skin, you cupped his cheek with your other hand. 

“I know you’re good, Enzo.” You whispered, a fragile tone for just him to hear over the music, and his smile wobbled from flirty to heartfelt. “You’ve been my friend for so long now, I feel pretty confident in saying I know who you are.”

“Thank you.” His words came on a rushed sigh, and you swiped your thumb across his cheekbone one final time, before pulling away to clasp your drink and take a sip. He kept a tight grip on your other hand, though, clasping it to his chest momentarily, before resting your joined hands back on the bar. “So, what have I got to do to get you to dance with me out there?”

“Oh, no. I don’t dance at these things.” You shook your head quickly, and his grin only stretched at that prospect. At the look on his face, you waved a finger at him. “I have never danced at one of these things before. You aren’t the first guy to ask. I. Don’t. Dance.”

“I say you can.” He snickered, humming a fragment of the song as your eyes rolled. Leaning in a little closer to him, his wicked, flirty smile was back. Your nose brushed his.

“Not a chance.”

He seemed to accept the challenge, finishing off the whiskey that was in his glass. He wasn’t giving up, and you knew for certain that once Enzo set his mind to something, he achieved it. He waved to the bartender again, ignoring her flirty smile as he placed his order with two fingers raised, “Can I get two shots of tequila, please?”

“Make it four.” You muttered, and his eyes sparkled as he corrected himself. Finishing off your own drink, you pushed the empty glass toward his own, nothing but an overly saturated berry left in the bottom. “How’d you know tequila is my go-to for shots?”

“Because, my darling, I am observant. In fourth year, you legitimately gagged when we gave you Sambuca to try and you refuse to touch it even to this day, you say vodka tastes like nail polish, and you never drink whiskey or rum. And, only a psychopath would shoot gin.” His nose scrunched up, and four shot glasses were soon placed down before you, each one being filled up, a few droplets escaping to the bar. A dish of salt and limes followed, and you awed silently over it as he wiggled his brows. 

“Fancy, we get the fruit, too.”

“Always impressive these days, every family trying to one-up each other with parties.” He handed you your first shot, clinking your glasses together and spilling some of the sticky amber liquid onto your fingertips. Sprinkling salt on your hand, he winked, “Cheers.”

Licking the salt from his own fingertips, you copied, licking the substance from the back of your hand. Quickly, you did your first shot, then the next, and before you could even reach for one, Enzo was pushing a slice of lime between your lips. He’d surely smudged your lipstick, and juice was now running down your chin, but he caught it with a quick swipe of his thumb, grinning around the citrus in his mouth as he sucked it dry, and winced. 

Pulling the lime out from between your teeth, laughter soon spilt over in its place, and you left the half-drained slice in one of the empty glasses. Licking the tips of your fingers for the remaining tequila, Enzo watched, eyes a little foggy, as you cleaned up. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Why?” You muttered, and he leaned in again, invading your space as the woodsy smell of his cologne overpowered you, making you want to press your face into his neck. Instead, you held his gaze, with bated breath.

“Because it’s hot. And I’m only so strong.”

“Are you flirting with me, Enz?” You smirked, watching as he offered you his hand. Taking it, you hopped down from the bar stool, waiting for the effects of the shots to kick in, ready to welcome the numbing buzz they’d carry. 

“Most definitely. You like it?”

“I do, actually.”

Linking your arm through his own as he led you slowly to the dance floor, he patted your hand on his bicep. “You could try to sound less shocked by that. I’m great at flirting.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve seen you put it into use before. That pretty smile, a few sweet words and a wink, you normally have women falling at your feet.”

As you reached the edge of the floor, he turned to face you, settling a hand on your hip, and tugging you in closer than needed. “But not you? Because you’re different to other girls.”

“Oh, no. I’m just like other girls. And it would work on me too, if I didn’t know you so well. Unfortunately, I’ve watched you throw up in your own shoe and eat food off the floor. You’ll have to work a little harder to get me.” Pinching your fingers between your faces to show a gap, he watched, before taking that hand and placing it on his shoulder, smoothly. 

“I love a good challenge.”

With that, he was sweeping you across the floor, your shocked laughter breaking free as he spun you suddenly into the madness of the dance floor. Perfected routines and perfect dances, and even in your addled mind, the steps began to come back to you. You’d always thought that there was something so eerie about the dances, the melancholic music that played, always building to a crashing crescendo. 

It felt like music with a tragic tale, spinning and dipping and dancing, like a Shakespeare play given music instead of words. Rows of perfectly organised dancers, all moving in perfect sync and harmony. 

Luckily, tonight, that structure seemed to have fallen apart a little. Various levels of dancing skills were taking place. Some were just swaying, others were performing flips and spins that made you dizzy, as you and Enzo settled somewhere in the middle. His hand tight on your waist, the other clasping your own, he spun you between people, guiding you towards the centre of the floor. 

“I thought you said you didn’t dance!”

“I don’t, that doesn’t mean I can’t. My mother had me in lessons three times a week as a child. I am an excellent dancer.” Glancing around, it was mercifully informal tonight, not the regimented performances it sometimes could be. “This whole… thing. It just creeps me out sometimes.”

“When they all dance in perfect, synchronised lines, like some kind of terrifying ballet performance?” He muttered, smiling and nodding as you wove past an older couple. 

“Yes!”

“I get you,” He hummed, shuddering a little. Ahead of you both, Draco was spinning a smiling Astoria, and he looked utterly exhausted by this point. She didn’t seem ready to stop dancing any time soon, though.

As he spun you back in, your arm wrapped around his neck this time, holding yourself closer to him and calming the crazy dance he’d drawn you into. He was smiling himself, cheeks flushed from the exertion, and as you began to move into a slower sway, his cheek came to rest against the top of your head. 

“You ever dance at one of these parties with your ex?”

“I told you, I don’t dance.” You mumble, the arm around his neck sliding, hand slipping to brush lightly at the hair on the base of his neck. He stretched his head a little further, leaning into the touch with a soft sigh. 

“You didn’t dance,” He corrected cheekily, pinching at your hip, and your eyes rolled upwards at his pedantic behaviour. “Your ex is watching us.”

“I told you, I don’t care.”

He made a vague noise before turning you subtly, so that you could see him now. The displeased look on his face, the narrowed eyes as he watched you and Enzo, and the way he turned in a flustered rush once he realised you’d caught him. “You may not care, but I’m getting a sick sort of satisfaction from it. I had to watch you hurt over him, even when you tried to pretend you weren’t. The way your face fell that day in the hall when you opened that letter, I’ll never forget it.”

“Enz…” Your whisper is barely audible, his own words mumbled by your ear so low they were barely decipherable. Goosebumps still rose along your skin at the snarl he made, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he shook his head. 

Dipping down, he pressed a kiss to your cheek, so tender and loving that you felt your heart skip in your chest. “He’s a dick, and I wish I could do a lot more to him than just pork a few holes in his ego tonight. He deserves a right kicking.”

“I was over him long before that letter came. The distance had been growing.”

“Maybe so, but he’s still a prick.” Turning you around and around in slow circles, you gained and lost sight repeatedly each scene just a little different from the last. He was putting on a show, that was for sure, as Enzo took you for turns around the dance floor. One moment he had his new girlfriend in a passionate kiss, the next she was laughing as she stared up at him, the next, whispering sweet words in her ear. 

If you could see it, you were sure Enzo could too, his grip tightening on you protectively. Leaning up, you returned the affection, pulling his focus back to you as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s go get another drink, yeah? I could use some hydration after all this dancing.”

He looked right through you, like he knew it was a distraction, and yet he nodded anyway, jaw clenched. This time, you took one of his hands in both of yours, leading him through the crowd as his fingers clutched your own. 

Settling at the bar, you called for two waters, before turning your gaze back to him. 

“Wish I could just push them both in the fireplace, and watch them burn.” 

His words made your eyes widen slightly, and you pressed a glass into his hand the moment they arrived, encouraging him to drink. “Enzo, why are you so bothered about this all of a sudden?”

“Because— Because I can see him now! And he’s a jackass, and I’m already mad enough about my parents, and the fact it’s this stupid day. I need something to channel my anger into, and he’s a mighty good conduit.” He took another swig of his drink, jaw clenching as he slammed the empty glass down and licked his lips. 

Placing a finger on his chin, you twisted his head to you, and he softened slightly as he looked. “Not a fan of New Year's, huh?”

“Not a fan of the holidays in general. Especially once I have to go home.” Your heart clenched for him. The expression on your face must’ve given you away, because he soon shrugged. “I used to love the holiday period, but nowadays, all my parents do is get at me. Plus, being single at Christmas sucks, y’know? Since when was this time all about love? I thought it was supposed to be about generosity and love and whatever. Now it’s all about couples.”

Your jaw dropped a little, and his brows furrowed. 

“What?”

Enzo had just echoed the exact sentiments you’d been thinking about only a couple of hours ago, and a breathless laugh escaped you as you shook your head. At least he understood you. “Nothing. Just, I was thinking the same thing, earlier.”

“Great minds.” He whispered, shaking a little tension out of his body and closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, the fire was dulled, sweet sparkle back, and he loosed a heavy breath. “Sorry. That got heavy.”

“I’m always here for you to talk, Enz.”

He smiled, eyes closing again as he rested his forehead on yours, tugging you in with arms around your waist for a hug. His face moved, chin hooking over your shoulder, with a kiss pressed there as he did, which sent your pulse skyrocketing at the feel of his lips on your skin. “I love you, you know that, right? You’re one of the most important people in my life.”

“Love you too, Enzo…” You murmured, running your fingers through his hair. He pulled away, a shy smile on his face, and he nudged your glass to you this time. 

“Drink up. I want to get you back out on that dance floor. I take pride in knowing I’m the only man you’ll dance with.”

“Because you’re the most insistent man I’ve ever met. I know that if I said no, you’d only spend the whole night bugging me.”

“It’s charming how well you know me.” He teased, and your eyes rolled, resulting in a soft slap to the outside of your thigh as he tutted at you, mumbling about your attitude. “Oh, incoming.”

“Who—” You barely got the word out before an arm was slung over your shoulder, a heavy weight following as they leaned on you. Mattheo beamed at you lazily when you turned your head to see. Theo soon followed, shuffling his feet a little, and rubbing at his eyes. The second he saw the half-drunk glass of water in your hands, he lunged for it, managing to get the whole thing down in one go, without evening coming up for breath. “Jeez, how baked are you two?”

“Theo brought some good shit this time,” Mattheo murmured, kissing his fingers and waving them to the air, and Theo gave a delayed scoff after a couple of seconds. 

“I always bring good shit.”

“Agree to disagree.” Mattheo smiled, bopping his friend on the nose, as Enzo only laughed. 

“So, that’s where you two have been, huh? Outside smoking all night.”

“Not all night,” Theo smirked, waggling his brows as he produced his phone from his back pocket. “I spent a good deal of time flirting. I got six girls’ numbers, and Matt here only got four.”

He set off snickering as Mattheo only grumbled, and the moment he loosened his hold on you, you slipped free so he could lean against the bar instead. You didn’t get far, not before Enzo was snaking an arm around you, and tugging you into his chest. Theo might have been higher than a kite, but he didn’t miss the way Enzo’s touches trailed over your back, settling low on your spine. He smirked, eyes glinting when Enzo dropped an absentminded kiss to the top of your head. 

“So, what’s new with you two?”

“We’re dating now.” Enzo beamed, and Mattheo spluttered over his drinks order, the bartender wandering way as Mattheo turned to face you, and Theo’s jaw dropped. “Or, at least, that’s what we’re letting my parents believe, so they’ll hop off my dick about marrying some stranger.” 

You pat his chest for his use of words, and he shrugged. Finally, Draco seemed to have persuaded Astoria to let him go. She was now happily dancing with her sister, as Draco stumbled over to your group at the bar, and collapsed down onto a free stool. 

“That girl has more energy than a toddler on crack.”

“Interesting metaphor.” You said, and Draco only patted his chest, sticking an extra glass of water and a whiskey onto Mattheo’s order as he tried to get a drink once again. Turning his gaze back to you, those grey eyes slid from head to toe, a pale brow raising. 

“What’s with you two?”

“Haven’t you heard, Dray?” Theo mused, “They’re dating.”

He had a similar reaction to the other two, equally as entertaining until the news was broken, and you hid your laughter in Enzo’s shoulder. He was smiling, hiding his own amusement in your hair, his fingers playing with the tips as the strands spilt down your back. 

The night went on much the same, hours blurring by as more friends came and went, joining you in the group, before being pulled away. For a while, you sat on the stool beside Enzo, listening to Mattheo retell the story of their competition to get numbers. 

You let Enzo pull you onto the dance floor again, and even Mattheo, who swung you off-beat and out of sync to a song in his head, certainly not the one being played, but it made you laugh until your stomach hurt, so it was worth it. You danced with the girls too, and exchanged gossip in hushed whispers as you moved across the checkered floor. 

It always ended with you stumbling back to Enzo, progressively building more of a buzz as the night went on, falling back into the security of his arms. And he was always there, smiling, tucking hair behind your ear and kissing your forehead as he asked you whether you were having fun. For the first time in a long time at one of these events, you could say yes. 

Only as the hour was finally approaching midnight, less than fifteen minutes to go, did you all leave. Mattheo ordered several bottles of champagne, gathering two in his hands and passing two more to Theo. Then, he was commanding you all to follow him, and marching away without another word.

You shared a look with Enzo, before hopping down, following after him with an equally puzzled group. Your hand found Enzo’s quickly, a comfortable act that had become familiar far too quickly, but just for tonight, you didn’t care. Not as Mattheo led you down all and corridors, away from all the noise. 

Not as he led you all up, until you were exiting onto the roof. Below you, chatter filled the courtyard as the party guests began to file out onto the patio, ready to witness the fireworks. The view would be uninterrupted from here, a perfect view of it all, and a contented sound left your lips. 

Staring up at the night sky, stars twinkled in the cold void, and you rubbed one arm lightly as you stared into the vast openness. Only a second later, a jacket was slipping over your shoulders, and Enzo was turning you to him, guiding your arms through each of the sleeves, bashfully. 

“Told you I was a good date.” He winked, hand on your back as you followed the rest of your friends to sit down. 

“You said you were a fun date,”

“Well then, I’m a good and fun date.” He effectively ended the conversation with a kiss to your cheek, hand sliding dangerously low on your back as you gathered with the others. A couple of benches and boxes were up here, stacks of pallets for makeshift seating, and you settled onto one, Enzo following you down. 

Once you were sat, he pulled you in, tucking you into the heat of his side, and you curled in closer, twisting to face him. “Tonight has been… wonderful. Thank you.”

“Are you kidding? Thank you.��� He whispered, nose brushing your hairline as the words were whispered onto your skin. “Tonight has been one of the best nights I’ve ever had, and I never thought I’d say that about one of these parties.”

You fiddled with the edge of the sleeves hanging over your palms, grinning at him. Your head fell to his shoulder, and your gaze moved to scan over your friends. Draco and Astoria were cuddling equally as sweetly, as were Blaise and Daphne. Luna and Pansy were nowhere to be seen, but Tom and Reggie stood at the edge of the roof, talking quietly. Mattheo and Theo were bent over laughing, trying to pop the corks on the bottles, and almost taking out each other’s eyes each time. 

When a bottle was passed to you and Enzo, fizzing over the top and foaming on the wooden palette you perched on, you took a sip. The bitter liquid fizzed on your tongue just as the countdown began to sound from all of the people below. 

“Ten, nine, eight…” Mattheo screamed, arms held up in the air with his excitement. 

“Seven, six, five…” You murmured, sitting up straighter as the anticipation of the new year came in. 

“Four, three, two…” Enzo joined you, your face turning to smile at him as you heard his voice mix with yours. 

“One.” You spoke, just as Enzo leaned in. His lips closed over your own, warm and spicy from the lingering remnants of firewhiskey, and you groaned against his mouth. As you did, his hand slipped up to your cheek, angling your head just right as his tongue slid into your mouth.

He kissed slow, and deep, like he had all the time in the world to be here. You were gripping his shoulder, kissing back with just as much passion, sliding closer to him until there was no space between your body and his. Your thigh pressed to his own, his hand on your cheek slipping into your hair as he pulled back for a breath, just to dive right back in. 

And you loved it, leaning forward, chasing his lips, kissing him until you couldn’t think straight, couldn't think at all, unless it was about him. 

Finally, he pulled back, to the cheering and celebrating of your friends as the New Year rolled in. Fireworks began to explode behind you, and you sighed, breath clouding in the night air and floating up to the sky. Licking the taste of him from your lip as you panted, his nose bumped your own.

“What was that for?” You mumbled, the way he kissed you still playing over and over again in your mind like a loop. 

“Because when we go back,” He stole another kiss, your lips stretching in a smile as his palm engulfed your cheek. “I’d love to take you on a real date.”

You’d never looked at him like this before, never let yourself consider what it would be like to date Enzo. That urge had never arisen, everything between you both had always been platonic, he was one of your best friends. Now, as those pretty eyes opened up to stare at you, he was anything but platonic. 

He was pretty, in a way you’d acknowledged but never appreciated before. Loyal in a best friend way, but would doubtless be a wonderful boyfriend. He was doting, and kind, and sweet. He was cheeky and funny and caring. He was here, and interested, and if tonight had proven anything, it was your compatibility. 

You and Enzo worked well together, you made a great couple, and for the first time ever, he was staring at you in a way that made you think he wanted to take your clothes off. And you liked it. 

The choice seemed clear. 

“I’d like that too, Enzo.”

[redvexillum]

@feral-fox-crypt I think I'm a psychic because I think you want rough sex with Alastor? Am I right or am I right? I want to dedicate this story to @dewdropdinosaur she has read some of my other rare pair fic during Kinktober/Flufftober and always left a comment that brought a huge smile to my face. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy this one! 💖

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, human!alastor, rough s♡x, reader has sub drop, aftercare, bad BDSM etiquette, rough ♡ral s♡x, p in v, choking, hair pulling, belt whipping, dual POV, alastor is bad with feelings, multiple ♡rgasm (f!receiving), over-stimulation, crude language, degradation, d♡m/s♡b, alastor is d♡m, reader is s♡b, minor hurt/comfort, alastor catches feelings for reader

✨️ recommended to read c☆ckwarming first for a fulsome experience ✨️

The sound of slick, wet slurping filled the room, obscene and unashamed, like a starved animal devouring a long-awaited meal.  

Alastor sat back, his glass of bootleg rye balanced in one hand as he stared out the window, eyes fixed on the darkened shed outside. His grip on the glass tightened, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his eyes narrowed, fury simmering beneath the calm veneer he struggled to maintain. It was a cold, bitter fire that burned hot in his chest, ignited by his own failure. 

He had let his prey escape. 

The papers were a humiliating testament to that. The Bayou Butcher, mocked openly, ridiculed. The survivor had painted a vivid tale of bravery, twisting the truth until Alastor was depicted as a bumbling fool—a pathetic predator who’d somehow let a prize slip through his fingers. Every word mocked him, taunted him, kindling the rage that boiled just beneath his polished surface. 

With a low, guttural growl, he seized a fistful of your hair, dragging your mouth off his cock with a loud, wet pop. Your eyes, hazy with lust and adoration, lifted to meet his. Your bruised, swollen lips parted as you gasped for breath, desperate for his approval even now. Your lips had been wrapped around him for the better part of fifteen minutes, greedily sucking him down, each needy pull of your lips drawing the otherwise dormant arousal to life.  His cock twitched at the sight of your expression: you wanted more, no matter how he took you. 

“S-sir?” you breathed, voice soft and trembling as your bare, supple body quaked under his fierce gaze. He could feel every small tremor against him as your hardened nipples brushed his legs, the friction sending jolts through you with each hitch of your breath, each restless grind of your thighs, trying to soothe the ache that pulsed between them. 

A smirk tugged at his mouth, dark and almost cruel, as he released his hold on your hair. “Come,” he commanded, low and dangerous, enjoying the thrill that coursed through you at the sound of his voice. You obeyed instantly, crawling toward him on all fours, desperate and shameless, just as he’d taught you—like the bitch in heat he’d once sneered you were, back when he had taken you in the dark intimacy of his radio station, his cock deep in your throat to muffle your needy moans. 

You were such a simple creature, so delightfully obedient. Alastor couldn’t fathom how any woman would indulge his depravity the way you did, how you could revel in the filthy things he made you do. 

But there you were—a rare, eager little pet, his perfect plaything, someone so willing to lay bare her body and soul for him that he’d found himself unwilling to discard you. You were a treasure he had now taken into his home, cherishing you like a prized possession. 

His cock throbbed at the sight of you, and his eyes tracked the sway of your breasts as you crawled toward him, each movement sending them into a pendulous swing that only fuelled his arousal. 

Your expression was one of pure, open adoration, your gaze filled with the kind of devoted bliss that soothed the sting of failure in a way nothing else could. His anger ebbed as he watched you, replaced by a strange, unfamiliar possessive warmth that simmered and coiled low in his gut. 

As you reached him, he knelt down, exposing himself fully, his arousal drooping slightly from lack of stimulation. But you, sweet and eager as always, hastened to rectify that, fingers wrapping firmly around him as you stroked him, forming a tight ring with your delicate hand. You leaned in, the tip of your tongue flicking over the head of his cock, and a shiver ran through him. With just a few teasing licks, you brought his desire roaring back to life, your skilled, needy mouth working magic on him with effortless grace. 

Alastor’s hand drifted to your head, fingers curling gently in your hair as he began to stroke it, his touch uncharacteristically soft, almost tender—a rarity that had your cheeks flushing as you stared up at him. Your lips curled into a blissful smile, basking in the affection he so seldom gave, your fingers still wrapped around him as you savoured his touch. 

You were nothing to him.  

He reminded himself of that with each pulsing beat of his arousal, each hungry sweep of your tongue over him. 

You were a diversion, a pastime, a convenient release for those primal urges that not even he could deny. And yet, as he gazed down at you, a small thrill surged within him, intoxicating and delicious. 

“Suck,” he murmured, his voice a soft, commanding whisper, devoid of emotion yet laced with something he had yet been able to name. 

You responded instantly, need and devotion glimmering in your eyes as you wrapped your lips around him, forming a tight seal at his tip before taking him deeper, letting him fill your mouth. Your tongue traced over him with soft, teasing strokes, and you began to bob your head, each movement drawing a low groan from his throat as he watched you. 

You were hopelessly clumsy—always fumbling, tripping, and blushing every time he so much as looked your way. But he loved the effect he had on you, how that heavy blush painted your cheeks every time he took control, how you quivered with each command. And no matter how rough he was with you, how often he pushed you to your limits, you only came back for more, craving everything he would give. That thought alone made a sharp grin spread across his face. 

A dark, possessive desire simmered in his gut, and he felt the twisted thrill of knowing just how easily you surrendered to him. You were the perfect woman...pet for him—the way you willingly, eagerly, gave up control, placing your complete trust in him. The way you looked up at him with reverence, even now, as he twisted his fingers in your hair and tugged sharply. A delicious shudder ran through you as he thrust forward, pressing deeper until he heard that lovely, choked whimper, felt your throat tighten around him. Yet, even then, you didn’t pull away; you stayed, devoted and unyielding. 

Like a loyal dog. Like a bitch in heat. 

... Like his cherished, obedient... pet.

The sound of his harsh breaths mixed with your muffled moans and wet, sloppy noises filled the room, each messy gulp of yours sending a wave of satisfaction through him. Drool began to slip past your lips, clinging to your chin in a thick, sticky mess. As he looked down, he felt a realization settle in his chest—a rush of certainty that you would stay by his side until death itself claimed you. You would be there, smiling up at him with that same innocent adoration, even if he stood drenched in the blood and gore of his latest kill. 

You, his perfect, shameless... lover, would fulfill his every dark desire unquestionably, wouldn’t you? 

In one swift motion, he pulled you off his cock, and your breath hitched as you looked up at him, cheeks flushed and eyes glossy with need. The sight of you—so willing, so utterly ravished—sent a pulse of heat straight to his core, and his cock throbbed, painfully hard at the sight. Since when had you looked so divine? When had he started craving you like this? 

Why did he want to consume you whole? 

He took your hair in his hand again, a makeshift leash, and guided you to his bedroom. You stumbled as you tried to match his strides, hands and knees scrambling to keep up, yet you didn’t utter a single complaint. Instead, your wide, needy eyes were begging, pleading for him to take you, to give you every piece of himself.

When he crossed the threshold, he paused, feeling a strange sense of anxiety. This would be the first time he’d take anyone, you, in a bed. 

For the first time, he wanted to ravage you on something softer, something that allowed him to enjoy every moment, every gasp, every twitch of your body. Every other time had been in rough, illicit places: his office, the hidden corners of alleyways, beneath the cover of twisted trees in the bayou, or pressed against the cold, unforgiving floor. 

He stopped at the edge of the bed, watching as your trembling fingers reached up to trace the outer seam of his pants, awaiting his next command, your eyes so full of devotion it made his chest ache in the strangest of ways.

A thrill of ownership surged through him; you were his in every way, weren’t you? His pretty, obedient plaything. His perfect, precious pet. 

And you, he realized with a dark satisfaction, were entirely his. 

You were a strange girl.  

You knew you were.  

Excitement pulsed in your veins as Alastor, the one man who owned your every thought, invited you to his home. The whole way there, nerves danced beneath your skin, feeling the weight of his silence as he drove you deep into his bayou. This was a first—he’d never brought you into his home before. 

Heat flooded your core at the thought of what he might do to you. Alastor was the only man who didn’t treat you as fragile. The only one willing to satisfy every dark, unhinged desire you harboured, needs that would make anyone else turn away in disgust. But he never looked at you with revulsion during these acts, save for that lingering smirk when you fumbled over your duties. 

You were happy—beyond happy.

Being with Alastor made you feel more alive than you’d ever been. 

Now, completely bare before him, you knelt, wanting to whine, to beg him to take you in whatever twisted ways he pleased. 

But...as your eyes traced his expression, you realized that there was something different about him today. His usual rough, unyielding exterior softened, showing a rare glimpse of something tender, something reserved only for you. 

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, his voice low, demanding, with a hint of cruelty that made your stomach tighten. 

You scrambled, snapping from your trance. But after kneeling for so long, your legs wobbled beneath you, and you stumbled back to the floor, wide-eyed as you looked up. A cold, dangerous smirk curved his lips. 

“So you can’t even follow a simple order, can you?” he mocked, voice dripping with condescension. “And what did I say I’d do when you can’t follow orders, dear?” he hissed, fingers pulling his belt from its loops with an agonizing slowness, the sharp slide of leather against fabric filling the silence. 

Your breath caught, the thrill of fear mingling with a rush of wet heat between your thighs. You remembered all too well—the time he bent you over a tree for not bringing his dry cleaning on time, each slap echoing through the bayou, burning itself into your memory. 

“That you’d punish me, sir,” you whispered, barely audible, your voice trembling. 

“Correct. Ten strikes.” He grasped your upper arm, pulling you to your feet, only to toss you onto the bed. You landed face down, the plush fabric against your skin as you arched your ass up for him. 

A chill swept down your spine as he traced the belt’s cool edge over your heated skin, dragging it slowly along your soaked, sensitive folds. The slick sound of your arousal coating the leather mingled with your ragged breaths, filling the room. 

And then, without warning, the belt sliced through the air, landing with a sharp, punishing crack on your bare skin. 

“Ahh!” you gasped, your body lurching forward as you pressed your face into the mattress. “O-one,” you whimpered, each heartbeat amplifying the sting as your clit throbbed, the pain melding with pleasure. 

A fire sparked beneath your skin, flaring with each strike as Alastor whipped the belt against you again and again. You counted each one, voice wavering between cries and sobs, drool trickling down to meet the tears blurring your vision. Your thighs quivered, struggling to keep your ass raised, eager for him. On the seventh strike, when the belt caught your slick, needy folds, you felt a wave of shame as liquid spilled from you, glistening on your skin. 

A low, desperate moan escaped your lips as your walls clenched, craving something to fill the aching emptiness. 

Alastor’s sharp, mocking laugh sliced through the haze, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “Coming without permission now, are we?” He didn’t give you a chance to answer, raining down the final strikes in swift, merciless succession. 

Your cries softened, a mixture of raw pain and bliss as you trembled, knowing that the bruises would mark you for days. Each ache would bring you back to this moment, reigniting the desire pooling within you. 

Then, without warning, he pressed three thick fingers into you, plunging deep. Alastor leaned over your arched back, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. “How dare you be this wet when I’m punishing you,” he growled, his fingers relentless as they drove into you, the sound of your slick, desperate flesh echoing in your mind. 

Your body writhed, pressing back, eager for more, your hips grinding against his hand as he filled you. “Please, please, sir, I need you,” you finally gasped, voice choked with want, your vision blurred with pain and overwhelming pleasure. 

The tension snapped in the air as Alastor's voice, pitched with a teasing, dark delight, pierced the haze surrounding you. 

“Do you now?” he mocked, his fingers glistening with your desire as he slid them from your mouth. Gripping your hips, he yanked you back into position, aligning his thick, throbbing head with your dripping entrance. Before you could even brace yourself, he sank in, burying himself to the hilt in one fierce thrust that ripped a sharp, needy cry from your lips. Before you could release it fully, his slick fingers thrust back into your mouth, muffling your gasps as your body clamped tightly around him. 

You tasted yourself on his fingers, the heady blend of his dominance and your surrender driving you mad as he stretched you with each brutal plunge. You could do nothing but cling to him, letting him bounce you up and down with each pounding thrust that had you soaring, the friction of him catching at every perfect spot inside you. The delicious ache of being stretched so completely consumed you, your clit throbbing as his cock teased your depths, nudging your cervix and filling you with intoxicating waves of pleasurable pain that left you reeling. 

Your muffled moans mixed with his guttural groans, the raw sounds of your bodies filling the room as he drove into you. When he finally pulled his fingers from your mouth, he circled them over your swollen, desperate clit, wringing a broken, gasping wail from you as another wave of pleasure shattered through you. His fingers never stopped their relentless teasing even as you came, your body helpless against the mind-melting ecstasy that left you a sobbing, trembling mess. 

By the time he tossed you onto the bed, you were barely aware, your body limp and pliant. Your leg draped over his shoulder, he resumed, driving himself into your swollen folds. 

Your shameless moans filled the air, the slick sound of him claiming you echoing as he pounded deeper, harder, unrelenting. Gripping your breast, he squeezed, his thumb rolling over your sensitive nipple, sending sparks through your already sensitized body. Your back arched, surrendering every part of you to him, your tears mixing with the damp sheets as you lay bare, offering yourself to his every whim, every desire. 

Then his hand was at your throat, his fingers wrapping around, pressing just enough to cut off your breath to reach the edge of oblivion. His cock throbbed deep inside you as he watched you, eyes glinting with manic delight. With each bruising thrust, he tightened his grip just enough for your vision to darken, and with that growing pressure, a new wave of pleasure bloomed inside you, sharper, more intense than before. Just as your world began to blur, he released you, and you gasped, the rush of air into your lungs sending you spiralling as a fierce, desperate climax ripped through you, shaking you to your core. 

Your soaked body trembled uncontrollably, each pulse of his cock within you driving you deeper into a haze of pleasure. His hold never wavered as he brought you to the edge again and again, until there was nothing left but the raw, aching, consuming pleasure that marked you as his. 

The heat between you was overwhelming, each breath catching as you rocked on his cock, feeling every thick inch filling you deeply. You could barely process the bliss, but you didn’t stop, even as your thighs quivered, and your mind spun, surrendering completely. 

Alastor threw his head back, his usual control slipping as he gripped your hips, his own movements coming to a halt while he let you take control for the first time, guiding his cock deeper with your rhythmic movements. 

"That's it, dear," he murmured, almost to himself, his voice husky and rich with praise. His release flooded into you, thick and hot, and he let out a small, breathy moan as you continued to move, clenching around him to draw out every last wave of his pleasure. “Take every single drop,” he muttered, the words leaving his lips with a fervent, almost reverent edge. 

Finally, he softened and slipped free, his seed mixing with your own arousal as it dripped between your thighs. He let himself fall back, his gaze heavy-lidded but still drawn to you, watching as you slumped, exhausted and trembling. Your legs splayed apart, arms limp, and your face a mess, wet with both tears and the remnants of your desire. Breathing raggedly, you tried to ground yourself, but your mind still floated in that heady haze, every muscle vibrating with the aftershocks of pleasure. 

You stared up at him, craving more, more of...you weren't sure what you craved. But you wanted to feel him, whatever he was willing to give you. Even as your body barely held itself together, you forced yourself to move.

The thought of, please don't leave, echoing in the dark recesses of your mind. 

A warm, low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and before you could react, he gathered you into his arms, holding you close. Something in you seized up, a flood of warmth welling up behind your eyes as he pressed you against him. 

Normally, he’d leave by now, always returning to whatever occupied him after these indulgent moments. Your fingers trembled, hovering uncertainly over his back, unsure if this was something you were truly allowed to reciprocate. 

Alastor had taken you farther than anyone else, yet he also left you feeling more alive and more vulnerable. 

As the thrill of the moment faded, you often felt a pang of sadness after, not knowing how to tell him that all the intensity seemed to leave a hollow ache in your chest. You bit your lip, not wanting to risk anything that might make him see you as clingy or overly attached. 

“Go on, dear.” His voice held that playful lilt, but underneath it, there was an unfamiliar warmth. “You know how to embrace, don’t you?” 

Hesitantly, you let your arms wrap around his shoulders, feeling the roughness of his suit and the warmth of his skin beneath. Tears spilled over your cheeks as you pressed yourself to him, breathing in his scent, feeling a strange fullness you hadn’t experienced before—a feeling beyond just your body. He didn’t let go, instead rubbing a gentle hand along your back, wordlessly accepting your embrace. 

“Sorry,” you stammered, pressing your face into his shoulder. “I’m not sad; I swear I’m not…” 

You wanted to tell him that the happiness you felt when he held you like this was overwhelming.Maybe you were a strange girl with strange feelings, but right now, held tightly in his arms, you felt more complete than you ever had before. 

For the first time, Alastor’s hand stroked your hair, each touch gentle and unhurried, melting away the last of your reservations. And as the tears continued to fall, he held you there, secure in his grasp, until you finally drifted into sleep, feeling a place of belonging and acceptance in his embrace. 

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Sexy Baby?

(x)

Summary: Y/N is humiliated. Can meeting Jensen make things better? (P.S. Sometimes I hate writing summaries. 😩😄)

Pairing: Jensen x Plus-sized!eader (Y/N)

Warnings: None really. Embarrassed reader. Hurt reader. Body shaming asshole. Kissing. Fluff. Jensen being the ultimate, incredible man. 😁❤️

Word Count: 4,168

A/N: This fic was a request by a lovely anon. It turned out fluffier and less smutty than I was originally thinking, Nonny, so I hope it still works for you. ❤️

This fic also incorporates this gif request sent in by @suckitands33 for my 2K followers celebration. Here is the gif I reference in this fic:

(x)

This was meant to be a drabble request, and looking at the word count you can see that this is most decidedly NOT a drabble. 😄 But I hope you like what I've come up with anyway. ❤️

If you enjoy the fic, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment. It means a lot. ❤️

A/N 2: As always this fic is about a different, multiverse version of Jensen, who is single. This is a complete and utter work of fiction.

It was one of Y/N’s most humiliating experiences during what should have been one of her most exciting moments.

She'd waited years and years to get to a Supernatural convention. She'd been a fan of the show for a very long time, and she simply adored the whole cast. The camaraderie of the boys and the kindness of the whole SPN Family had helped her through some very dark times. 

So to finally be at a con, and standing in line, waiting for a photo op with her absolute favorite actor of all time, Jensen Ackles? It felt like a dream. 

But she was so nervous. She'd never met anyone famous, let alone the guy she'd had a crush on for nearly half her life. Jensen was beautiful beyond words, sexy and charming, and everyone seemed to fall in love with him. So meeting him was daunting to say the least. 

As she approached the front of the line she finally got a look at him as he posed with other fans. He wore a slightly distressed, light beige sweater and tight fitting black jeans. He was so unbelievably tall in person, so solid, and if possible, even more gorgeous than he was on film. That magnetism he had, the kind that lit up the screen so easily and quickly drew everyone into the characters he played, was on full display and almost too brilliant in real life. She felt her lower belly tighten as butterflies erupted inside her. 

Finally, when Y/N was second in line, Jensen looked over and caught her eye, giving her a little smile and a wave. She blushed beet red and waved back, feeling like a complete idiot, but beaming nonetheless.

The woman in front of her walked up to Jensen and made a suggestion for a pose. One of the handlers seemed like they weren’t sure about allowing it, but Jensen waved away their worries, smiling at the fan and nodding, saying something that made her giggle. Then he wrapped his arm around her back and under her legs, picking her up from the ground. The woman squealed slightly, but then they did the pose. The woman had her arms flung wide in celebration, smile shining, and Jensen had his mouth open in a comically huge smile. It looked like they’d both won the lottery or something.

It was adorable.

Then it was finished and it was Y/N’s turn. She tried to take deep, steadying breaths as the previous fan said goodbye quickly. Before she walked up though, a staff member approached Jensen. He looked like he worked for the venue and not Creation, because he wore a uniform with the hotel’s name emblazoned on the back. Jensen’s smile shrank as he walked up; he didn’t look particularly happy to see him. 

The guy said something about switching rooms for autographs and Jensen just nodded. Then, as he was leaving, he looked over at Y/N waiting to be next, and turned to Jensen with a mocking smile.

“Wouldn’t try that last pose with this one.” He said with a nod towards Y/N at the front of the line.

Y/N felt like someone had kicked her in the stomach. All the air left her lungs and her eyes welled up instantly, her chest was immediately on fire from the shame she was swallowing down in big gulps.

She’d been chubby her whole life; she couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t dieting and desperately trying to lose weight. It was her biggest insecurity that she couldn’t slip under 250 pounds no matter what she tried. She’d been that weight for a decade or more and no amount of dieting or exercising seemed to change that. 

She was also tall for a woman, and so she often felt like…how did Taylor put it?

Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby And I'm a monster on the hill

And now here she was in front of the man she’d dreamt about and fantasized about for so long, and this was how he was going to see her now - the way this jackass saw her.

She felt sick to her stomach.

She let her glance skitter to Jensen, but he wasn’t looking at her, he was glaring at the guy who was starting to walk away. He followed him and in two long strides caught him, grabbing his arm and spinning the guy around to face him.

They were close enough now that Y/N could hear what they were saying, even though Jensen was speaking in an angry, whiphard, whisper.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

The guy flung his arms out. “Come on, man. It was just a joke.”

Jensen shook his head and his face was like stone. “No, it wasn’t. And you know how I know it wasn’t a joke? Cause it wasn’t fucking funny. You’re an asshole, and if I catch you saying shit like that again about anybody here, I’ll be talking to your boss, and letting them know that we'll be looking for another venue next year.” He gave him a humorless smile. “And I’ll be sure to tell him just who he has to thank for that.”

The guy mumbled something that must have been an apology because Jensen let go of his arm and the guy beat a swift retreat. Y/N watched Jensen take a deep breath and then he approached her at the front of the line. 

She knew the people around her had heard what the guy said because they were calling the guy a prick too and telling her to ignore his bullshit. The woman behind her, who she’d never met, was rubbing circles on her back, trying to soothe the pain the jackass had caused.

That kind gesture along with the way Jensen held out his hand towards her and smiled so warmly, made tears start to fall silently. She couldn’t help it. She took Jensen’s warm hand and allowed him to pull her over to stand in front of the camera, quickly brushing her tears away with her free hand.

She’d never wanted to be in a picture less, and as they approached the spot, she shook her head and tried to pull her hand free.

She cleared her throat and stared at the floor. “Maybe, I’ll just…could I just get the picture with just you in it? Any pose you want to do will be fine.” She said, her slightly stuffy nose muffling her words.

Jensen turned back to her and tilted his head to catch her eye. “I can, if you want, but I’d sure love a picture with you. Whaddya say?” He asked with a bright smile.

Y/N realized it would be physically impossible to say no to this man, so she shrugged and walked into position in front of the camera.

“What pose do you want, sweetheart?” 

Y/N swallowed hard and forced herself not to cry. “Would you just…I’d just like a hug, if that’s okay.”

Jensen nodded. “Absolutely.”

So he opened his arms and Y/N stepped into them. She wrapped her hands under his arms and around his ribcage. His left arm was closest to the camera and he wrapped that one around her shoulders. His right arm came up over her shoulders too, but he used that hand to press her cheek to his chest, and he rested his chin on the top of her head. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply.

She’d never felt so cocooned in safety in her whole life. His arms were strong around her, applying just the right pressure to make her feel completely protected. After the way her heart had just been pulverized, it felt healing. She wanted to stay right there forever.

She heard the click of the camera, though, and opened her eyes. Jensen kept her wrapped in his arms for a little longer, before giving her an extra squeeze and stepping back.

“Thank you.” Y/N said shyly.

“Thank you.” Jensen responded, cupping her shoulder briefly. “Take care. Hope to see you again this weekend.”

Y/N nodded, grateful for his kindness, but recognizing that he felt bad for her too which brought on more embarrassment. So she just nodded at Chris who was snapping the pictures, and took off out of the photo op area. 

She went to the bathroom immediately and locked herself in the stall, allowing herself to cry quietly at length. For more than half an hour she sat in the stall, covering her mouth to keep from making too much noise. But finally her tears slowed and then dried up, the crack in her heart receding into just another scar there. She stayed in the bathroom another twenty minutes, dabbing at her puffy eyes with cool paper towels.

When she felt she was presentable enough, she finally left the restroom and headed over to pick up her photo op package. As she stood by the table, waiting for hers to show up, one of the women she recognized as a handler approached her. 

She smiled kindly, though she seemed a little frazzled which Y/N could definitely understand. “Hi! We actually picked up your photo op. If you follow me, we can get it for you.”

Y/N thought that was a little odd. Was there something wrong with the picture? But she nodded and followed along quickly as the handler practically sprinted away.

They walked down a hallway in the hotel and then through a couple of doors until they emerged in a mostly empty hallway, just a few employees scurrying around busily. Finally the woman she was following stopped and knocked lightly on a door, waiting a moment and then opening it and showing Y/N into a beautifully appointed suite. The furniture was subtly luxurious and elegant, the floors and fixtures were cool and understated while still being sleek and trendy.

But by far the most beautiful part of the room was the man sitting on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, with what looked like a script in his hand.

He looked up as they walked in and a smile broke out on his face as he dropped the script onto the table in front of him. “Hey! We found you! Thanks Amanda!”

Amanda nodded and shot him a smile. “No problem!” She said as she spun around and took off, closing the door behind her and suddenly leaving Y/N alone with Jensen.

As though he was reading her mind, Jensen pointed towards the door. “If you’d feel more comfortable, we can open it again.”

But Y/N couldn’t have felt less afraid or worried about her safety being alone with the man in front of her, so she just shook her head. She was bound to act like an idiot in front of him and the less prying eyes watching that the better. 

Jensen smiled. “Okay, well do you want a drink? Help yourself.” He said, pointing to a table with coffee, tea, and water bottles. “We could probably get you a coke or something, if you’d rather.”

She shook her head again, but forced herself to utter words this time. “No thank you, I’m fine.”

“Okay, well in that case you’re probably wondering what the hell I tracked you down for.” He said with a soft smile.

Y/N smiled back. “A little.”

Jensen waved at the spot beside him on the couch. “Wanna sit down?”

She took him up on that offer since her knees were a little wobbly and she didn’t really trust them. 

He reached over to the table beside the couch and pulled up a glossy 8x10 photo. “Well, to begin with, I do have your photo.”

He handed it over and Y/N felt herself blush. Despite the fact that she was in it, it was a beautiful picture. Her eyes were closed and so were Jensen’s as he held her protectively cuddled against him. The picture would always remind her of just how safe she’d felt in that moment, and she was grateful to take it home.

“Thank you.” She said quietly. “You were great.” 

“And you were beautiful.” He shook his head. “No, you ARE beautiful.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush an even deeper red. “It’s really okay, I’m fine. I mean the guy was a jerk, but you don’t have to try and make me feel better. It’s hardly the first time.” She shrugged. “I can take it.”

Jensen shifted slightly closer to her, turning on the couch so he was facing her. “I’m not trying to make you feel better.”

She shot him a disbelieving look and he chuckled. “Well, I guess I am, but that’s just a bonus of telling you the truth. And the truth is, Y/N, you're beautiful.” 

Y/N shot him a slightly wide-eyed look. “How do you know my name?”

He pointed to her picture and smiled. “I got it from the photo op package. Promise I’m not psychic. Or a stalker”

Y/N giggled and covered her mouth at the sound, apologizing. “Sorry.”

Jensen reached up and pulled her hand away from her smile. “Don’t do that. Don’t cover up your laugh and certainly don’t apologize for it.”

Y/N shrugged again and looked down at her lap and the hand that Jensen still held. He came slightly closer and tipped up her chin.

“I wanted to see you because the last thing I wanted was for you to walk away from this weekend thinking less of yourself because of some asshole with a big mouth and a mean streak. It was…”He took a deep breath. “It was bothering me a lot.”

Y/N was frustrated with herself that she couldn’t stop the tears that formed again at Jensen’s kind words. She dashed them away quickly with her free hand. 

“Sorry.” She apologized again. “I know I don’t owe some rude jackass my tears and hurt, but sometimes it’s hard to just shove them down, you know.”

Jensen cupped her cheek warmly and brushed his thumb across her cheekbone. “Don’t shove them down, sweetheart, throw them away. His words are bullshit. They’re just wrong. Wanna know how I know?”

Y/N nodded, completely mesmerized by his mossy green gaze as he answered, his voice vehement. “I know he’s wrong, because it’s obvious for anyone to see that you’re utterly beautiful.”

Y/N started to scoff, but he cut her off. “I wanted to kiss you. Still do.”

Y/N choked heartily on the words that sputtered out of her, forgetting how to breathe normally. Jensen looked slightly abashed and it was his turn to stare at his lap. “God, I hope you don’t think I’m some creepy weirdo. I’m not…I don’t expect anything from you…this isn’t…” 

He sighed. “Shit, I didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that. I just wanted to try and make you understand that I’m not lying to make you feel better, I’m not just trying to make a sweet girl feel better about herself, though I want you to. But I wanted you to know that I was and am genuinely, undeniably attracted to you. From the moment I looked over and saw you standing in that line.”

He shrugged and shifted back slightly. “But I totally get if I’ve creeped you out and you wanna go. I’m sorry.”

But Y/N just stared at him bug eyed. She spoke softly and slowly, still stammering slightly. “You wa-wanna kiss m-me.”

He gave her a lopsided smile and a shrug. “It’s the truth.”

“Since you saw me in line?” She said by way of clarification.

He nodded. “Yep.”

She blinked rapidly and then bit her lip. She caught the way Jensen’s eyes flickered down to her mouth and the way his gaze heated, setting her body on fire. 

“Oh my god.” She whispered in disbelief. Then she shook her head and grinned at him. “Well, I’ve wanted to kiss you for about a decade…so…” She trailed off and Jensen gave a surprised laugh that turned into a warm and mischievous smile. 

“Well, in that case,” he said slowly, “I think you should go first.” He tapped lightly on his cupid’s bow mouth, indicating that she should kiss him there and Y/N thought she might actually pass out. 

She leaned forward tentatively, her head cloudy and the world around her surreal, and pressed her lips to his very briefly and gently before pulling back.

Jensen opened his eyes and a slow sexy smile spread across his face. “That was sweet, darlin’. But I gotta say, ten years of thinking and that’s all you got? I’ve been thinking about you for barely two hours, and I can promise you, I imagined way more than that sweet little angel kiss.”

Y/N felt her lower belly clench with want. “Okay, then show me.” She said, hardly able to believe her daring. 

But it felt like she was being presented with a buffet of her favorite foods when she’d been starving and there was no way she was going to pass up the opportunity in front of her.

Jensen leaned forward and slid his big hand into her hair, holding her head in place as he pressed his mouth to hers gently, taking teasing sips from her lips and making her whimper slightly. She was embarrassed by the sound, but it made Jensen tighten his grip in her hair and growl slightly into her open mouth, finally sweeping his tongue inside and completely devouring her. 

Y/N grabbed onto Jensen’s soft sweater and fisted it in her hands over and over, reveling in the feel of hard muscle beneath her palms. Jensen kissed her long and lustfully. His left hand stayed bunched in her hair, but he let his right hand slide up and down her arm before he slid it around to push against her back, just between her shoulder blades. 

He pressed her tightly to his chest as he continued to rob her of air. Finally, he broke off the kiss, leaving them both panting as he pressed his lips just beneath her jaw and down her neck. 

Her mind felt like it was on fire, everything was spinning and the world was just going too fast. As though he really was the psychic he denied being, Jensen seemed to know she needed to catch her breath, figuratively and literally, and he pulled back to press his forehead to hers.

“Sorry, got a little carried away.”

She shook her head vehemently. “No, no…that was…you’re perfect.”

Jensen chuckled. “You stole the words right out of my mouth, sweetheart.”

When they’d regained their breath, Jensen kissed her chastely and then tucked her hair behind her ear.

“So, you going to the panel tomorrow?”

Y/N nodded and gave a soft smile. “Of course.”

“Do you have plans tonight?”

Y/N felt like her heart might actually burst. She shook her head. “None that aren’t breakable.”

The next day at the panel, Y/N sat in the third row, feeling as though the whole world was brand new.

She could still hardly believe it, but the night before she and Jensen had gone out to dinner at a very nice restaurant, and the conversation between them had been remarkably easy and laced with laughter and fun. 

After dinner they’d gone for a long walk and talked some more before finding a quiet park bench and making out like teenagers. Jensen’s mouth had branded her skin as his alone, and she knew he owned her now, body and soul. She was pretty sure he felt the same way, or at least something like it. He’d been very open about how much he wanted her, vocal in his desire and need for her. 

It was the first time in her life that she’d felt truly, unequivocally beautiful and it opened up the world around her; colors seemed brighter and she knew that she was glowing.

Barely twenty-four hours after standing heartbroken and humiliated in Jensen’s arms, she sat in the audience, watching him on stage, feeling alive and truly happy in a way that was a little scary, but wholly exhilarating too.

The panel was wonderful; the boys were hilarious and warm as always. As the music started for the last question, Y/N expected Jensen to go off and sing with Rob as he usually did. But instead he looked right at her in the audience, standing up quickly and crooking his finger at her, beckoning her forward. 

Amanda, the woman who’d brought her to the hotel suite yesterday, was standing at the end of the row, and gestured for her to leave her seat and follow her to the stage. Y/N was shaking from head to toe as she followed her up the stairs to where Jared was waiting for her, escorting her over to Jensen who took her hand and led her back to the chair sitting in the middle of the stage, helping her hop up onto it. 

She looked out across the huge audience and panicked a little at the size of the crowd, until she made herself actually look at everyone’s faces. They were all smiling and beaming at her, and she thought of the boys’ oft repeated phrase: “You’re surrounded by family.” She suddenly felt a sense of belonging that was almost unprecedented in her life.

The music ended and the audience’s cheering fell away as Jared looked out at the crowd. “Everyone, say hello to Y/N! Y/N say hello to your SPN family!” There was more clapping and cheering as Y/N waved shyly. It occurred to her then, that she hadn’t told Jared her name, which meant Jensen must have told him about her. At least, enough that Jared agreed to break the usual routine of the last question going to one of the people standing in line. 

Y/N felt a little guilty that she was taking their place, but when she looked at the women standing at the microphones she could see them smiling and clapping along.

Jensen put his arm around her shoulders and she shivered. Raising the microphone, he shot her a mischievous smile before speaking.

“So, Y/N, how was your evening last night? You enjoying yourself?”

Y/N blushed beet red, and just nodded. Jared punched Jensen lightly and took pity on her. “Do you have a question for us?”

She wasn’t prepared at all, having never expected to be in this position, but she gave it a go as both boys lowered their microphone so she could speak into it.

She took a deep breath. “I wasn’t expecting to be up here, so I don’t…I don’t have a question ready, but I’d like to take a moment to say thank you.”

She looked out at the audience. “Some of you were in the photo op line with me when I experienced something really embarrassing. Every one of you were kind about it and supportive, and I greatly appreciate it.”

She looked at Jared. “You promote so much love and support in your AKF campaigns and with all of us fans, and I’m so grateful for that because you encourage us all to be better people.”

Jared put his hand on his heart and looked down at the ground, humbly accepting her gratitude. Then she looked at Jensen and her eyes welled up a little.

“Jensen, you made me feel truly safe and beautiful at a time when I would have sworn that was impossible, and whatever happens in my future, I’ll hold on to that feeling for the rest of my life and keep thanking you, always.”

Jensen leaned down, and for a wild moment she thought he might kiss her right on stage, but he just kissed her cheek and gave her a hug. But his voice was low and seductive in her ear.

“You’re more than welcome, sweetheart, and thank you for yesterday, and hopefully, for later tonight too?”

He pulled back slightly and Y/N blushed at the look of hunger in his eye, but she nodded her head quickly. “God yes.”

His smile was wide as he squeezed her hand and helped her hop down from the chair, waving as she left the stage with Jared and tossing her a wink that made her right knee wobble slightly, so that Jared had to steady her.

He chuckled as he helped her down the stairs and then gave her a bear hug at the bottom. He whispered in Y/N’s ear as the band played loudly and Jensen sang joyfully with Rob.

“So you’re the one my boy wouldn’t shut up about last night. I know him pretty well, so I feel completely confident that I’ll see you again soon.” He shot her a grin and squeezed her shoulders.

Y/N moved off to the side, not bothering to go back to her seat, just looking up at the stage and knowing in heart of hearts that this weekend had changed her whole life.

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[cheriladycl01]

Could you fic for Fernando Alonso with wife reader? They're on vacation during the winter and she's cold, so she take a water bottle and cradle it. Nando saw it and felt jelly and left out🤭 I don't know if it make sense. Add something else to it if it's not right. Thanks!! :))

Finland Freeze - Fernando Alonso x WifeReader

Plot: Fernando decided to take you on a ski trip, however after testing out the bunny slopes and multiple falls you need to go back to the log cabin for some warmth, however Fernando feels as though he should be that warmth instead!

"Come on. It's not that hard!" your husband Fernando laughed from the bottom of the small hill. You look down at him, from up here the slope looked huge.

There was multiple kids going past you, throwing themselves into the activity while you stayed there apprehensively.

"Come on mi amor!" he shouts up to you. You take a few more seconds before starting pushing yourself down the slope on the ski's. You start to speed up and you try leaning into the turn but end up just plopping down into the icy slope. You look up, pulling your goggles up seeing your husband laughing at you with his hands on his knees.

A dad laugh.

You got up quickly rubbing the snow away from your now probably bruised bum. You start up again, taking the turns a little slower and manage to get down to your husband with only 2 more slip ups.

As you neared him, he opened his arms wide as if you were a toddler coming towards him. You however didn't fully slow to a stop, and end up falling in between his legs taking him down with you.

"Offph, I know when i married you I said till death do us part... but your taking that very seriously!" he jokes looking over you before helping you up from the snowy floor.

"Your the one who got me to come to Finland with you! I would have happily spent my winter in Dubai, or Australia!" you comment, pulling him into a hug.

The next few times and he comes down the hill with you, holding your hand and making sure to balance you back out when you start to skid.

After a few more hours, your getting too cold, your cheeks fully red and not enjoying the dropping temperatures. You say that you'll go back to the cabin on the ski resort to warm up while Fernando goes on the big slopes with his personal trainer.

You get in, changing from the damp skiing gear you were sporting and wrapping a dressing gown around you while you shove it all in the washing machine.

You quickly make your way over to the bathroom getting in the warm shower and rinsing of your body, keeping it on a warm temperature to try and warm up the furthest bits of your body.

You stayed there for at least 45 minutes, where you fingers slowly started to resemble prunes. You put on joggers and a hoodie of your husbands and some big fluffy socks. You make you way down to the living area turning the kettle on immediately. You grab the matches and light the wood inside the fireplace that Fernando had put there the previous night when you both realized you'd used most of it up.

Once the kettle has boiled you split the water, most of it going into the pink fluffy hot water bottle you'd conveniently taken with you, even though you'd been told you wouldn't need it. The other goes into making yourself a tea, using the last of the milk you guys had brought for the cup, noting you'd have to go to the little shop on the lodge sight later tonight.

You grab multiple unhealthy snacks that Fernando always held a grudge when he saw you lazing around on the sofa and his cheat day foods in hand on a random Wednesday.

You set yourself up on the sofa under a white fluffy blanket, nesting yourself down in between the large pillows. You hug the hot water bottle and turn on a new crappy rom-com in the Netflix recommended.

Fernando walks in the door, snow in his hair from the growing snow storm outside making you chuckle at his gruff entrance despite his small stature.

He walk over to you and leans down kissing your lips making you recoil away and bury down into your blankets more due to the coldness he brought.

"No kisses?" he asks looking at you with a tilted head and puppy dog eyes.

"You're cold hermoso" you smile shyly, not wanting to be rude but also wanting to keep warm.

"Hmmmm, i'll get changed and then you've got to let me in that bundle of warmth!" he exclaims before crossing over to the bedroom.

He comes back in a pair of shorts and t-shirt the outfit making your eyes widen shocked that he could even possibly be warm in that outfit. He starts to climb into your nest you've created pulling a random wrapper off you and into the little bin behind you both before he starts to undo all your hard work of keeping the warmth in.

"Mmmmm no please!" you complain hugging the water bottle closer trying to keep the warmth.

"I'm hurt mi amor! This bottle is a better source of heat than me? Your husband?" he asks looking over you and you want to nod you really do but his expression makes you just stay still as he starts to pull the blanket away from you. He lays down, re-wrapping the blanket around himself when he pulls your hot water bottle away.

You groan out a complain.

"Mmmm I'm better than this stupid bottle!" he says before snaking his hands up under your hoodie making you shiver and whine from how cold his hands are.

"Fernando!" you gasp when he fully flattens his hands on your back.

"We'll warm up soon" he smiles fully laying on your and hugging your body into his.

"I was warm until you showed up" you sigh starting to play with his hair that was under the blanket so your finger tips didnt get too cold.

Eventually the fire really kicked in and your body heats started to regulate meaning you were both warming each other up nicely now, to the point where you both fell asleep in your little nest of the sofa hugging each other with the soft voices from the next movie that had automatically played on in the back ground.

Taglist:

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[leclsrc]

decent incentives ✴︎ cl16, mv1

genre: this is. Smut, porn W plot, threesome, driver reader

word count: 6.9k

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs. Or: You’ve been a brat, and only two people know how to mellow you out. title from this

auds here… hi hi hi! scanned my reqs last week, found a max/charles threesome one, and wrote this out in half a day after a friend showed me the challengers trailer (i love tennis and it drove me to write abt a sport that was not, in fact, tennis) also i truly cannot explain the phenomenon behind me finding smut/these kinds of works easier to suss out these days (long form fic i talked abt in the last drabble is not this one fyi) but it’s just ???? like i don’t… i’ve no clue. i hope u enjoy this anyway!!!! love auds :)

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, double penetration, sexual tension, masturbation (f), teasing, praise central, reader is a MASSIVE brat, size kink, dirty talk, i don’t want to say brat taming but kinda kinda

Your first time in Max Verstappen’s hotel room happened after a tiring night of media and press, where you spent hours together smoking to calm yourselves down. You’d almost been caught by a manager, stepping on your sticks as soon as the back door swung open and your names were called out to do another interview. This was with ESPN, if you remember right. There’d been a muddled chaos of journalism in the venue, all the jumbled mess of the same questions. As young as you both are, do you feel intimidated by success?

It didn’t—and still doesn’t—help, you suppose, that both you and Max had stared, tight-lipped and deflated brows, and stated, with finality: no.

The afternoon stretched into an entire night, and by the time the clock ticked nine and everything had formally wrapped up, Max mustered up the courage and a half it took to invite you to his hotel room for a cig and half a Cuervo divided into three shots each. The conversation had progressed as he drove, the continuation of an otherwise unorthodox friendship between a Red Bull and Mercedes driver—a fact you’d both acknowledged but opted to ignore.

Drivers are friends all the time, you figure—you’re close with few drivers—but none of them are Max. You had made the lousy small talk, commented on how different the pre- and post-race processes have become since your entrance in 2018, which, back then, had seemed like forever ago. “It would seem like forever to a world champion,” he’d said, and his voice is all teasing and raspy and scruffed up. You had laughed, a scoffy little noise, and told him to shut up.

He obeyed, for two seconds, then added, “Do you mind if we meet someone there?”

The hotel room was what you might expect a high-level athlete to be bestowed with, wide and huge but not as wide and not as huge as yours a few streets over. There’d been a thing of cologne left uncapped on the table by the door, Adidas shoes on the floor next to Nikes, and then a low table housing a still smoking joint that left the entire living room smelling like grass.

Somehow, Max had managed to turn a neutral, sterile hotel room into a boy’s room. The scent of weed mixed with Tom Ford cologne. The rap music blending into the open balcony’s traffic noise. The socks on the floor, two pairs, both white. It’s a strenuous effort, you’d thought—and you were beginning to think this wasn’t the work of Max alone. “We have a guest,” he’d hollered when he managed to fiddle with the key card properly enough to leave the door alone.

No one had answered, or surfaced from the hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom, so you followed Max into the bar area. Bottles of booze in varying states of empty, lemon slices and salt now cold—“Do you not call housekeeping?” You’d asked, amusement concealing curiosity as you accepted a poured-out shot. He said they do—they—and sometimes hotel staff are just a bunch of pricks. He asked more questions. How it felt to win at twenty-one, how it felt to be driving, to be the youngest winner, the first female driver. 

Ask me something I don’t hear fucking journalists say all the time, you’d replied back, half-jokingly. The August air nipped at your cheeks, chilling your warm face. He’d laughed, and explained that he re-asked the questions in case you have a more honest answer to give him. The most honesty you could offer is that you’d grown to hate your reputation because it precedes your skill. It’d been silent for a bit then, just the scent of the unclaimed weed. Then Max went, We have a new friend.

You turned to see who he was talking to. Charles was at the doorway, eyes on you already, raising a hand to say a silent hello. “H…” He trailed off. “Hey.”

He was shirtless, Calvins tight on his legs, his free hand scratching absently at his abs. Behind you, you had faintly picked up on Max introducing you and Charles rolled his eyes before replying, clipped, I know who she is, wiseass. He’d taken the weed and almost left, but you spoke next.

“Want to come sit?”

He paused, turned, and blinked. “I’m alright,” he rejected. “We have a meeting tomorrow, don’t forget.”

Then he was back in the bedroom area, leaving behind him a trail of grassy smoke. He was clearly rugged and fresh from sleep, the delicious sleep athletes have all grown familiar with: post-race, overcome with a terrible exhaustion. You’d only ever exchanged a few words with either of these two, and the fact that you were alone with them sent a warm, drawling thrill up your spine.

You were two and a half shots in when Charles reappeared, sans weed. “Any left for me?”

—

If you grouped the grid into years, you would be with Max and Charles—on the younger end, still at the ripe years of your careers. You entered first, though, then Max, thenCharles, which meant you were connected to, and friends with, relatively different people on the paddock. But the 2020 season and your many close calls with Max began the media and manager tirade of constantly lumping you and Max into the same interviews, press conferences, and media days, to maybe somehow elicit a bit of drama out (a tireless and unrelenting effort).

That’s how the rumors started. The rumor that permeates you most is one that asks about you, Max, and Charles. Some say you dated one then the other (a homie hopper, they’d branded you in 2021), others say they dated each other and you butted in. All of them were woefully untrue, in the same way all had some ring of truth to them.

And you suppose that’s what hotwired the beginning of your nights spent at Max’s hotel room, where Charles would nearly always be camped out, then eventually vice versa (Charles’ room, Max camping out; your room, solo, housing them for one night), drinking and/or smoking and/or playing some form of cards. And you suppose again that it was all this that radiated into everything else, all your wins and successes and bad days and near crashes, that just caused the entire universe to topple over, into itself, and creep up onto the three of you in Bahrain that year.

But that year is three years ago, and if you try to detail every last divot of it, you’re going to wind up rubbing a migraine out of your head. And you’re not interested in developing a headache—not when you’re celebrating the fifth race of the 2023 season.

It’s your fourth win this season. It’s all anybody ever talks about, how you had gone and secured a third championship for yourself last year, and how you’re gunning for four, the greatest the sport has seen in years. It’s all anyone can repeat and echo—you’re a fucking legend!—and you know from experience that praise does more than the most dangerous cocktail of drugs to get you high.

The afterparty is full and obnoxiously loud, dark and smoky and low-visibility. You’re wearing a flimsy dress and running a hand through your hair while you nurse a drink, feeling drunk on compliments and confused with certain absences. You can feel the bass through the tiled floor, heels clicking on it as you search, search, and come up short. Neither Max nor Charles have sent you a text, a play they always perform to break a routine you’ve become familiar with. You frown. Hey, somebody says next to you, you’re better than anyone else on the grid right now! You thank them, thinking to yourself—where the fuck is anyone else on the grid anyway? The relevant people, at least?

Half an hour later, you’ve ditched the party and are pounding with your fists at Max’s hotel room door in an effort to get them to open it quicker, after your knuckles didn’t seem to do the work well enough. You half—no, mostly—expect Charles to be the one who pulls it open. He’s more prudent. He gives in easier. He’s nicer and he can spare a thought for the other people on this floor (but the price of this room means there barely are). 

“What.” His voice is gritty.

“You told me you would come tonight.” Your voice is steady—you’d chosen not to drink much, and what little you consumed wore off on the ride here. Even with your heels on and even in sleepiness, you notice his presence towers over yours. “You both said.”

“We were tired.”

You scoff and gently push past him into the room, where evidence of their existence rags the furniture. “Every hotel room you ever stay in is turned into a fucking frat house.” Beer bottles, cigs, gifts from fans stored with precarious care but peeking out from suitcases. 

“We were sleeping. I am sleepy,” he says behind you, unamused by your sudden appearance. He shuts the door and stands still, looking as disappointed as he can. It’s unlike him. You’re buying time to find out what the problem is.

“Okay, I’ll go,” you say, relenting, running a few fingers over the mess of clothes strewn atop the armrest of the couch. “My driver’s downstairs, anyway. I wanted you there tonight, though.” You look up, meet his eyes. Tired and green and fed up. “Both of you. We could’ve celebrated.”

He pulls his lips tight and stands straighter. “I know, I know.” He softens a little. “I’m sorry, okay? Desolé. Just… tired.” You know he’s tired because his team is shit, and you know it has nothing to do with you, but you’re so wrapped up with everything that your irritance fails to quell.

“Where’s Max?” You ask roughly instead, thumbing at the strap of your minidress. He gestures to the bedroom. You’re quiet but stormy when you walk in, finding him, messy hair and tired eyes notwithstanding, fully awake, unlike what his roomie has been telling you since you arrived; you scoff out loud again. Des-fucking-picable. You sit yourself on the couch, crossing your legs petulantly.

They both stare. They’re mad, it occurs to you, which is weird because they had you in between them on that same bed less than forty-eight hours ago. You’d come thrice and begged for more, but they laughed and said you all needed sleep to get up for race prep. Race prep. Race prep.

“Okay, then.” You throw two hands up in a semi-shrug. “Let’s have it. What’s the matter? No use lying.”

They both look irritated. “Nothing,” Max says.

“Fuck nothing.” You trail a hand over the hem of your dress. “You’re pissed with me, but I didn’t do shit.” You try to rerack the race, but you hadn’t so much as collided with them in the slightest, apart from overtaking them a few times, but they weren’t man children to whine over that. You’d shared the podium with Charles, for Chrissake.

“You’re right. You just went and…” Charles blows a raspberry and makes an explosion gesture, opening his clenched fist. “Shat on us in your post-race interview.”

And there it is.

You huff out a laugh, momentarily losing control over speech, and it’s caught in between itself and a sigh, a breathy noise that makes waves in the quiet room. Okay, you think. I get it. Your eyes flit in-between the two men across you, your shoulders straight and eyebrows raised, posing a challenge. “What, are you jealous?”

They’re silent. And you know silence always means—

Your eyes relax, smug and a little teasing as you elaborate. “Because you know I’m better than both of you?”

—Yes.

Their silence is redeeming and rewarding and permissive and it speaks volumes louder than if they’d actually admitted to it. You stare back at them, eyes narrowed, amused, coy. You’d been joking around in your Sky Sports interview. Sure, you’re a bit of a tease, especially on the high of a win. But they should know that by now.

You know it annoys them more to leave the door wide open as you leave, than to slam it closed.

—

“Will you draw me a tattoo?!”

“I’d love to, but you are going to regret it,” Charles laughs, signing his name off with a heart on the frenzied fan’s outstretched cap. The busy, busy practice day had now worn into night, though nothing seems to be taking his mind off the fact that you’ve been giving him and Max the cold shoulder since last week. And he knows it’s stupid, he knows he and Max were being irrational and pissy—him especially—but now he just finds himself needing to apologize before anything becomes worse.

But his priority is getting to your hotel, which now seems like the journey of his lifetime. His bodyguard is a bulldozer and grips his elbow to traverse them through the sea of people who cheer him on, go Charles have faith in Ferrari and yeah, that’s been getting more and more difficult as the races pass without much good progress. There are flashes all around, noise and laughing and whoops and gifts he tries to receive, but he just—he needs to get to your hotel. Preoccupied, he remembers where he’d seen Max last, just seconds before leaving the paddock for the evening.

You spend a lot of time with a certain pair Ferrari and Mercedes drivers, says the interviewer in Dutch. Charles squints at the subtitles and waits for Max’s reaction.

He’s in the passenger seat, being driven around for a change, and maybe he’s a pessimist and he misses you and Max, or maybe the city he’s in is just. Dreary, so he opts to stare at his phone like every other person. The clip’s been posted by a fan on Twitter, and the caption is something jokey—something about a dream threesome. He can’t help but laugh as he watches. We are close, us three, Max says, nodding. In fact I will be meeting them later.

The media’s always speculated, rumors born out of a few close calls outside clubs where you’re tipsy and giggly and getting into one car. The fans, funny as ever, also make some fun of it—posting pictures of you three captioned with something like polyamory is real or her and the guys she told you not to worry about, but God if any of them knew the real picture, the whole three years of it, all the sex and hickeys and rumors.

He scrolls a bit more. There are a few photos of you leaving the paddock, hand poised atop your face to shield it from the paps. You get loads more of them wherever you are, loads morecompared to anybody else on the grid. You always attract the media, the press. He finds a picture with your face in it, smiling at your result during FP2. Fuck. You’re pretty, hair damp with sweat, lips stretched into a proud grin, suited hand raising a thumbs up.

“Where to?” The driver beside him asks suddenly.

—

“Fairmont,” Max says to his assistant as he pulls out of parking. “I’m hanging up, doei.” He presses the red button and sighs, shutting his eyes and driving the steady, increasingly familiar routes of the city. He’d called you this morning but you didn’t pick up. Last night he’d slept restlessly, which was no different from the nights before, anyway.

He gets to the valet parking of your hotel when purple is just settling into blackness in the sky, the beginnings of a civil discussion at the tip of his tongue as he exits the elevator and finds your room, opening it and finding it unlocked already. Charles must have done the brunt of it, or maybe you’d gotten an assistant of an assistant to pass an extra keycard to him. You always plan around them, thinking ahead. Both on and off track.

Like the hotel rooms he and Charles share or camp out at, your existence is terribly visible. Unlike them, though, it manifests differently.

It smells like your perfume, the pink bottle he’d found you spritzing on once, and everything is neat and tidy and gorgeous. A vase of white peonies on the low table, lipstick on the table by the mirror, even the pack of cigarettes you barely smoke is pretty and unassuming on the sofa. The only thing amiss—a pair of men’s shoes, those ones with stars on them that you bought Charles on a spur-of-the-moment shopping trip. He toes off his own beside them, eyes the alignment, and fixes it lest you scold them for it later.

Anyway. It smells like you. That’s the only thing he cares about right now. It hits him like a tidal wave, after being ignored the whole week and then some. Your perfume, your favorite linen spray—that black and white glass bottle you carry around like a rosary—your favorite lip balm, even. He swears he smells the vanilla, can recall the taste of it from kissing you ditzy.

It’s beginning to rain—it had been drizzling already, en route here—and the noise pelts the windows, an accompaniment to his footsteps down the hall. He’s familiar with the layout of a penthouse suite, but still he tries out the WC door, and then the closet with the ironing board, before finally he figures the bedroom should be at the end of the hall.

He’s reciting it. I’m sorry. Would you stop being a brat? No. No, just say you’re sorry and then he’s standing at the ajar door of your bedroom, pushing it open, and he can’t feel anything. The words have evaporated. So have his warm little sentimental feelings, and so the annoyance he’d come busting in with.

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs.

He opens his mouth but nothing leaves. His eyes find Charles, standing by the door, propped against the desk, arms crossed and fingers digging into his biceps. Max looks at you again. You have a pretty flush high on your cheeks, a slight sheen of sweat on your exposed collar. He blinks and realizes you’ve been talking.

“I said, you can sit the fuck down.” There’s a couch to his left.

He pulls himself together and stays beside Charles. “I’m good here, thanks.”

You eye the two of them. They look like stupid twins in the same way they look like Republican husbands. You roll your eyes and allow it; anyway, you’re not in the mood to order either of them around too much.

Charles has been watching you for a while now, watched you fake moans and exaggerate whines, feigning pleasure over two of your fingers. It’s almost laughable—he’d allowed a smile, in fact, because he knows better. Once, he’d pulled your hair so hard you teared up, nodding, hand at his wrist, whimpering more, harder, do it. Another time, he and Max had gotten you all riled up and edged for half an hour, so riled that all you could mutter out were please and their names when they finally stuffed you full. You’re evidently playing your games again. You love to play around with them. It’s almost—you could almost call it a hobby.

“I’m not going to stop just ‘cause you’re both here.” Your hand moves, two fingers fucking into yourself, pink lace pushed aside. Your cunt is so pretty, they’re both thinking. “Did you think I would?” When silence greets you, you decide to address them directly. “Max. Did you?”

His voice is thin and tight when he responds, “Yeah, actually—so we could suss this out, at least.”

Your laugh is patronizing. “I prefer it this way. And you know what?”

Max stares. Charles has already been told this, several minutes ago when he found you in the exact same position. It’s not any easier for him to hear it again, chaste and sweet out of your lips. You can’t touch me.

See, they would’ve been content without touching you, if they sit and think about it. Max didn’t walk in here thinking he’d even be kissing you, and he knows Charles thinks the same thing. Maybe touch you—innocently, that kind of way. Sure, they’d been pent up, heady with arousal, but that came second to talking things out. But now you’ve told them they can’t touch, and that’s worsened them to their limit. Charles imagines touching you, the same touch he gives when it’s post-race and he gets you alone, to himself, nobody else’s, quick fucks in a dim closet, whispering some dirty shit in your ear and getting you like putty in his hands.

Max thinks of nearly the same thing. Imagines running his hand over your hair, gentle but firm, the same way he does when he knocks at your hotel room after hours and gets you from high-strung and bratty to begging for more. You notice their eyes, darkened; you realize their minds have wandered. So, they watch hopelessly as the smirk spreads prettily across your flushed face, and they remember the events of a week prior, when childishly, they’d acted out, and think, for a second, that maybe they deserve this.

You all know what it’s like to keep them from touching you.

It was both easier and worse then, in 2020 when everything started—when everything was brand new and thrilling and exciting. Easier, because they were satisfied as soon as they got you to come, maybe kiss them both, and they were content with slow exploration. Worse, because you were all insatiable. It felt like none of you could go minutes without some form of touch, during, in-between, after practice, quali, fuck—it was worse, much worse.

As you all grew older and got accustomed to the drivel of racing, you all got better. It didn’t get much easier.

Charles recalls how insatiable he was—and thinks, with amusement almost, that if he was insatiable then, he’s worse now. Now he knows where, how, for how long to touch you to get you wide-eyed and warm in the face even in the most serious of moments. Max, too. He knows how you taste, bend, tease. They love touching you. Just skin to skin. And you’ve gone and put a great big X mark over that.

“So,” Max says, voice flat, the way it is when he’s unamused with a reporter, “we’re in a time out.”

“You can call it that,” you giggle, and it segues into a huffy whimper when you angle your hand just right. “You were acting childish, anyway.”

Charles sighs, long and deep. “We—fuck.” His eyes can’t unglue themselves from your fingers. He knows he could make you feel so much better, fuck real moans out of you until you’re crying. “We were being childish, oui, and it was—we were just tense. I was unhappy with strategy. I could’ve been P2 but they pitted me at the worst time, putain. I took it out on you, and I’m… I was… I was worn out, and you called us childish in your interview.” 

Ever the minx, you only smile. You’d been joking, you clarified that a day later; it was crass, spurred on by team radios of the two of them complaining in the latter half of the race. “It was a joke, Charles.”

“I know, baby, I know.” His lip curls and he breathes steadily, controlling himself. “It was unprompted though. You weren’t even asked about us. And yeah, a joke—but it felt shitty, love. I don’t mind it—we don’t mind it, but—” He needs to think about the phrasing, think about his intentions.

Your eyes are on fire, clearly still angry, but steadily softening.

“But in moderation,” comes Max’s raspy voice. “You’re running your mouth a lot in the media.”

“You’re one to—ah—talk,” you huff back, a futile argument.

“You need to understand that—that when you’re giddy, or angry, you can’t keep turning to interviews to express all that out. You need to sit with it. Just because we’re not…” your boyfriends, Max almost says, “…yours, doesn’t mean you can shit on us then expect us to be okay with it a few hours later. It’s a thing you do. A game you play. And it’s nice, it was nice then, but it’s annoying now, and it’s almost, like, do you even want this to keep going? To work—?”

You recoil. “You seriously think I don’t want th—”

Charles cuts in. “Well, when you play at us like this, yeah. Put in the work. If you’re high off a win, or mad for some other reason, just let it happen. Don’t fucking.” He exhales. “Call us names, then show up at our hotel acting like an angel.”

They’ve always looked out for you like this, known when to scold you or put you in your place for doing too much or not doing enough. They’ve never let personal things cross too much with business, which is a blessing of an ability when you’re three people having regular sex while balancing a ludicrous athletic career. It’s all sussed down to stupid ‘I care for you’ stuff that, frankly, they’re both too horny and angry to get into the grit of right now.

They don’t realize how quiet the room has grown until you eke out a noise, a thoughtful sound of agreement. You’ve pulled your fingers out, both hands playing with a loose thread on the hem of the sweater, rolling it into a ball. Your hair falls in waves. There’s a crease in it from the ponytail you wear when driving.

Your expression is still murderous, but much softer now; you cough, “I—I get what you’re saying. And I know I play… I have these games, or—but, honestly, I could say the same to you both.” You stutter through your totally shit explanation.

“How do you… mean,” deadpans Max. 

“I mean, when I’m acting out, you two just take it.” Having them at your mercy like that is satisfying in its own right, but pragmatically, it’s unhealthy. “You don’t ever tell me off. Even now. I need you to tell me… to fucking,” you’re warm and spluttery now. “Fuck's sake, okay? I know I can be annoying. I know I say stupid shit when I don’t finish and I’m way less diplomatic than Mr. Il Predestinato,” you breathe. “But you two just let me be annoying!”

“Then don’t be annoying,” Charles says, diplomatic as ever—his voice rises, though, nearly matching yours.

“Not like that!” You huff, folding your legs and sitting straighter, and they catch a glimpse of your pink panties again. “When I’m out of line, you”—you point to them—“need to correct me.” They’re nearly blindsided by your request to… be told what to do, which is so different from how sex usually works. From how this whole dynamic usually works.

But Max remembers your manager, and Toto, and your teammate Lewis even, and your engineers, who have all, at one point or another, had to talk you down and tell you to calm down and correct your behavior. So he says, “People do that all the time, but it only works for a second.”

“Because th—” You suck in a lungful of air. “They’re not you two, you daft fuckers!” You’re at the centre of the bed now, sweater drooped over your folded thighs, eyes matching the rain outside. “Every time, I need to be talked down, and you never. Do it. So do it. Fucking—do it. I have to tell you everything.”

“You don’t—-”

“Oh, I do.” You say, folding your arms over your chest. 

“This is despicable,” Max says. “We need to sort this out properly.”

“So what? This isn’t”—you raise violent air quotes—“putting in the work?”

They glance at each other for a minute. They feel you thinking you’re winning, thinking they’ll grovel and say okay we’ll do that next time, can we fuck you? Like all the other semi-resolved fights before. You’re sitting straight, eyebrows raised, defiant. But for them to do that—you just said it wasn’t what you needed. 

And they’d have to be caught dead before not giving you what you need. If you want to be bossed around a bit, then they’ll do it.

“Sit down,” Charles goes. Unmoving. 

“What.” You’re deadpanning, eyes narrowed.

“Sit the fuck down,” he repeats. You open your mouth, but he’s quicker. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You pout, leaning against the headboard and unfolding your legs. He rounds the room, sits at the foot of the bed. It’s a big bed, so even if he’s on it, he still needs to reach over a bit to be able to touch you. The distance is good, though, keeps them in control. Max sits opposite him, both of them on either side of you, and they’re so close, so scrutinizing, so handsome. 

“Put your fingers in your mouth,” he says. You take a second, spreading your knees and obeying. You find a way, though, to make their little challenge all your own—you make a show of it, peeking your tongue out and licking your bottom lip all shiny before hollowing your cheeks. You stare at them the whole time and you don’t blink. It’s hotter than it has any right to be. “Suck on them.” You continue doing it, lips slightly curled.

“You’re a brat.” You try to conceal the whimper that leaves you but it fails pathetically. Charles presses on. “A spoiled brat.”

He’s the nicer of the two. Your whole threesome situation had began three years ago, and in almost every tryst since then, he’s been nice. In fact, if any of them were to ever ‘tell you off’ like you so desperately wanted, apparently, it would have definitely been Max. He’s firm, yeah, but he’s sweet. And he’d hate to boss you around too much, even if it’s something he wants. So he thinks, and he pretends he’s back to quali day of last week. It was a slow morning because of weather problems, so everyone was in a mood, and you were absolutely no exception. You come off as quiet to the public and to some of the grid, but to your friends, you’re anything but.

In an effort to lift the mood, you’d been mouthing off the entire day to your close circle of driver friends, in particular retelling the story of how you had teased Charles post-DNF in Saudi, and even gotten Lando to laugh about it at the time. What a season starter, you said when you were recounting it. You left out a detail: that night in Saudi, he’d fucked you and refused to let you cum, soaking your pillow with tears and goading a sobbed apology out of you.

Watching you joke about it again, even if it was a fucking joke and even if it was because you were mad at him and Max—got him all red hot, pissed off. Seething.

“Do you remember last race weekend when you joked about my DNF in Saudi?”

Cheeks hollowed, you nod.

“Fucking brat. That whole day. Ignoring me, ignoring Max. Didn’t listen to our apologies. Just noise all day.”

Your brows knit defiantly.

“I’m serious. You weren’t being funny. Just a brat. And if you were bored or pissed, you could’ve said so instead of making me look stupid.” You nod.

He glimpses at Max; the latter speaks next. “Open yourself up.”

You spread your legs out farther and sneak your spit-slick fingers down, pushing the flimsy material aside to rub at your cunt, two fingers sliding right back in. You breathe out shakily and wait for them to talk again. You’re still fussy, high-strung, not totally calm and mellowed down yet.

“When Charles and I aren’t here to fuck you into behaving, who’s going to make sure you’re acting proper?”

“Carlos,” you grit out in between thrusts.

They seethe. “Again,” Charles says, unamused.

“Nat,” you name your manager. “Lewis, or something. Fuck. Lando? I don’t—”

You asked to be told what to do, but you never said, they suppose, that it would be an easy job. “Guess again.”

“Toto.” You look delighted at that last one, knowing the implication. They’ve always been a bit jealous there. You thrive off disobedience, getting your two favorite boys all angry and flushed red with it. You open your mouth to try smartassing your way out of their orders, but Max beats you to it. “If you guess wrong, you’re not cumming. We’ll fuck you tonight, but no cumming.”

You whimper out loud, sinking your fingers farther in, adding a third.

“Don’t add another. Answer Max,” Charles says.

“Fuck,” you seethe, slipping the third out on your next thrust. “Me. I’m supposed to keep myself in check. When I’m mad. When I’m giddy and fuck—yeah. Me. It’s me.”

“Good girl,” he rasps out. “Good girl. You have to practice. How does it feel?”

I know, you mouth, eyes fluttering. You scissor the two fingers you’re thrusting in and out, wet with slick. “Feels good.”

“Not your fingers, love,” Max says. “How’s it feel hearing what we just told you?”

“Good, better,” you say in-between breaths. “I’ll practice. I like it. You’re not… letting me push you around. You’re—you can punish—fuck. Me.”

“Yeah? How, then?” 

“Fuck me,” you repeat breathlessly. “Both of you.”

“Add another,” Charles orders, and you nod, quick and pliant, fucking yourself open. They’re both so hard, cocks heavy and uncomfortable in their jeans. You can see the thick shapes of them through the denim, and you thrust harder, a futile attempt to replicate how it feels when they’re fucking you.

“You remember how it feels, having both of us in you?” Max sounds amused.

“Yes,” you moan. Your pathetic imitation of moans and gasps earlier pales in comparison to this, voice dry and thick with pleasure and raw desperation. “Yes, pl—fuck, yes.”

“Why aren’t you feeling it now?” They need to hear you verbalize the reason why, admit it one last time before they give you what you want. You whine, rutting your hips up against your hand, catching your clit on the heel of your palm. 

“Because I was being a brat, and I—you were being childish, but I didn’t want to talk things through either—and I’m always taking out my emotions on you guys, and I’m sorry, okay, would you just fuck me already?”

They’re on you immediately, all words and whispers, fingers at your chin turning you both ways to slot kisses on your mouth. Your free hand palms over Max’s bulge; he’s the one to your right. It’s hard and thick and heavy and you need it, need them. Charles’ hand takes over yours, thrusting deep and you’re whimpering into his sweet mouth.

“Feel my cock?” Max asks, “Could make you feel real nice, baby.”

“I know,” you sigh, breathless. “I want it.”

“When's the last time you took us both?” Charles asks, smile wicked. “Little thing like you.”

You grit out a moan, fuzzy and floating, letting them lift you up to straddle—one of them—you open your eyes and see Charles staring up at you, wonder and green eyes. “Got this, love?” You nod, yeah, I’ve got it, you say, little sighs. Both of you. Now.

This space you’re in, where it’s pleasure and fuzz and nothing else, is comparable to the high of winning. And you know you prefer that to sex, at least now, because racing is your life. It’s the slow satisfaction of being the best on the entire grid, despite everything. It’s the cheers, the raised fists when you climb atop your car and bring the crowd to a crescendo. The even louder screams when you pull your helmet and balaclava off and smile, trophy and all, champagne shiny and glowy on your face. All that shit—it’s addictive, and it feels just like this. So similar, in fact, because when you win, you finish on top of Charles and Max, and—

—Max is behind you, jeans tugged just enough for his cock to be pulled free, slick with lube and prodding at your ass—

—it feels just fucking like this.

“Like Max’s cock filling you up?” His cockhead is breaching your tight entrance and you moan out loud.

“I missed it,” you say, muffled by Charles’ free thumb at your lips, swirling it on your tongue. You flip him off for cutting you off and he laughs. “Give it t’me,” you goad, turning slightly. You want it so bad, missed being fed with their cocks. A week is too long. “I need more of it, all of it. In me, fill me up,” you beg, whimpering, desperate.

Max stares at your ass, grabs at the flesh there, at the string of your thong. You suck him in so hungrily, like you’re challenging him to not thrust in fully; you’re canting your hips backward too, and Max has to hike the too-big sweater up to watch the muscles of your back flex to meet his dick.

“So pretty, princess,” Charles says, because with them you really are a princess. Max begins to thrust into you from behind and you’re getting little moans fucked out of you, watching Charles unbuckle his jeans to tug his cock out, thick and pretty and you want—if you could, you would suck on it, let him fuck your throat, but you’re in the business of being filled to the point of blank thoughts right now.

You feel Charles at your cunt then, your slick making the slide easier, and Charles bucks his hips up and you—this is what you needed, to mellow you down, get you all loose and ready for more. “Take it, baby,” Max says, “all of it, all of us.”

“Ah,” you gasp out. “Ah.”

“Come on,” he grits, voice hardening. “You’re ruined. Pretty little girl. Come on.”

“Maxie,” you call out weakly, your fond little nickname for him. You remember Charles whining about how he doesn’t have one, so you save baby for him, had sussed that out on a night where they took turns fucking you. Your hips torn between the two dicks stuffing you, face sweaty and the sweater doesn’t help, gets you hotter; Charles gets the hint, and with effort, pulls it off you. Your skin is shiny underneath, matching bra sticking to your sweaty, sheened out skin.

“Love it,” you say, voice strained. “Split—fuck—me open.” Your holes clench around them and Jesus, they could have you all flushed and pretty and spread out like them, like this, forever. Charles grabs at the flesh of your ass, slaps you once and you’re tightening around them, breath impossibly still, thighs shaking. Max’s hands hold your hips tight, hungrily traveling up, groping at the wire of your bra to press at your tits. You’re pressed against both of them at a delicious angle that gets you dizzy.

“I’m gonna cum, I,” you breathe out, moaning, “I haven’t touched myself since…”

They both moan at that, delirious. Fuck. The thought of you holding it—for them—fuck. 

“You’re so perfect, so—fuck—slutty,” Charles says, and you can’t hide the moan fast enough. “Feels good, having us in you, yeah? Getting you all noisy and… fucking—shit. I know how much you needed this, love. I know how much you love it. Us.”

From behind, Max snakes a hand up your abdomen, the column of your throat, and wraps there. You see white from the sensation of it alone.

“Tell me—I can’t—please, I—Charles—Maxie—” You’re increasingly incoherent, slick running down your thighs, twitching vigorously. You try to comprehend everything but you’re losing coherence and they get it, they get it, wiping your tears and sweat and coercing you to cum, yeah, pretty little pussy so fucking wet for us, cum hard, come on, you’ve been so good, baby, the best girl for us.

There’s no way either of them are lasting after that, after watching you fall apart and finish on top of them, stuffed full, stuffed pliant, stuffed fucking docile.

It’s your turn, then, to praise, your favorite boys, always so good for me, thank you for letting me cum, come on, let me taste it—and you’re stained with their release after a few minutes, Max biting on your shoulder, Charles’ thumb indenting your hip.

—

What. A. Podium, ladies and gentlemen! Max Verstappen of Red Bull, from P6 in the last race to a stunning P3 drive—Charles Leclerc, braving the team’s dismal strategy to get P2! What a knockout. Of course the Mercedes legend, gunning for four championships now, had crossed the flag first to claim her fifth P1 of the season.

What a legendary race, absolutely proper podium. They showed us what driving is, real driving.

The season is heating up. 

Makes you wonder what happened over the weekend for them to get such good results.

This is F1. I’m sure they keep each other motivated.

[meetmypointlessaddiction]

December Fic Day 12 ~ Family

Summary: Logan meets your family for the first time.

Warnings: sort of mentions PTSD but not directly, mentions of fighting in a war but very very brief, joke about decapitation (?), not sure if I need to tag that but better safe than sorry

Pairings: Logan Howlett x fem!reader (I wanted to make this more generalised to any reader but found myself constantly slipping into female reader)

Enjoy and please like and comment if you do. Something as simple as an emoji literally makes my day better and reblog to share my work :)

The purr of the engine and the low hum of the radio was the only thing breaking the silence as Logan drove the pair of you down the highway, in the direction of your parents’ house. You had been talking to your mom about Logan for months and it was after her begging and pleading that you finally agreed to invite Logan to your Christmas gathering, despite the man not being particularly interested in entertaining the Christmas traditions for anyone other than you. 

“And you’re sure it’s just going to be your parents and your brother and his wife?” Logan checked, turning to look at you as he took his focus off of the road for a few seconds. “Because I’ve only prepared myself for the father and big brother speech, any more people and I’m pretty sure I’ll stab something.” 

You rolled your eyes at him exaggerating and he just smiled, kissing your hand and leaning back in his seat. “That’s what my mom has told me. My nieces are having a babysitter I think, this party thing is usually just the adults. The kids get to visit on Christmas Day when we go for dinner. You don’t have to come to that by the way if you don’t want to. I’ll tell my mom that you’re, I don’t know, you have your own family to have dinner with.” 

Logan laughed and squeezed your thigh. “Baby, I don’t mind spending Christmas with your family if that’s what you want. I’d only end up in Wade’s flat drinking and watching one of his stupid movies that he likes so I won’t be missing much if I come with you.” He reassured you and smiled, leaning against the window again. “Besides, I’m sure me and your family will get along just fine.” 

~~~~~~~~~~

Logan pulled up outside your parents drive and within five seconds the door was flung open and two little girls came sprinting towards the car. “Umm baby? Are the umm- are the kids-?” 

“Oh my god Logan I’m so sorry. My mom told me that the kids weren’t coming but-.” 

“Bub. I was a teacher, remember? I’m not gonna go feral on the kids, okay? You go take em back inside and I’ll bring the bags in.” He told you and you nodded, the girls screaming for their auntie as they stood at the edge of the garden. 

As you hugged your nieces and ushered them back inside, you saw Logan with your rucksack on his back, suitcase under his arm and the three huge bags of presents and gifts that you had brought in his other hand. “Do you want me to grab anything? Your hands look-.” 

“You can grab your phone out of the front, you left it.” He said with a smirk and you just smiled, placing a kiss on his cheek as he waited for you to be done, not wanting to approach the door without you. He didn’t have much choice though when your mother was there, inviting him in and kissing each of his cheeks twice. You just shot him a look that said everything and followed him into the house. 

~~~~~~~~~~

After you and Logan had dumped everything in your bedroom, you made your way back downstairs where your mother was beaming at you. “Well, aren’t you going to introduce me, love?” She pushed and you turned to Logan with a shy smile, blushing more at his teasing smirk. 

“Logan, this is my mama. Mama, Logan.” You introduced them both and Logan smiled, nodding his head in acknowledgment. 

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” He said and your mother shook her head. 

“No, no, call me Janet, dear. You’re the first boy our gem’s brought home, it’s got to get you on a first name basis, right?” She joked and he nodded, smiling politely as she led the pair of you into the living room. 

“Logan, this is my husband Craig, my son, Jordan, his wife, Louise and their two girls, Emilia and Hatty.” She pointed out everyone and Logan gave a polite wave as your brother smiled at him. Your father stood from his chair, a stern look on his face and Logan could hear the way your heartbeat sped up slightly. 

“Sir.” Logan said and the man’s facade broke as his face split into a smile and he held his hand out for Logan to shake. 

“Nice to meet you, son.” The pair chuckled and you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that Logan was so much older than your father could imagine. “Gem’s told us all about you.” 

~~~~~~~~~~

Logan was kidnapped by your father and brother as they got talking about anything and everything while your sister-in-law and mother dragged you into the kitchen, shutting the door and sitting down at the kitchen table. 

“Holy shit, gem! He’s a dream.” Your sister-in-law gushed and you rolled your eyes. “I can’t believe you didn’t bring him home sooner.” 

“Yeah well family gatherings aren’t really his thing. He only came because mama invited him.” You told them and they nodded. “What happened to this being a no kid thing? Not that I’m upset to see my babies but I kinda told Logan that the kids weren’t going to be here.” 

Your mom just shrugged. “I decided that the kids are old enough now to be part of the Christmas party.” 

“Mama, they're four and seven. Me and Jordan weren’t allowed until we were eighteen!” You argued and she just rolled her eyes. 

“Oh come on, gem. They’re not bothering anyone. They’re playing in the garden and when it gets to food time, they’ll be happy as Larry while they stuff their faces. Your boyfriend’s safe from the ankle biters.” Your mother teased and you glared at her.

“Mama, I'm serious. Logan is- he… he’s been in the army and fought a lot of wars mama. Not to mention everything else that has happened in his life. Sometimes the kids can be a little overwhelming and I don’t want him to feel like he’s being squashed okay? I want this to be a good thing for him. I want him to like coming to spend time with you.” 

Your mother had an almost regretful look on her face and she frowned. “I’m sorry, love. It really was a last minute decision. I’ll warn the girls not to sneak up on him okay? And you let him know that if he’s had enough of them he’s more than welcome to disappear upstairs for a while to calm down.” 

~~~~~~~~~~

You and Logan were finally given free reign to move, done being interrogated by everyone and you both found yourselves perched on a bench in the garden. “I don’t know why you were nervous, bub. Your family is lovely.”

“They can be a little over the top sometimes, that’s all. I kinda told my mom a little white lie in that you get startled because you were in the army. Just so they know not to let the kids jump out on you or my brother to pull any stupid airhorn pranks.” 

“But I was in the army.” Logan said dumbly and you just looked at him.

“Yes, decades ago, Logan, I’m aware. The white lie is kind of that you recently served and that you don’t have metal claws that could decapitate my nieces if they spook you.” Logan simply hummed in agreement and shrugged. 

“I got used to being jumped up on in the school, I should be fine. Thanks for trying to look out for me though, baby. ‘ppreciate it.” 

“Always, Lo.” 

~~~~~~~~~~

After food had been eaten, you and Logan had tidied the dishes away and Logan went upstairs to go to the bathroom when he was ambushed. 

“Hi mister.” 

“You're auntie’s husband.” 

The girls appeared out of basically nowhere, Logan senses only just managed to pick up on them before they jumped out, preventing the decapitation you had predicted. He chose not to mention the fact that you were not married, knowing that he’d just lose the argument with the girls anyway. 

“Yeah I am. Emilia and Hatty, right? Your auntie talks a lot about the two of you.” Logan said, leaning against the handrail as he spoke to them.

“Do you wanna play princesses with us?” Hatty asked with a big grin and Logan froze. 

“I’d love to kid but I gotta finish helping your auntie put away the dishes.” 

“Then why did you run away upstairs? Gramma says it’s naughty to run away from chores.” Emilia, the oldest, pointed out, hand on her hips and she glared at Logan. 

“I’m going to the bathroom and then I’m gonna go back downstairs.” Logan shot back, already knowing that this wasn’t gonna end well for him. It was then that Emilia put on the crocodile tears. 

“B-but… but I thought auntie’s husband was gonna be fun. W-why won’t you play princesses with us? D-do you hate us?” 

“What?! No, no of course not. I got stuff to finish up downstairs kid and-.” When tears started pouring out of her eyes, Logan was quick to walk the rest of the way up the stairs, shaking his head. 

“Fine, fine. Let me go to the bathroom and then I’ll play princesses, goddamn it.” Her face broke out into a grin immediately and she wiped the tears from her cheeks. She’d played him. 

~~~~~~~~~~

It was twenty minutes later that you noticed Logan’s absence downstairs. You had assumed that your parents or brother had dragged him into the living room but when you walked in and found him not there, you became confused. “Is Logan not in here?” You asked and they all shook their heads. 

The quietness coming from upstairs was immediately alarming and you and your mother shared a quick glance, Louise also clicking on as the three of you made your way to the stairs and walked upstairs. 

You could hear Emilia giggling and Hatty talking to someone that clearly wasn’t Emilia. When you walked into the spare room, you saw Logan sat on the bed, back against the headboard, Hatty sat on his lap, painting his face in makeup, and Emilia sitting beside him painting his nails. 

“Oh my god…” Logan just looked at you, his gaze stern as both your mom and Louise were speechless. “What… you went to the bathroom? How on earth-?” 

“Uncle Logan is playing princesses auntie gem!” Hatty said, grinning and turning too quickly, almost falling off of Logan’s lap and off of the bed but his arm was quick to wrap around the top of her arm and pull her back up.

“What did I tell you about being careful?” He scolded gently and she shrugged, looking back towards you. “I was trying to come back down but someone had other ideas.” He shot a glare at Emilia and you knew what had happened. 

“She did the tears-.” You started and Logan nodded. 

“She did the tears.” He confirmed and you couldn’t help but burst out laughing as Logan stood from the bed, a pair of purple fairy wings on his back and makeup on his face, his nails painted sparkly silver. “This better wash off.” 

“Not yet! You have to let me take a picture.” You told him and he was quick to shake his head. “Oh come on, baby! Please? Pretty please? Wade has to see this. You promised you’d tell him how it went.” 

“Wade will not be seeing it. The bastard won’t let me live it down.” You gave him your best pouty look and he groaned, shooting you a look before turning to your mother. “Your daughter is evil. Completely and utterly evil.” 

~~~~~~~~~~ “OH. MY. GODD!! Peanut you look absolutely stunning! Oh my god, you have to introduce me to these children. Oh please, please, please, sugar lips.” Wade begged as he looked at your phone. “Invite them over for easter. I’ll be such a good host I swear! We can have makeovers and everything.” Wade squealed and you caught Logan’s eye. The man looked defeated. Wade was definitely NOT going to let him live this down.

This was way longer than intended but it just kept writing itself and I couldn't stop 😂 Hope you enjoyed! Leave a comment, let's chat!

Dividers: @coolcatsgraphics

I'm also on A03 :)

Requests are also open if there is anything that people want me to write 💛

[kaq3yma]

MIDNIGHT ENCOUNTER! sakura haruka.

syn: the royal princess nightly-meet up with an unknown man.

୨୧ qeena brief note: ello fellow readers and mootsies, i finally got to wrap up my vamp!sakura haruka x royal princess!reader fic yaeyyy, i'm happy i successfully finish a 4.6k words fic (in almost a month) lol i'm not built for this clearly but still a big special thank you to @flowerloves for this request. ofc it's a x reader fic but this was made specifically for you obvi and i love you sm, bae ur so understanding ilyyyy! i promised i will get this done in a week somehow but got caught up with assignments, tests and society club soooo lol i'm not a fast-adapter BUT i hope everyone enjoy this fic even though it's ass at some parts (especially the confession part) lmao i swear i did my best but lemme know what you guys think, that's all thank you, i love you, reblogs and comments are very much appreciated and happy reading xoxo 🍡

special tags: @flowerloves, @hanaeriin, @reapkusho, @isadollie, @kyuujo, @sommii, @amaderika

The night breeze sways in the middle of the night, carrying scents of the open ocean and waft pass the air gently. The faint caws and rattles of crows in the distance is the only noise you heard for the past ten minutes aside from your own square heels clicking noise against the shattered concrete pavements.

As you look back, the image of your castle almost fade into the background, growing daintier as you walk further inside the woods. It's a long walk for you, with unsure destination to reach, you keep walking until you can barely to.

You look for a place to sit down, and rest, or presumably to enjoy the book you've been cradling in your hands for the past minutes. Swaying your head left and right to find a suitable spot you can sit down on until suddenly you heard a rustling noise came from behind a bush. Gulping down a huge lump stucking in your throat, you drag your feet backwards to make a run in case whatever creature is in that bush that decides to cause a chaos, you'll have time to run but— a white bunny hop from the small space in between the bush and make its presence known. You almost jump in surprise, chuckling when the brainless creature tilt its head at you.

You watch the animal cradle his neck to the side before hopping away. Hoping to catch and bring the animal home with you, you ran after it only to lost it a few seconds later "Oh, no..." You look around, realizing you're no longer on your path. No concrete pavements beneath your feet but muddy textured ground. You grip the book you have in your hands, starting to feel scared. Why do you think going out in the middle of the night is a good idea again?

Not wanting to make the worse situation anymore worst than it can get, you came to a conclusion to just walk back where you came from, at least back where you believe you came from. You walk mindlessly towards directions you assumed was right, unaware you're walking deeper into the forest as the shadow beneath the trees darken casting an even longer shadow across the forest floor.

You take a deep breath, taking long strides hoping you would just escape this woods what seems like an endless maze. Tears set afoot beneath your eyelines and rush across your cheeks but you won't allow your emotions to take over just yet. You jog and jog with sweats starting to prominently appear on your face until you halt in your rushing steps.

A loud thunder burgles from behind a massive tree and you slowly drag your feet to inspect. The sight before you elicit a small gasp past your open lips. What seem like a serene oasis site in the middle of nowhere, its beauty strikes in contrast to the arid surroundings. Crystal clear water glimmer under the warm moonlight, softly rippling as a gentle breeze past through. What you felt a moment ago sink and disappear together with the welcoming passing air. Now, all that you feel mid centre of your heart, and in the depth of your tummy is tranquil and peace.

Slowly, you walk forward and sat by the cool water, carefully dipping your feet into the pool, wheezing at the cold touch of the inviting dew. You didn't realize how much time had passed, it's like you've only been there for a couple of moments but before long, you skim through the last page of the book you just started. Night seem to darken even further, and only then realization hit you like a ton of bricks. You are still lost. No matter how any more beautiful this place could get, you're still lost and in need to return home.

Sounds of footsteps scuff against the ground behind you cause you to jump in fear, knowing that whoever it was behind you, is most definitely not an animal but something else, worse, other people! "Please don't—"

"What are you doing here?"

You turn around, surprised to see a man, stood tall in his white ruffled shirt with dark trousers fit snugly and fall straight down. His hair, now that you grasped, is in dual color of black and white, neatly slicked showing off his flawless temple — well, not so flawless considering his face is batter up with bruises and deep gushes.

You look into his eyes, your own waver in fear of not knowing what to respond "I— I was—"

"This place is mine. You shouldn't be here."

You thrust your head down, fearful for your own safety. No matter how attractive the stranger is, the fact that they're a stranger and unknown to you is a danger as it is. You fiddle with the book in your hands, stuttering a sentence to form "I'm lost. I don't know how to get out of this place."

Instead of lunging at you like a beasty animal, you hear him gruff incoherently to himself "If I able to get you out, will you leave quietly?" Jerking your head up and down aggressively, you thank him profusely with a smile. He look away, fishing his hands under the front pockets of his trouser "Let's go, then." You plod behind the male, eyes glue to his back as he guide you out of the place.

"You're a princess, right?" That results you to stop on your movements, skeptic as to how did he know. He shrugs "I have my way." Huh...?

He let out a fake cough, gesturing you forward "There." You look up, relieved to catch a glimpse of your castle "Thank you!" Beaming, you look at him with a smile and chuckling in relief. However, once again, he look away.

"I'm going, be safe." With that, he walk back into the woods, vogue silhouette dissipate like snowflake in an ocean.

Sakura turn around just before you walk down the road and disappear from his sight. He look away, taking long strides back to where he belongs. However, further he went, the thought of you doesn't melt from his mind, the sight of your smile, not once but twice cause his stomach to flip, an unknown feeling rippled through his belly making his face go hot.

The next morning, you wakes up in bed, feeling tired and throbbing pain aches from below your thighs. It must have been the aftermath of your constant walking the night before. The door of your chamber burst open and came in the head of your maid. The old lady walk and stand beside you, helping you putting on a pair of flat slippers and guide you to behind the veil where you're able to clean your body using clean water and get ready. She get you your usual high-waisted skirt that reaches and fall to your ankles and a light color blouse which are slightly puff and tuck it in under your skirt and finally, she help you putting on another set of square heels and help adorning your hair "Your father and Her Majesty is waiting in the dining room along with Prince Choji."

The mention of your spoiled step-baby-brother and step-mother earn an eyeroll but you hum, allowing yourself out of your room and steps into the dining room. Your father, his Majesty sit at the other end of the table with his wife and son beside him on the left.

You look down, taking a quick walk and sit beside him on the right, facing Choji. The small feast begin but none of you said a word. For the rest of breakfast, the only noise made is the faint clanking sound of forks and knife against the plates.

You got up after you're done, bowing down and bidding good bye to his Majesty until he said; "What about to your Mother?" You stopped in your track, hands stiffled and face tight. You didn't dare look back but you said one thing, clear and loud "Her Majesty is not my mother. She's your wife."

You heard him slam his on the table, smashing his wine cup on the process and yell at you to get back but you didn't, and instead you pick up your pace and run to your room. After the echoing slam of the door, silence deafened inside your chamber. The dimmed-lighted room cloud over like a passing rain cloud, the once cheery room fill with laughters and bedtime stories now cramped with defeaning silence and darkness. You sat down on your bed, feeling as the soft mattress dip at your gentle force.

Sighing, you pick up that small frame from your nightstand desk. The image of your lovely mother dressed in appealing red dress cradling you in your light green colored dress. Your father beside her, one finger lock against your small grip. All are smiling, genuine and raw with emotions for their first complete family picture.

She shouldn't have die... If only they was quick enough, if only your father was quick enough to find the cure, your mother won't have to die. She'd still be here, and there won't be enough space in the picture for your step-mother and his son to waltz into.

You plop onto your bed, hang the frame in between your chest and hug it tightly. Closing your eyes, you hope for sleep and last night exhaustion to consume you.

Perplexed, confused and in disbelief by your own behavior to sneak out the castle once again, however this time prepared with a small map inside your pocket in case you got lost like last night and a lamp, lit enough you can make out the ground a few small inches before you.

Walking around the same path, you stop at a familiar bush you saw the bunny hop from, grinning to yourself as you think you're near. You bring out the map but only then you grasp no such thing as an oasis is mentioned in the map. You look around, determined to make it to the place you've been last night and then you heard that voice, that familiar husky voice "I told you to leave, didn't I?"

You turn around, facing the man whom helped you last night "I wanted to visit that place again!" Surprised by your sudden exclamation, he look at you with a quirk brow "That place is mine, not yours to loiter around."

You huff "This is a free land, not yours to claim." He grumbled under his breath, tucking his neat hair in between his locks and look at you "... Me..."

Now, it's your turn to quirk your brow at him "I can't hear you...!"

"I said, follow me." He pocketed his hand beneath his pocket and walk forward, purposely leaving the cemented path to mingle on an unfamiliar walk, presumably to the place.

"What's your name?" He didn't stop in his tracks nor did he said anything, a respond or something "Hello—"

"Sakura Haruka. You are that princess, right? Your Father rule Shishitoren." The sudden unneeded mention of your father make you groan in annoyance "Yes. How do you know?" He shrugs, stopping in his tracks "Is it not obvious?" What does he meant by that? He lift the leaves curtains in front of him, revealing the same place you've been dying to be at since this morning.

A small smile crept to your face, grinning and thank him for bringing you back here. A furious red hue spread across his cheek, caressing his paled complexion. After a moment, you sat down by the pond, legs dip into the the water. Sakura watch you from afar, his expression unreadable.

"Are you going to keep staring? Say something if you have anything to ask." He grin, showing off his pearly whites. He trudge beside you, but not to dip his legs as he just sat down, legs thrown into a criss-cross. You look at him from beside, your own eyes graze over every details of his feature, his pointy noise scratch and wounded, the side of his chin bruised and a deep wound gush on his cheek "How come you're more badly wounded than last night? Do you always fight?" He hiss in return of your words, clearly unappreciative of what you just said.

However, unlike how any other humans would react, he didn't react to your pressings on his wound, instead when your cold finger brush against his skin "I don't have anything but..." You pull a piece of napkin from the beneath of your gown pocket and dip it whole into the water "I can at least clean them." Sakura lean away, not very much fond of the idea at which you sighed, pulling him forward "Relax, you should at least clean it."

Starting with the long cut on his cheek, you dab the wet napkin over the lines to clean dried blood, patting the napkin to his wound to at least clean it. Yes, you might have not notice your close proximity since you're so immense on the taking care of the wound but he has. Sakura can make out the way your lashes blink as you close your eyes to regain focus on your vision. The way it hugs your cheeks, the slightest details he can see now because you're so up close.

Finally you look up but just as you did, your nose touches. It cause him to blush and you to flinch. You almost fall back in the water but he caught you just in time and pull you "Careful, moron!"

Dazed. Fixed. You are unable to say anything for a few seconds, blinking away flusteration. Regaining your composure, you cough out and look away. Oh, why is everywhere burning?!

"You should tend them properly. Make sure to bandage it up." He look at you, perplexed. You point with your finger to your own face "The wounds. You need to take care of it." It's a silly word, indeed is. A silly, meaningless word of concern but why is his heart is beating. So loudly he thanked the sounds around him for masking it.

This is a first for Sakura. The first he felt like this in hundreds years, perhaps, a thousand. Not once, never once did he feel like this, how can a stopped-beating heart thump anyway? Absurd! There must be some sort of mistake, that's right. A mistake. A coincidence that bound to happened.

The night fell and the day came. It's a repetitive motion for a month since he met you. That mistake. It turns out it's not so much of a mistake at all. Love. At least, that's what his friend, Nirei, told him.

Love... What a strange emotion.

Tonight, like any other nights, he wait by the oasis, waiting for you, like a shining beacon to come and just be here already. Sakura heard footsteps, familiar footsteps of your heels arriving. The leaves curtain lift and drop when you came, like an unfamiliar sunlight, you shone the place loom with darkness and shadow for him.

You greet him, and in your hands there's another book for you to read together. You stopped in your track, tilt your head and give him a strange look "You've been fighting again, have you?" The male huff, crossing his hands together.

You climb the rock he's sitting on, site your place beside him and bring that same napkin you bring every night "You really should stop getting into fights, you know?" You scolded to which he only scoff and laugh at. As always, whatever you say went to his right ear and slip to his left, whiff into the air.

"Haru, I'm serious..." That made him stop, he grunt something incoherent in your ears but you questioned no more, getting the hint that maybe, he finally decided to listen.

"I got this book from our library today. Want to read it together?" Yeah, how can he ever deny your request? Nodding his head, you immediately begin skimming through the pages to start reading.

"Haru." You suddenly mentioned in between your reading and he hum, allowing you to begin again "Where do you live? You never tell me where you live." He freeze, not knowing how to answer your question. Right, you didn't know. About his being, his true beings. Who he is, what he is. How could he tell you? Would you... Would you look at him the same...?

"—Ru. Haruka." He flinches, giving you an unreadable expression. Reluctantly, he shake his head, a silent plea for you to stop mentioning whatever you just mentioned.

You wanted to say something but bite it back, hum in understanding and said nothing. He slipped this once but he can't be so sure next time. Sooner or later, if he truly cares, he needs to tell you.

And it's been a week since then, you stopped coming for a while as you're busy preparing for a banquet your father are hosting for his fellow friends. You didn't quite get to mention it to Sakura as it has been rather a last-minute plan. It makes you wonder if he ever look out for you during the past days.

Whilst you're helping your step-brother picking a suitable attire for the night, you subconsciously replay to your conversation the previous nights. Up until today, you are still wondering, interest to know where he live. He knows where you live so it's only fair that you do to. What is he so hesitant about anyway?

The night resume, the small banquet lit the night and laughters fill the entire ballroom. Everyone is either engaging with each other or indulging themselves and as for you and Choji, it's always the latter.

When your father, his wife and his friends arrived at your table, everyone is obliged to be silent and let them have the talking. You didn't quite intrigued to hear whatever they're yacking about, well, not until your step-mother mention marriage. It's only fair or you, now officially nineteen, a damsel in distress, and also the next one in line to be married.

You hope, hope to dear God your father would say something, anything to drop the topic but all you can see he's doing was nodding his head. Almost dropping your utensils, you thrash your head in displeased. Both your father and his wife, along with the other parties turn to you, shocked.

"I'm not getting married." You stood up but your father words caught you in your trance "You leave, you mustn't come back." Your step-mother look in between you and your father, fearful expression contorts on her face.

"Must you do this, Father? Forcing me into marriage with someone I barely knew?" You hear him grunts, motioning for you to take your seat. At this point, hot tears has gathered and if only Choji didn't secretly hold your hand in reassurance, you would've flipped out.

That's right, you have to learn to control your temper. There's so many people tonight in this room, you wouldn't want to embarrass yourself and be label as the 'disgrace to royalty'.

Endured a painful hours long of discussing, you finally excused yourself after they did. Strutting back to your room, you locked the door behind you and cries silently. All you ever wanted, at least right now at this moment, is the warmth of your mother.

You locked yourself away for the entire night, and not once did you give away your ego when your father knocked on your chamber door multiple times moments ago. When the clock strikes twelve, when the shadow aligns, you carefully make your way out of your room. The entire castle is pitched black, unable to see, you discreetly bring a lamp with you.

The raw wind blows on your face when the door opens. Nobody is around and silence is the sole melody plays throughout your journey to the woods. You hope you can find him. You need to find him.

As soon as you arrived, a vogue silhouette of a familiar someone greet you by the rock. He's slouching, eyes closed with a subtle troubled expression on his face. You tip-toed near him as quiet as possible, wish to surprise him when all of a sudden "I know you're here."

You yelped, almost throw the lamp off if not for him to catch it on time. He laughs at your reaction, he won't tell but he find it somehow endearing how you look so surprised and shocked. Sakura soft laughter died down when he look into your eyes, your usual bright eyes and slightly, very slightly dull. Your cheeks is red as we as the tip of your nose. It's like you've been crying for hours long.

"What happened?" You smiled, telling him it's nothing and that you are just tired. Sakura was usually dismissive, he rarely feel a thing so he never bother to check up on others but, the sight of your dried-teary face. Surprisingly enough, it make his heart ache. If that was possible, of course... "You are not tired. You cried."

You thought washing your face is enough to cleanse the evidence but it seems not. You take a sit beside him, a visible long sighed escaped past your open lips.

"My Father forced me to marry..." He lift his head up, tracing your skin with his eyes "That so..." Sakura seem to have not notice it but you're starting to look back, you stared back at him as he continues to stare mindlessly. He only realized when he move his eyes upwards and you stare back at him, smiling but bewildered.

Normally, he would freak out, turn his head away but not now, he keep staring into your eyes. A furious red creep up to his cheeks and he can hear your heartbeat thumping loudly against his ears. On impulse, he bring his hand forward, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. His skin make touch to yours and it send a chill down your spine. His hands feel cold, inhumanly cold.

He cup your cheek using one hand, gently bring your face forward as he too, leans in and kiss you. His lips is cold too, too cold but it's not making you uncomfortable. You return his kiss with a small sigh of relief. Being this close with him for the first time ever, you can make out a faint mint smell radiate in the air. Sakura move his hand down to your waist, pulling you gently closer to him as the world outside seemed to fade into the background.

When you break of the kiss, Sakura finally look away, coughing out nothing in embarrassment "I... There's something I need to tell you but I'll tell you tomorrow." He look into your eyes, silently pleading "Can you come again?" Smiling at him oh-so brightly, you nod your head in agreement.

"You cannot do this to me!"

"Yes, I can. Especially when you misbehaved like this and sneak out the castle every night!" The guards push you in and throw you on the ground "Reflect what you've done and until then, you will stay in your room." Getting up, you storm to the door only for it to close before you and your father lock it from outside.

Planting your ear on the door, you can hear their quiet pleas, both your step-mother and step-brother, begging him to unlock the door. He said nothing and his large footsteps descend downstairs. You tries to take a deep breath, voice breaking in silence "Don't do this to me, please..."

It's been hours, perhaps a day, and during that time, you slouched against the door, wiping what you thought was the last tears only for a few to rush suit. It's a struggle to regain composure but when you heard footsteps outside the door followed with small steps of a certain someone's skipping, you got up slowly.

"Princess..." It's her voice, the voice of someone you always believed was vile and pretentious. The door creaks and gently push open.

You saw the Queen peeking behind the door, scared she'll get caught but Choji stood there, both hands on his waist as if he was proud to help, to rescue you. You turn to both of them, a silent gratitude expression plastered across your face "I—"

The Queen put both hands on your shoulders, crouch down eye-level "We both got many untold things to share so go, and come back fast. We'll be waiting..." She hope to share a quick hug but she's aware it's not yet a good time so she watch you leave, running downstairs and escape the castle.

You race to the forest, the sun barely set but it's almost dark. The weather is clouded over and it seems like it's about to rain. Pick your dress over your ankles, you hurry, praying to meet him at the place. Hurriedly lift the curtains, your vision immediately drawn to a familiar man. He wear what you remembered he wore the first time you both met. The white ruffled shirt and his signature dark trouser "Haru..." You didn't quite make out his face but you can tell it's scrunched, like a hurtful look. Why would he look at you with such look, you wonder...

"Where were you? We were supposed to meet yesterday!"

"...I waited."

You clutch the bottom of your dress, pained and frustrated "I'm sorry, it won't happen again." You make a move, walking towards him and slowly begin to put your distance to a closure "You said there's something you'd like to tell me. Can you tell now?"

His whole body tensed, Sakura jerk his head aside with a bitter look still on his face "Moron, what makes you think I forgive you so easily—"

"Haru, I promise I have my reason. I promise I will tell you after you do." It's not short, nor is it easy to make him spill whatever on his mind but he's determined to tell you everything. Gently and carefully, he pick your hand up, that inhumanly cold hand of his brush against your much warmer ones.

"Would you... Would you leave me if I'm not who you thought I was?"

"Haru, what do you—"

"I'm not a good person, there is a truth that dwells within me, a shadow that clings to my very soul. It is a truth so monstrous that I fear you may never look at me the same again."

He wish not to lie to you anymore, let it be the end of your sweet meet, he wish to be honest with you once and for all "I'm not a person, I'm a vampire."

Your eyes widen, a slow gasp elicit past your open lips. To say you are shocked is an understatement, you are beyond speechless, nearly forgetting how to breathe and swallow back "H— Haru..."

"I don't wish for you to stay. You may leave if you wish. I just— I thought I'd be honest for once," He look down and stare into your eyes, and for once, his usually hard stares mix with a tinge of vulnerability "Especially to whom I like."

He close his eyes, unable to see you leave his sight. His fist bawl tight that his paled skin turn out paler. His eyes widen as he accidentally lets out a loud gasp of surprise when you suddenly tackle him into a hug "What are you—"

"If you are to be a monster, the darkness, let me be your light, Haru — as long as I'm not your next victim of thirst..." Giggling, you secure your arms around him, nuzzling your face against his chest. He almost let out a laugh but instead he smile, so big it radiates the sun to shine within the dark night.

"You still owe me an explanation." You hum, quick to take an understanding why the hands of the man you like is always cold, so, very inhumanly cold.

[simpforrooster]

falling for a girl in purple & gold.

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x F!Reader

summary: your brother convinces you to join him at his tailgate. you meet a gorgeous blonde, who happens to root for the opposing football team.

t/w: lots of mention of alcohol. she/her pronouns. cursing. instalovey.

a/n: i’ve been dying to write something like this. this fic is def based off megan maroney’s ‘tennessee orange’ and conner smith’s ‘orange & white.’ i left readers school pretty ambiguous until the verrrrrry end. i’m an lsu girlie 💜💛 so i needed a little self-service.

Stepping into the tailgate tent, nostalgia fills your body. You are transported immediately back to your time in college. Cheering on your alma mater with your sorority sisters. Hooking up with those random frat guys who definitely showed you a good time. You’d have to remember to thank your brother for making you come.

“Sis!” Speak of the devil. Your brother envelops you into a huge bear hug, as if he didn’t see you one week prior at your family’s standing dinner date. You return his hug.

“I am so glad you made it!”

Your brother began introducing you to several of his friends who were taking up space in the tailgate tent. If he doesn’t know them from his fraternity days, then he knows them from the Navy.

“Two more guys are planning to show,” your brother says. “Guys from my time in Miramar.” You understand this to mean from his time at TOPGUN.

Lucky for you, you’ve been schooled in all things naval aviation thanks to the burly guy you call a brother. There was no way he was going to have a sister have zero knowledge about the Navy.

His words, not yours.

Leaving you to ponder, your brother begins mixing drinks. He hands you his “special” after a few minutes. His special being vodka, with a tiny splash of sprite and cranberry juice.

You take the drink from him, raising your brows.

“It’s the first tailgate of the year, sis. Go big or go home.”

You’d much rather go home than consume a ton of alcohol in this heat.

“Well if it ain’t Bozo!” you hear a deep voice call, with a sliiiiight country accent.

“Hey guys!” your brother calls with the enthusiasm of a kid who just unwrapped a PS5 from under the tree. “I’m glad y’all made it.”

You turn and take in the source of that accent, and almost spill your drink. Your brother never told you he was friends with Adonis.

His blonde hair fans out at his neck, beneath a nice Stetson, like he’s skipped a few haircuts. A pair of jeans hug his hips, and across his chest, the school colors of the enemy.

University of Texas. You were sure that burnt orange wouldn’t look good on anyone, but this man is proving that notion wrong. Your eyes lock with his, and he makes sure you see his eyes trail down your body.

When those green eyes meet yours, he drops his right eye in a slow wink.

“Bozo, I didn’t know you colluded with the enemy,” you say to your brother, nodding toward the handsome blonde.

“Ah, well,” Bozo starts, rubbing his hand behind his neck, “not everyone is perfect.”

“What do they call you?” you ask the blonde, not being able to take not knowing his name any longer.

“Hangman.” He fixes you with a gorgeous smirk, and tips that cowboy hat.

“Hangman?” you question, cocking an eye brow.

Those eyes peer into yours. “Yes ma’am.” The way he says those two words has you thinking of all the instances he could say them in.

“What do they call you when you’re not flying a plane?”

“Jake. And your name, pretty lady?”

“Y/n.” You stick a hand out toward him. Jake reaches forward, taking your hand lightly into yours. The two of you stand there, shaking hands for what feels like an eternity. Neither one of you wanting to break the contact.

“Fuck, Bozo. You never mentioned how beautiful your sister is,” Jake says to your brother, but never taking his eyes off you.

“Because you’re a fucking playboy, Bagman,” he says.

“Funny,” Jake comments.

And you’d gladly let him.

“A playboy, huh?” You quip.

Jake shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe I just haven’t met the right lady yet.”

The way he peers into your eyes has you sipping your mixed drink in order to hold some of your sanity. This man has the potential to ruin you.

And you’d gladly welcome it.

Grabbing his hand, you pull him toward the beer pong table. “Be my partner.” You fix him with one of your award winning smiles.

“Anything for you, darlin’,” he drawls. Gah, that accent is gonna be the death of you. The two of you fall into a steady rhythm, beating your brother and another aviator, Rooster, effortlessly.

Jake holds up his hand for a high five. When your hand meets his, his fingers lace between yours. He pulls you into him. You can’t be sure if the vodka is making you lightheaded, or the way your body feels pressed against his.

“I’m having the time of my life with you, sweet thing,” he says into your ear. You giggle into his chest. You actually giggle. You’ve never giggled in your life.

“What would you say if I needed to kiss you?” Jake asks against your temple. Spying your brother working the makeshift bar, you grab Jake’s hand. You lead Jake down an alley situated between two class buildings.

“I’d say, kiss me, Hangman,” you say, grabbing his ugly, orange jersey to pull him toward you. One of his hands braces his weight against the wall, just outside your shoulder. He has you completely caged in, that strong body hovering over yours. Jake reaches up to pull his hat from his head. He casually holds the hat up, blocking anyone from seeing the two of you.

Between Jake’s kisses and your brother’s mixed drink, you’re feeling all kinds of good. Not wanting any of it to stop, you grip his jersey tighter, pulling him as close as you can get him.

A low groan escapes his mouth, and the fact that he’s seemingly affected by you the same way you are by him has you reeling.

“A gentleman would at least take you out first before kissing you like this,” he murmurs.

“Oh yeah?” you question, not really letting his words soak in.

“Mhmm. Too bad I am not feeling too gentlemanly, right now.” Jake deepens the kiss, and your hands leave his jersey and thread through his hair.

“Good,” you breathe.

Your watch buzzes, pulling you from Jake’s tantalizing kisses. Taking a peek, your brother’s name appears across it.

Where the fuck are you? We have to go into the stadium.

Jake pulls his phone from his back pocket. “Bozo,” he murmurs.

“Where are your seats?” You ask, still breathless from his kissing.

“Next to you,” he says, placing once more kiss to your lips. Pulling you from the wall, he plops his hat onto your head.

“Fuck, my dads going to be so pissed I’m falling for a girl in purple & gold,” Jake says shaking his head. “Lead the way, darlin’.”

masterlist.

[fizzyxcustard]

Covert Eyes (25)

Prologue| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6| Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Spooks

Pairings: Lucas North x OC (Amy Holland)

Warnings: Stalking behaviour, anxiety, language, sexual references, angst, smut, heartbreak, gunshot wounds and recovery, abduction, hostage situation, PTSD, torture mention.

Summary: Lucas takes notice of a young woman, Amy, but his obsession and want to get to know her begin to spiral out of control. Amy is now working for MI-5, after being recruited by Ros. But will her involvement with Lucas cause even more problems and heartbreak?

When Amy's parents get involved, how will things pan out for Amy and Lucas?

Official soundtrack list:  here

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in. People who don't engage are gradually being removed from my tag list.

This fic does have an ending in sight...finally. :)

Feedback, comments and suggestions are always very valuable. My messages and ask box (including anons!) are open.

Thank you so much to those of you who have remained with me through this journey writing this story, and while we are very close to the end of this story, it's not the end of Lucas and Amy! ;)

Morning sickness began, or at least got stronger; Amy couldn’t quite tell. Most mornings that Amy had got up in the last month and she had felt nauseous, probably due to her anxiety spikes, and not just the hormones beginning to surge.  

On the day that Amy was due to meet with Ros and she could barely keep any food in her stomach. Two rounds of toast had been immediately thrown back up. Three days later would be Amy’s booking appointment, where she would speak to a doctor or midwife face to face and begin the process of booking her first scan.

Amy was shaking in the bathroom, unable to control the emotions that were flooding her. She couldn’t face the mirror and turned away, feeling the tears begin to fall. They had been relentless the last six weeks. And after she had been faced with three positive pregnancy tests and then been pushed away again by Lucas, that huge, gaping hole in her gut had grown exponentially. It was overpowering her now, rendering her broken. 

Nights were the worst. Amy was left alone with nothing but her thoughts, and she would always think of Lucas. She replayed the memories of when he tickled her under the bedclothes, when he would come behind her in the kitchen and wind his arms around her, the feel of his hand in hers, the smell of his cologne, the sound of his voice. Every night and she prayed he would contact her, but he didn’t. Her texts and WhatsApp remained empty of any new messages from Lucas North. 

Even her dreams reflected her deep longing for him, and the emptiness that was dragging her down, pulling her into a black sea of nothingness. Upon waking she would remember shards of her dreams in which she was calling for him, crying out, begging. And when she woke, she would feel tears clinging to her cheeks. 

Ros waited for Amy in a Costa, which was in the city centre of Coventry. She slipped away towards the back of the shop and waited. It wasn’t long before she saw Amy’s familiar figure step into the building. 

Amy stopped, scanned the sea of heads and then nodded as she caught Ros’ gaze. 

“What would you like? I’ll get it,” Ros offered with a faint smile. 

“Just a cup of tea, please. I need to keep it a little more bland. I’ve been really sick the last day or two,” Amy said. 

Ros didn’t answer, but instead walked to the counter and placed her order. 

Amy sat down, being temporarily taken back to the café she frequented with Lucas. The place where it all began just over a year ago. It would be their one year anniversary the following week if they had still remained together. The night when Amy had fully let him in, the beginning of their rocky relationship.

Amy watched Ros order their drinks. Why did these people sacrifice everything in their lives just for the sake of a job? What was it about MI5 that was so special? They had given up their normal lives, friends, family, for this job. Lucas thought he could have a normal life, but that had all turned out to be false. No one had a normal life. The long list of casualties on the job proved that. Amy had heard about many of them. Surveillance operatives who had found themselves in deeper shit than they could have ever imagined. 

A tightness was growing in Amy’s chest now, that sensation which had been a friend of hers since Lucas left her life. She woke up with it every morning now, sometimes accompanied with a tension headache and a sense of dread at facing a new day. 

“What should I do?” Amy asked simply, as Ros placed the drinks down on the table. “Lucas is adamant that my parents are right, and has told me he’ll come to the scans and birth but won’t be with me. How can I get through to him?” 

Ros sighed and began opening a sachet of sugar. “Lucas is stubborn at the best of times. But if you want to be together enough then you’ll do it. Lucas wants you safe, and neither of us can argue with that.” 

“I’m not worth the fight for him.” 

“No, it’s not that at all,” Ros said, shaking her head for emphasis. “I’ve known him about three years now, and never saw him as content as when he was with you. He finally seemed at peace with himself. You really bring out the best in him, and he adores you. Never think anything less than that. Lucas never does anything by half measure, especially when it comes to you.” 

Amy looked down into her lap and felt the tears come again. “I wish he would let me make up my own mind. He’s always making decisions for me.” 

“I know, and I’ve told him that. By your parents and Lucas protecting you, they’re suffocating you. We’ve all got to make our own way in life sooner or later. I’ve made enough of my own choices in life, some good and some bad. I know full well that this job comes with risk to those you love. I lost someone I loved through it.” 

“I’m so sorry, Ros. I had no idea,” Amy replied. 

Ros smiled at Amy. “You didn’t know him, but you’ve probably heard his name mentioned. Adam Carter. Things wouldn’t have worked out between us. I always knew that. The job kept us apart, but he died on the job, same as his wife, Fiona. MI5 will either make or break you, Amy. But either way, once you’re in, you don’t leave. You and Lucas are truly devoted to each other, and you deserve happiness.” 

***

“You’re approximately twelve weeks,” the midwife told Amy. “Baby is growing well. Seems quite active.” 

Then Amy heard it: the first actual sound of her baby’s heartbeat. Amy smiled, staring at the screen, looking at the moving mass. Sharon held Amy’s hand, watching her daughter’s face as it lit up for the first time in six weeks since being home in Coventry. 

“I estimate your due date approximately the last week of August.” The midwife wiped the gel from Amy’s stomach and paused the image on the screen, printing the scan. “I’ll book you for your next scan, and hopefully then we can determine the sex of the baby, if you want to know.” 

Amy smiled. “I’d love to know. I always had it planned out in my head that if I had children, I’d want to know. It helps me get to know them better.” 

The midwife, a middle-aged lady with short greying hair and glasses, smiled. “That’s nice,” she said simply. 

Amy looked away and sighed. Of course the midwife wouldn’t be as interested; she saw dozens of pregnant women every day, and no doubt they all sounded like a broken record to her. 

Would Lucas want to know the sex of their child? He should have been here, but Amy couldn’t stand the idea of him being half in and half out, having to see him at scans but not being able to go home with him. Everything at the moment was a mixture of emotion, and it was confusing. One minute she was sad, the next angry. The grief of an ended relationship, and the anger of Lucas making the decision he had, alternated frequently, like a whirlwind. 

In the car and Amy sat in the passenger seat, her thumb trailing the curve of the baby’s head. “Should I send a copy to Lucas?” she asked absently. 

“I still think it’s best he has no part in this,” Sharon hissed. “We’ll all pull together as a family, we always do.” 

***

Time passed, weeks turning into months. 

Amy felt the tension and anxiety lessen, as the nausea got worse by her fifth month, and then eased again. The fluttering sensations began, something she knew was inevitable as the baby grew. Her stomach was becoming harder and more prominent, resting a little heavier on the waist of her trousers. 

Ros still remained in touch, having formally put Amy on early maternity leave after two months of sick leave. She had done all she could to keep the position open for Amy and also enable money to continue coming in, so she at least had something to live off. 

Lucas was silent. Sometimes his deafening silence brought her to tears in the middle of the night as she lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, praying he would be back beside her one day. She tried to imagine what the baby would look like, giving it Lucas’ grey blue eyes. But thinking on the baby’s appearance, always caused her to break down again. 

***

Over a hundred miles away, in London, Lucas sat at the dining room table. He stared at the wall, the lifeless atmosphere of the place seeping into every fibre of his being. Three and a half months now he had lived by himself, haunted by Amy. Every inch of the place reminded him of her. After all, it was her flat originally. Living with her had been bliss; he would kiss her on his way out of the door, or at the main door to their office as they travelled in, pining for the end of the day when he would see her again. 

Lucas walked slowly into the kitchen and looked out of the window, into the communal garden. It was growing dusk, with longer days moving in as the weeks passed quickly through spring. He thought of Amy, imagining her sitting in the garden, holding a baby on her lap, reading her old battered copy of The Hobbit, with a warm sun high in the sky. He had given her the ultimate gift, the one thing she had wanted for a while now, but he couldn’t enjoy it with her. Lucas knew she would be an amazing mother; doting, kind, eager to play and re-live her own childhood through their little one. 

Work seemed to be the only thing that got Lucas through each day, making him soldier on in this empty existence. It felt like being back in prison. Rather than being locked in a cell, he was locked in loneliness within his own mind. Memories of Amy were all around him. Would he ever be able to let go? The more he pondered on that fact, the more he knew the answer. The years Lucas had spent with Elizabeta had revolved around their work as operatives, and upon his return to the UK from Russia, their temporary ties were still work-based, her being his handler. The months with Sarah were, again, work-based. Everything revolved around MI5. Amy was so different. Their relationship had been built away from work, despite work being the thing that was constantly pushing them toward breaking point. Their love for each other was almost innocent, pure. It didn’t revolve around necessity. 

One way to numb the pain was alcohol. In the last few weeks and Lucas had welcomed whiskey and vodka into his life on a more permanent basis. The bedside table housed half empty bottles. 

Lucas even made himself feel the pain of showers, turning on the fast jet of water so he could be taken back to his days of torture in Lushanka. Re-live the waterboarding, where ice cold water was thrown over him as he begged for mercy and tried desperately to hold onto the information the Russians so badly wanted. He deserved the pain and the anguish. Beneath the water he shivered and wept, waiting and wishing for everything to end. Then maybe upon his deathbed, he could at least see her one last time in his moments of euphoria. 

That night and he sat on the edge of the bed, downing whiskey from the bottle. He rubbed his stubbled chin and stared aimlessly through the gloom. 

Amy was so ready to fight for you and you just let her go. 

But she needs to be protected. Her and the baby. 

You want her and she wants you. Fuck what her parents think. 

The arguments raged. Back and forth the voices went, turning into whispers the more that Lucas drank from the bottle. 

Tears trickled down Lucas’ cheek as he picked up his phone, and for the first time in months, he sent a single message to Amy. The alcohol had worn his inhibitions right down. 

I love you. 

***

Amy stared at the message, unable to comprehend that Lucas had actually sent her something. He’d been silent now for months, so she had taken this as her sign to leave him be and go through her pregnancy alone. The timestamp on the message was 2:04am. Messages in the dead of night were always a cry for help in some way. She whispered his name, still feeling stunned and not sure what to do. 

A few hours passed and Amy still wondered what on earth to do with the message from Lucas. She’d looked back at the message multiple times, making sure that she wasn’t imagining it all. But it was still there. Three simple, desperate words. 

An incoming call came from Ros. 

“Hi, Ros. Is everything okay?” Amy asked, trying to force a cheerful tone. 

“I wish I could say it was,” she replied. “Lucas didn’t turn up for work this morning, and has been coming in smelling of drink. Amy, he’s not doing well. He needs you.” 

Amy sighed and swallowed hard. “He’s stubborn, Ros. No matter what I say and do, he won’t let me come back. You know he won’t.” 

“Something tells me not this time.” 

A short time later and Amy was staring at a letter she had left on her parents’ dining table. She had explained that she needed to go back to London and was taking the next available train out to London Euston. Amy knew her parents would go absolutely ballistic, especially her mum. But there was no way she could let Lucas remain alone and suffer. 

Lucas had suffered enough in his life and all Amy wanted was to see him find peace, wherever and whoever he found that with. He deserved peace; after all, he put his life on the line daily to protect the UK public. Of course he deserved some peace. She wanted to embrace him, comfort him, just be there and hold him during his dark hours. 

On the train an hour later and Amy flicked through her purse, checking that she had enough cash to get her across London to her old flat. But as she rummaged in the coin compartment, she felt something long against her fingers. It was her original flat keys; two of them held together on a ring. One got her through the front door into the lobby area, and the other got her into the flat itself. Why had she kept them all this time? Was it because she always knew she would one day be going back? 

The flashing of buildings and landscape somehow soothed her, while a teenage girl of around sixteen years of age sat next to Amy, flicking through Instagram, and occasionally posing in her front facing camera. 

The closer she got to London and the more she could feel the fluttering in her belly, which was now showing. 

For a second, she placed her hand on her bump and smiled. 

We’re going to see your daddy. 

Apprehension and excitement both rose inside Amy. She had missed Lucas more than she could ever express, and while on the underground and then walking the street, getting closer to the flat, she could feel her anxiety taking hold. 

The last time she had been in London and it had been cold, but now it was mild, a sure sign of spring. It was just after six in the evening when she made it to her old building and looked at the familiar sight. Sadness rose in her chest and she thought back on the day she had moved in, nervous at the prospect of a new beginning. Now she had another new beginning on the horizon, one that involved a new person, a new life. 

Amy let herself into the main front entrance of the building, and then walked down the corridor to flat number three. With a deep breath, she knocked, waiting for a response. 

***

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[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 1,731 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, pre-Negan Warnings: language, mild gore (killing walkers) Summary: Daryl can't figure out why there is distance between you and him since arriving to Alexandria and he worries as you venture outside the walls almost every day. A/N: This is Part 1 of a two part commissioned miniseries! Final part will be out Friday, 9 Feb 2024 A/N: The patron and requester for this fic is the lovely @easy-peasy68 so thank her for her amazing generosity and support! Thanks again for the commission, hun!

“Who was that?” Daryl asked, flicking his lighter open and closed aimlessly as Carol came back into the kitchen.

“Y/N,” Carol said. “She’s heading out. Said she’ll be back by dark.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, ducking his eyes. “What’s she doin’ out there anyway? Seems like she’s been goin’ out a lot.”

Carol shrugged. “I don’t know. I think she forages a bit. But mainly I think she likes being out in nature, outside the walls instead of in here.” She gave Daryl a pointed look. “Sound familiar?”

He hummed another non-committal noise and headed out onto the porch. Maybe he could catch a glimpse of you heading down the street. Carol followed behind him.

“You could go ask her yourself, you know,” Carol said.

Daryl shook his head. “Nah… I feel like she’s been avoidin’ me since the road.”

“Avoiding you? What do you mean?”

Daryl shrugged and sunk down on the top step, digging in his pocket for a cigarette. “I dunno… I’ve seen her chattin’ with some of the people in here but doesn’t seem like she’s around the house much anymore. Seen her outside the walls once or twice, but—she just kinda moved off when we saw each other. Like, in a hurry…” he drawled. His face fell and it wasn’t lost on Carol.

“Hmm. Maybe she’s just trying to fit in here. Find her footing, you know?” suggested Carol.

Daryl shook his head. “I dunno. I dun think it’s just that. Just seems different than it was—out there, ya know…”

Carol leaned down and stole the cigarette dangling from between his fingers and straightened up. “Well, maybe she thinks you stink like cigarette smoke,” she said, dropping it to the porch and putting it out with the toe of her shoe.

Daryl glared up at her, clearly annoyed. “Real nice,” he drawled, squinting ahead into the growing daylight.

Carol laughed. “I’m sure you’re reading too much into this. This is a huge adjustment for all of us. I mean look at me,” she said, twirling so he could take in the full effect of her meek, suburban housewife outfit.

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Ya look stupid,” he commented.

“Oh, now who’s being mean, Pookie?” she laughed, ruffling his hair playfully. Daryl pulled away and she let out another good-natured laugh. “I have to go figure out how to make casseroles out of sardines and almond flour,” she said. “Just—go talk to her. You know, like a grown-up,” she teased him. Daryl only let out another low growl, annoyed, and waved at her as she left.

Throughout the day, as he passed the time building his bike in Aaron’s garage, he was run through with sudden bolts of anxiety and fear that caused his hands to still in the middle of a task. He kept one eye on the sidewalk outside, hoping to see you wander in safely so he could let go of the worry that was plaguing him. What if something happened to you out there? A bad run-in with strangers, a herd, something as simple as a fall or trip that left you injured enough you couldn’t make it back… Shit. He had a hard time focusing on what he was doing and found himself screwing on and unscrewing the same nut three or four times in a row. Curses murmured under his breath punctuated the metallic tinkering sounds. Daryl refocused and tried his hardest to put it out of his mind.

But as the day wore on and the light outside started to wane, he replaced his tools and wiped the oil and grease from his hands, and he was absolutely certain you hadn’t passed the garage on your way home. The lightning bolts of worry had now turned to an acidic rolling boil in his stomach and he couldn’t help himself any longer…

He rushed home, took the stairs down to the basement two at a time, and retrieved his gear. He didn’t know what the hell he was actually going to be able to do to look for you… It would be dark soon and tracking in the brush and brambles by the beam of a flashlight was no easy task. The only thing he did know was that he couldn’t wait around doing nothing any longer.

He was halfway to the gate when the familiar sound of your laugh drifted across the manicured lawns toward him. He looked up and—there you were. You were illuminated in the warm glow of the porchlights on a house up ahead. You were standing on the top step, one hand on the railing, talking with the elderly couple who had fussed over Judith only that very morning.

The pit in his stomach relaxed and he let out a relieved sigh, his muscles unknotting. You were back inside the walls and you seemed to be completely unharmed. You looked happy even, talking animatedly to the couple. It produced some kind of pang between his lungs. Daryl watched as you swung your pack off your shoulder and dug inside, retrieving a small burlap bag that you handed to the woman. Daryl felt as if he was peering through a window at a life he’d never have, though he wasn’t able to put any name to the feeling in the moment. He felt as if he didn’t belong.

And then another emotion welled up in his chest, tightening his lungs. He was, frankly, annoyed. He’d spent all day worrying about you, watching to make sure you made it back in one piece, and then panicking when you hadn’t returned and the sun was sinking. And then he finds you here, already safely inside and chatting away with community members you’d hardly known for two weeks. How long had you been back? How long was he needlessly worrying and picturing worst case scenarios? What the fuck? Why did everything feel so different in here than it had on the road? He felt like you hardly looked at him. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a real conversation with you. Goddammit! He turned around and headed back home with a different kind of unsettled feeling in his midsection.

Without saying a word to anyone, he slipped down into the cool dark of his basement room, dropped his gear, and flopped himself down on the bed.

But sleep was not forthcoming and he found himself tossing and turning most of the night.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl splashed water on his face then cupped it into his hands and took a sip—it was cold and bracing. He straightened up to stare at himself in the ornate mirror. He had a somewhat ragged look because he simply refused to let Carol trim his hair still. His skin was bronzed to a dark tan from endless days wandering in the sun on the road. He shook the wet strands of his dark curtain of hair out of his eyes, dried his face and hands, and headed outside.

He almost ran right into you.

“Oh!” The noise of surprise left your lips and your hand shot back from where you’d been reaching for the doorknob. You were staring right at the broad chest and shoulders of Daryl.

“Sorry,” he drawled, but he didn’t move out of the way. His eyes drifted to your pack slung over your shoulder. “Goin’ somewhere?” he asked.

“Hmm? Oh, I’m just dropping something off for Maggie,” you said, gesturing with the little sack of dried leaves in your hand.

“Nah. I mean yer pack,” he said, nodding toward your shoulder.

“Oh. Just heading outside the walls for a bit,” you said. You couldn’t understand why he was still standing in the doorway, completely blocking your path.

“Mmm,” he hummed, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment. He seemed to be on the edge of saying something else.

A nervous tightness appeared in your chest and you couldn’t help looking up at him, perplexed. You shifted your weight anxiously from one hip to the next.

Whatever he had been considering saying, he thought better of it and he stepped out of the way for you, holding the door open so you could get inside. “Well, be safe out there,” he said as you slipped past him.

“Yeah. Thanks,” you said over your shoulder. You heard the snap of the door behind you and let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Why had he seemed so tense?

Having delivered the leaves for tea to Maggie, you chatted with the rest of your found family for a few minutes before leaving the house again to head to the gate. Daryl was nowhere to be seen but you had an expanding emptiness between your lungs. Things had been hard between you and Daryl since that night on the road… You needed a distraction. The woods were good for that. Going out and soaking in the wonder of the natural world seemed to put everything right, if only for a time. You marveled at the abundance of yellow and orange chicken-of-the-woods, the crimson warning of fly agaric mushrooms, and the tangled brambles that would be weighed down with wild berries come late summer and early fall. So, with that peace and quiet in mind, you headed through the gate, thanking Sasha who rolled it back and shut it behind you. You were soon among the trees.

You had no idea that Daryl too was resolved to head into the woods as well. In fact, he was resolved to follow you and relieve the troubled feeling that plagued him—that combination of annoyance, perplexity, and worry that kept him awake all night. Why were you going outside the walls damn near every day and why were you avoiding him? He couldn’t stand it anymore. He fucking missed the way things had been before Alexandria. It even had him yearning for the time on the road despite all the thirst and hunger and grief he was wading through… and that thought was insane. No, he was going to deal with this, whatever it was.

[changenameno]

Fingerblast PART 2

(Complete, link for the first part, down below ⬇️)

Summary:

It’s the middle of summer and therefore incredibly hot. Of course right then something had to be wrong with your AC. How fortunate for you that a handyman can come right over…

Pairing: Syverson x Short Fem. Reader

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, cursing, explicit description of sex, thirst trap named Sy, teasing, size kink, chasing?, choking (if you squint?), p in v (use of y/n = Your first name)

Word count: 3K

A/N: Okay here goes my first attempt at writing smut…This is way longer than I intended it to become, whoops. Honestly this just came to me while stumbling over a song (aka the title of this specific fic 🤣). Also I think this reads a little like a bad porn video SORRY…but anyway….here goes nothing🙈😅….

It’s not proofread, any mistakes are my own. Please be kind, comments/reblogs are very appreciated…Thank you❤️✨

!Syverson is not my own creation (unfortunately)! And the song/lyrics don’t belong to me either!

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(In case you’ve missed PART 1)

PART 2

Sy was caught off guard but only for a second, then he set his body into motion. Like a raging bull he chased you up the stairs, not even three steps behind you. Hearing his thundering footsteps approaching and fast, you squealed.

You turned to your left, throwing your bedroom door open, darting into the room without stopping. Sy was right at your heels, bulldozing into the room so close behind that he simply tackled you onto the huge bed. Making you fall, face first into the soft mattress, which smothered your surprised shriek. His body covered you wholly, making you feel even smaller underneath his massive frame. Lying there and trying to catch your breath, you swore you felt him harden against you.

Well truth be told he finally had you where he so desperately wanted you.

Reluctantly he let you up enough, so you could turn around, now facing his bearded face which had carnal hunger written all over it. “Caught you…Now, what am I gonna’ do with you darlin’?”

Seizing the opportunity you grabbed his head and pressed your lips against his. Sy reciprocated immediately, grabbing your hips and pushing you up and against him. Hissing into the kiss once you crossed your ankles behind his back, gently rocking your hips. He let go of you, in favour of crawling on all fours up onto the bed; so he could lie his whole body down comfortably, while you clung to him.

Sy let your back slowly down onto the mattress, whereas you were still rubbing your drenched centre against his cargo shorts, surely leaving a wet spot. Only now coming up for air from the heated kiss you two were sharing, you breathed,” Fu-uck, please Sy I need you. Mmmh,” ending on a mewl, because he decided to rut against you right then. The unexpected pressure, stimulating your clit just like you needed it.

“Right with ya…” he rumbled. Without further ado, he took a hold of your flimsy dress and pulled it off, over your head, throwing it onto the floor.

Now his big sweaty body was towering over you, making you feel all small vulnerable, wearing only your white bra and matching panties.

That changed, as Sy’s lips attacked your neck at once, making his way down to the valley of your heaving breasts, all the while his beard scratched your soft skin in the best ways. Struggling to lay still, you squirmed at every kiss he pressed against your own sweat drenched skin.

You felt divine under his rough fingertips as he grabbed your lush thighs, opening your legs wider, so he could continue kissing down your body. Naturally you let your legs fall open, uncrossing your ankles, and digging your fingers into the bedspread. Sy stopped when he reached the waistband of your panties, both his hands splayed over your rib cage, fingertips lightly grazing your breasts beneath your bra.

Liking over his lips while resting his bearded chin on your stomach he looked up, where your eyes met. As blown out as his pupils were at the moment, you could only see a small ring of his normally bright blue eyes. “You look beautiful,” he rasped. Smiling down at him, you sat up slightly so you could gently run your hand over his head then down to cup his chin. “Mmh I’d say the same, but I can only see your handsome face so far,” you answered just as affectionately.

Sy understood you right away, almost falling off the bed, in his hurry to get undressed. Somehow he still managed not to.

Back on the bed, only wearing his briefs, you admired his bare, hairy chest pulling him down for another heated kiss. His body hair, lightly scratching over your smooth skin, ensured that you felt every inch of him even more intensely.

Moaning into his mouth, as his tongue invaded yours and began to explore you thoroughly. Breaking the kiss to demand what your aching centre needed most. “Please, just…need you.”

“Bet you’re soaking wet for me, aren’t ya? Wanna have a taste first.” Shaking your head no, he looked at you expectedly, when you didn’t elaborate he continued, “Darlin’ use your words, what do you want?”

“I…just…I need you now. Next time you can…you know,” stumbling over your own words already, even though he hadn’t done much yet, was an enormous boost for his ego.

He thoroughly enjoyed making you squirm, so he smirked, “Next time I can what?”

It was your turn to glare at the amused man kneeling between your legs. Impatiently you snarled, “For fuck’s sakes, if you don’t get to it, right now…I promise that you’ll never get a taste!”

Sy’s smirk only widened in response, then he suddenly pulled you down by your ankles, until you lay on your back. “Still gotta prepare you though.” With one swift movement he yanked your ruined panties down and off your legs. Making you mewl at the sudden air hitting your bare heat. He looked down, hungrily staring at your sopping folds. “On second thought, you don’t need much preparing, do ya? Could probably slide right in.”

Feeling a little embarrassed at how turned on you had become, you tried hiding your face in the pillow. “Ah none of that darlin’. Wanna see your face, when I make you come.” His hand gently turned your face towards his, smiling softly down at you. “That’s right, eyes on me, y/n.”

Sy didn’t let you protest any further, as one thick finger slowly dipped between your folds. Running down to your clenching, dripping hole. Without warning he pushed two of his fingers inside, stretching you deliciously and making you bow your back, gasping. “Nnhg…”

“That’s a good girl. Takin’ my fingers so well.” To ease a bit of the tension in his own briefs he tried adjusting the tent within. Exhaling heavily when you clamped down on his fingers, hard. You couldn’t help it, having caught a glimpse of his huge tent. Well huge was still somehow an understatement, but you trusted that Sy knew what he was doing.

He cupped your pussy and at the same time spread his thick fingers, stretching you carefully. Making you chase the friction of his palm against your little pearl. He started moving his fingers in and out of you, though at the slowest pace know to men. In an attempt to get him to go faster, you bucked against his rough hand, trying to spur him on. “Please, need more. Please Sy.”

For the first time today, he quit his teasing and plunged a third finger in, moving them a lot quicker than previously. He had you moaning in no time, falling apart on his fingers. Sy managed to hit that special spot dead on, every time his fingers stretched your warm canal. “Yeah right there. Right there, don’t stop….” You felt it, your release was just around the corner, starting to tremble. Just as you were ready to see stars, the hand between your legs disappeared.

Your eyes snapped open, enraged that your orgasm had been stolen from you, you sat up, “What…no…why I was nearly there!?”

That smug fucker just sat back on his heels, sucking his fingers into his mouth and liking your juices off. The obscene slurping sounds he made while he enjoyed tasting you, had your insides feeling like liquid lava.

Deliberately slow he pulled his fingers back out, wiping them on the bedspread, staring you down with his sapphire blue orbs. Mirth and lust equally displayed within those same eyes, “Delicious. Also I ain’t let you come, unless it’s on my cock, understood?”

Too stunned to answer you gaped down, as his cock twitched within his briefs. Instantly a hand grabbed your neck, pushing you back down onto the mattress.

Startled by the sudden roughness, both your hands wrapped around the muscles of his sturdy forearm, looking up at him. Sy rumbled, “Do you understand?” His deep thundering voice paired with the hand lightly choking you, made you repeatedly squeeze around nothing. Craving his touch all the more, now that he wasn’t going to use his fingers to get you off.

“Yes. Yes I understand.” His hand let go, as did your hands, letting them relax next to your head. He was rather pleased with your response, so he let his enormous paw wander behind your back, nimbly opening your bra and getting rid of your last barrier.

Not being able to hold back any longer he took off his own briefs, throwing them on the ground as well. You looked absolutely breath-taking, lying completely bare before him, innocently looking up. Then your eyes fell down, gasping at the erect thickness between his thighs. Sy smiled proudly, promptly beginning to slide his own hand up and down his shaft. Where at the tip a drop pre-cum had already formed.

You watched and whimpered, “Please, please…”, wanting nothing more than to have is cock stretching you to your limit.

Not wanting to wait any longer himself he climbed between your legs. Cock in hand he tapped it lightly on your swollen clit, reducing you to nothing more than a squirming, whining mess.

Then he finally had mercy on you, brushing over your drenched opening once, twice and then he dipped inside. Holding your breath, as he fed inch by inch of his monstrosity into your tight little cunt.

“So fu-ucking tight.” He pressed through his teeth, hands digging into your sides to hold you in place and to make moving forward easier. Sy wasn’t even halfway in and you already felt incredibly stuffed. Every nook and cranny was filled up.

Apparently the last bit of his patience had run out, because he tilted his hips back and trusted forward with such force he sheathed himself to the hilt. You whimpered, arms now slung around his torso and fingernails digging into his back, making him grunt in return.

“Sh-shh that’s it, nice deep breaths darlin’, you’re takin’ me so well.” Closing your eyes, you tried concentrating on his soothing words and the gentle motion of his hands running up and down your sides, to prevent becoming overwhelmed by the fullness.

At last your pussy began pulsing, little by little growing accustomed to the way he stretched you so ridiculous far apart.

Sy noted your face slowly relaxing under his ministrations, but he’d wait until you gave him the go, and only then would he move.

When you thought it didn’t feel like he was splitting you in half anymore, you opened your eyes. He was looking at you intensely, blue eyes seemingly melting as his right hand reached up, caressing your cheek. “Are you alright? We can stop if it’s too much,” he whispered leaning down, to be yet closer to you, meaning every word he just uttered.

Your hands glided up, over his shoulder blades and to his head, pushing him down further so you could kiss him again. This time it was a slow sensual kiss, without haste just feeling the other’s lips and moving in tandem. Once you separated from each other, you whispered back, “I’m fine…and don’t you dare stop now, when I conquered your mighty beast.” His dark chuckle send vibrations down to where you were intimately connected, making you sheer crazy with need.

“Well then let’s see if you truly conquered it, shall we darlin’?” Sy snatched you up, gripping your behind and pressing you impossibly closer to his body. You crossed your ankles behind his back anew, holding on for dear life as that bear of a man pulled all the way out just to ram back into your tight, hot tunnel. And just as you thought he couldn’t go any deeper.

He repeated that powerful motion again and again. Resounding groans breaking free from his mouth while yours gaped open, letting whine after whine escape you.

Sy nuzzled your neck, making you hear and feel every one of his delicious grunts and lewd comments. You weren’t even able to respond, let alone string more than two words together at the moment.

He repeatedly fucked his massive cock inside your pussy, keeping his pace like a sledgehammer. “That’s right, made for my cock, darlin’.”

You just needed a little push and then you’d undoubtedly fall over the edge. As if he could read your mind, the hand that wasn’t grabbing your rear, smoothly slid between your dripping bodies.

As soon as his hand reached its destination, rubbing circles over your clit, the band within you instantly snapped. Gushing around him, your legs shaking, clamping down on Sy’s cock. “Aaah fuck, that’s it Darlin’, come for me.” His grip on your ass, turned near bruising, slowly but surely losing his pace and rhythm.

Wanting to get him off, just as hard as he had you; you clenched your slightly oversensitive cunt and purred into his ear,” Yeah, so deep, please… come inside me.”

“Fuck…”, that did him in and with one last stroke, you could feel his seed filling you up. His body all taunt for a second before he relaxed. Sy kissed the side of your neck, as the last bit of his cum entered you. He let out a deep sigh,” You were…that was…,” struggling to find his words, he lifted you off of his cock. Continuing to muzzle your neck and placing soft kisses on your skin. Now lying outstretch on your back, you could feel his seed spilling down your pussy, making you shiver slightly.

“Mmmh yeah that was amazing, I agree.” You answered his unfinished sentence, a smile creeping onto your face.

Eyes closed, you felt the mattress dip as Sy moved off the bed. You heard the tap running, when he returned, you opened your eyes. He’d a washcloth in hand, tilting his head in question. Nodding at him, he carefully brought the cool cloth between your legs, cleaning you and removing your conjoined fluids. Once he was done, he sat it down on the nightstand to be put away later.

“Love, could ya scoot over a little?” Worn out, you rolled sluggishly to lay on your right side, still just as naked as him. The mattress dipped again, as Sy snuggled up behind you, spooning you with his overheated body.

“So how’d ya like it?”

Turning slightly in his arms, to look at the smug expression he wore on his face, you mumbled,” Mmh well, I was a bit sceptical at first. But you? Roleplaying as my handyman, was fun I must admit.”

“Told ya,” he pressed another kiss against your temple as he carried on,” doesn’t have to be anything crazy but roleplaying can be fun from time to time.”

You turned back around just enjoying the closeness of your husband’s body pressed against yours. “Mmh.”

It had been his idea to try something a little bit more elaborate in bed for your anniversary. His best friends had actually kind of encouraged him with this, which was why you were so reluctant to try, at first. As you said, at first you’d been very sceptical but you couldn’t really say no to Sy, so you promised to try something on your special day. The little details he poured in to make it feel even more real, astounded you.

Thinking about it, the red pickup truck sprung back in the forefront of your consciousness. “Wait, one question…that red pickup, whose is that?”

You felt him chuckle, “Ah, that. Yeah I might have borrowed it from Walt.”

“What? Walter? Like in Walter Marshall?”, you were so dumbfounded that the detective, out of all his friends would drive such a car, that you turned around in Sy’s arms, to check if he was joking.

“Yeah.”

“What do you mean yeah? It’s red, as far as I know he’d never…”, he interrupted you, “Ah that, yeah, he made a mistake orderin’ it or somethin’.”

Sy moved his arm, so you could lie your head down comfortably on his bloated biceps.

“Okay, well at least that makes sense. More than him intentionally picking out a red car anyway.” You settled back, eyes closed, satisfied with how your special day hand gone so far.

Until one more burning question popped up and you reopen your eyes. Tilting your head back to take in Sy’s relaxed face, having closed his eyes as well. “That song? You know the one that played when you got out of the car?” Apparently amused by your line of questioning, his lips turned up into a smile. Without opening his eyes, he mumbled back, “Yeah what about it?”

“I never heard a song as crude as that? And I never heard you play it, ever?”

One of his flaming blue eyes blinked at you, light crinkles forming around it as he smiled still,” Don’t wanna rat anyone out. But ya know, August sent it to me today and I thought I’d give it a try.”

It was your turn to snigger,” Of course, who else. Do you only have lewd guy friends?”, ending your question on a snort.

That had Sy open his other eye as well, both showing his clear amusement,” Well, ya know, you’re the one that married me, darlin’. What does that say ‘bout you?”

Making you laugh,” True. Also I think life would be a lot more boring, without our knuckle-headed friends.”

“Sure thing.”

After a short pause, he put his other arm around you, pulling you into a more comfortable embrace, “I love you, darlin’.”

Completely content, you let your tired eyes fall shut, whispering back,” I love you, too.”

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Taglist:

If you're interested in being on my taglist, please let me know! And if you want to be taken off (my taglist), feel free to tell me! ❤️✨

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hidden Treasure 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your quiet life is interrupted by a tempestuous man. (reader is Blair from Follow You Anywhere)

Characters: Thor

Note: I just did it, okay?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You lay out the hand-sewn coin purses along the left side of the table, completing the array of your hand-made and repurposed goods. It’s a good day to sell, sunny but not too hot, the early days of spring when people are eager to get out. At least it should be. Despite your selection, you’re not the most personable vendor along the square. 

The last detail is the hand-painted wood sign. You did it yourself; an antique frame you added a gold hue to and filled with a thin sheet of board. It isn’t much but it tells people what they’re looking at; handmade and renewed goods. 

You fold your hands and hover behind your table. You’re a one-person operation. It’s your own table, your own money, your own everything. It brings in enough for you to live. Just you and your cluttered apartment. 

The coin purses and the sleepers you sew by hand are the more popular sellers. Anything for children goes first, you notice. Everyone seems to be having them. The older crowd radiate towards the old candlesticks you polished to a shine or the glass-shaded lamps you tediously re-wired. Most try to haggle but your prices are fair enough. 

You peer around at the produce stands, the soap and candle makers, and the crocheted stuffies of your fellow sellers. You do a bit of window shopping but never follow through on your wandering eyes. You don’t need to waste the money on the pretty new things, you have lots of lovely old things. 

The traffic picks up and you busy yourself with the browsers. A woman with a stroller buys several of the infant dresses and headband, a group of older ladies peruse the aged hardcovers and pick out a few, while a couple comments on the brass-based lamp with the dangling chain. You do your best to smile through the transactions. 

The rises higher in the sky towards its apex. The steady flow keeps you busy, with some time in-between to work on fixing the binding of one of the old editions. You like to keep yourself distracted, thinking can be dangerous. With how much time you spend alone, it’s hard to avoid. 

As you lock up the cash box and tuck it back under the table, a shadow passes over, large than any other. For a moment, you think a cloud’s passing over the sun. You look up at the sky as a broad figure stands across from you.  

You don’t know how you didn’t see the man’s approach. He’s huge. Tall and wide. He doesn’t seem the type to be interested in your selection. Still, he leans in to eye the embroidered coin purses and gives a rumbling hum that sounds like distant thunder. 

He picks up one with primroses sewn into it. His thick thumb brushes the threaded design and his large hand makes the coin purse look even smaller. You tap your fingers on the table as his eyes flick up and meet yours. 

“Hi, uh, how can I help you?” You whittle out of your tight throat. It’s not often a lone man finds interest in your things. You cater to a more femme audience. 

“This is nice,” he remarks, “do you make these?” 

“Uh, yes, I do,” you give a tight-lipped smile, “I just embroider old used purses.” 

“Just? That’s splendid work,” he brings it closer to his face and looks down his nose at the little flowers and leaves, “my mother would love this... mother’s day is coming, eh?” 

“Oh, um, yes, I suppose,” you agree. “It’s five dollars. Cash only.” 

“Mm,” he traces his thumb over the metal clasp as he taps his back pocket with his other hand, “don’t think I’ve any on me. Could you hold this for me?” He offers the coin purse, “I’ll find the ATM.” 

“Sure, I could do that.” 

You take the coin purse, fingers brushing his rough skin, and you set it aside. 

“Thank you,” he smiles broadly, blue eyes twinkling as lines creases around them and across his forehead. 

He reluctantly trails away and you watch him go. His golden hair is longer than most, twisted into a low bun behind his hand as a few strands dangle freely around his face. He wears a denim jacket over dark red tee and grey jeans, along with a pair of scuffed brown boots. He stands out even in his casual attire. 

You shrug off the encounter and turn to your next customers. More baby clothes. The women chat about a baby show and you point them to the newborn sizes, telling them about the fabrics you use for each. They buy a few bibs along with the sleepers and diaper covers. 

You back up and sit in the folding chair, drinking deeply from your bottle of water. You don’t know if it’s the interactions or the sun making you dizzy. It’s close to noon. You always start to feel it around this time.  

The hours surrounded by strange faces and buzzing voices are clustering in your head and chest. Only a little longer; the market only runs until two. If the world didn’t require money to survive, you might never leave your apartment. Yet your table is the only means you have to keep walls around you. 

You sit a bit longer and get up again. You’re okay. You should’ve eaten before you left the apartment. How silly of you to forget the overnight oats you had put in the fridge just the night before. You do forget quite a few things. 

The market thrums with the late morning rush and you brace yourself for the final stretch. If you can clear off half the table, you might not have to come back next weekend. You’d be all too content to stay in your own little world, the one beyond is too loud and too bright. 

🕰️

You fold your table up and push the hook around the peg to keep it shut. You fold up the chair as well and lean both with your boxes. As the market clears out, you pull up your small two-door and load your wares into the back hatch. 

You peer over at the other vendors and their vans and trucks. Crews of half a dozen or more pack away goods and chatter just as loud as the previous crowds. It’s an isolating moment. You don’t mind going unnoticed but sometimes you feel so small. 

As you put a box in the back of the car, your keys slip off your finger. You bend and feel around the tire to retrieve them and sense a shadow above you. You clasp your hand around the keyring and stand-up suddenly, turning to face the figure behind you. There’s no one there. 

You peer around but find nothing out of the ordinary. You return to your task and pause. You don’t remember putting that box away yet... 

You shake your head. You’re just tired and forgetful. Your cardinal vices. Your mind wanders too much to rest, too much to keep order. 

You put the last box away and close the hatch. You get in the driver’s seat and turn the engine. It putters softly but it runs well enough. The old car has gotten you through the years just fine. There was a time that tiny thing was your home. 

You pull away down the lane parallel to the edge of the market square and pull out into traffic. You drive without seeing, led by habit as you stop at signs along the way, turning around corners mindlessly. You stop and wait to pull into your building’s lot and notice the large storm grey jeep behind you. It strikes you as peculiar; you enter from a back street to avoid the rush. 

You steer into the lot and the jeep continues down the street past the building. You forget it as quickly as it rolls beyond the faded brick. You find your spot, parking pass dangling from the mirror, and shut off the engine. You linger and take a breath. You're hungry and tired. 

You leave your things in the car and go upstairs. You slow as you pass your neighbour’s door. You saw her yesterday, she was in trouble about something. The police came as she hid from her boyfriend in your apartment. You didn’t even know she had one. You tried not to be nosy but she seemed real upset. 

Your cheeks tinge as you stare at the numbers on her door. She’s the only person who’s ever been inside your apartment. You don’t welcome people in, not into your home or your life. You hadn’t meant to let her in but you were so tired and confused, you couldn’t stop her. 

You cringe and continue down to your door with one last glance over your shoulder. You put the key in the slot and turn with a grind. You scurry inside and quickly lock the door, afraid she might once more emerge and follow you inside. Or that man, the big one with the beard. 

You twist the latch back into place and put your keys in the tray on the cramped shelf. The apartment is dark, the windows shrouded in black fabric, and you flip on the overhead light to guide you down the hallway. The walls are made tighter as their lined with endless shelves and tables, all filled with your collection of curiosities. 

You go to the fridge and take out the mason jar of steeped oats. You sit and eat the soft, pasty oats and the berries. You didn’t add enough cinnamon. It doesn’t matter, your stomach greedily mulches it. You put the kettle on and wait for it to steam. 

As you pace around, you hear a loud rumble. An engine. You don’t think much of it but you go to the window to peek out around the dark fabric. A woman walks a large dog past a grey jeep parked along the curb. Is it the same one you saw before? 

The question doesn’t pique your mind much. That’s the way of the world, you find. It’s a lot smaller than it seems, yet to you, it’s inexorably vast. It’s too fast, too unpredictable. You retreat as the kettle whistles. 

Your apartment is small and warm and safe. The world can’t follow you back here. Not if you don’t let it in and you won’t be doing that again. 

-🕰️

You decide, against your better instincts, to go to market. The weather is nice and it wouldn’t be so bad add a few extra bucks to your nest egg. You never know what might come up, or what you might find! Too many times you stumbled upon an antique you just couldn’t afford. 

You go through your usual ritual. You set up the table and the chair, and arrange your things in the same way around the wooden sign. As you put your boxes to the side, you hear a rattle at the bottom of one. You look into the crate and notice the silver ring. How’d that get in there? You didn’t bring any jewelry. 

You put down the box and reach inside. You take out the ring and turn it. You’ve never seen it before. There’s a strange stick symbol on the flat face. Maybe another language or a run of some type. You turn it in your hand and tuck it in your pocket. You’ll have to give a closer look at home. 

It’s early and a few stragglers trickle in, but they all walk by your table without pause. 

You sit and take out the jar of oats. You remembered today. You’d woken up with a hunger so deep, you almost ate before you left. You know better than to eat too early. Instead, you had your tea and got yourself moving. 

You stir the blueberries in and eat slowly, trying to measure your bites so you don’t feel sick after. You watch the other vendors, some still setting up, and lazily swallow down the thick oatmeal. It feels like it might rain after all, there’s a touch of damp in the air. 

You finish up and put the jar away. As you wipe your mouth with your sleeve, a woman’s voice trills and pricks your ears. Silver hair with a few wisps of gold peak out from her silk headscarf. The teal fabric matches the pattern of her blouse, tucking into a finely pressed skirt. She’s not alone, she has her arm hooked through another. 

Her companion is younger than her. His golden hair is pulled half up at the crown of his head as he towers over her lithe frame. You squint, they might be related. As they approach, you get a whiff of deja vu. 

“Yes, it was this one, mother,” the man’s voice is deep. 

“How lovely, look at all these treasures,” she slips her arm free as she approaches, “hello, dear, is this all yours?” 

“Mhmm, yes,” you stand up, “are you looking for something in particular?” 

“I think we’re just browsing,” she smiles brightly, her lips painted a gentle shade of rose. 

“A coin purse,” the man says, “with prim rose? Do you recall?” 

You look at him. Faces aren’t easy for you but his voice strikes something in your mind, and his size. You haven’t seen a lot of men that big, only the one in your neighbour’s apartment. You think you remember holding something but the customer never came back. 

“This one,” you point to the coin purse, set back in the row. 

“Yes, that was me,” he chimes, “mother,” he pulls the primrose purse to the top. She takes it and he looks back to you, “I apologise that I didn’t return, there was an emergency and I had to be off.” 

“It’s okay,” you shrug, folding your hands together. 

The woman is looking at you. There’s something in her gaze that makes you squirm. Her eyes linger just a bit longer before she aims them at the purse, admiring the embroidery as she feels it beneath her thumb. 

“Yes, I do like this one,” she says. 

“I brought cash this time,” the man booms and reaches into his pocket, “five, I believe you said.” 

“Yes,” you accept the bill from him, his skin rough as his fingertips touch yours, “thanks. Erm, did you need a bag?” 

“For this? No,” she wiggles the purse playfully and reaches for the man, her son, with other hand. She caresses his knuckles as she faces him, “you were right. Very beautiful.” 

He smiles broadly, proudly almost. It’s just a purse. You hide your discomfort as you grip your arm at your elbow. 

“Thank you,” the woman chirps back at you, sending another grin in your direction, “you might see us again.” 

She hooks her arm once more through her son’s and leads him to the next booth. You peer after them as her attention clings to the purse as she continues to feel it between her fingers. She leans into his arm as she speaks to him quietly. They seem close, it’s sweet. Your own mother had never been so affectionate. 

You look away before the scene can pluck in your chest. It doesn’t matter. You’re grown up now. That’s all behind you. 

[zwiggyro]

SOMETHING LIKE THAT | prologue

parings: sanford!patrick x stanfordfem!reader (very very slight stanford!art x stanfordfem!reader)

warnings: none for this one but def for ones in the future

Summary: You meet art a couple times through your best friend Tashi, and are put in the same architecture class your sophomore year, along with Tashi and arts best friend, Patrick. Patrick’s a senior unlike the three of you, but he’s easy to talk to and constantly teases you about being sassy. Until one day, things change and he starts becoming a little handsier than a senior “casually” would be with a sophomore like you.

notes: this is my first fic so pls excuse any mistakes and please dont bully me for this random ass prompt. lowk was bored and thought id write this soooooo if you have any comments/feedback on this or any ideas for other fics/blurbs youre more than welcome to send them through my inbox!!!

You swore on your life you would never like Patrick fucking Zweig. But you never said you wouldn’t let him like you. He’s scruffy, a man whore, slut, and a huge dick. Literally. He’s definitely gone after a couple of your friends, but as soon as they become just another failed talking stage, another girl is hopping on his dick. 

You also weren’t the type that guys usually liked. Sure, a couple of guys liked you, but they were too shy to make the first move and too nerdy—frankly, too ugly for you. 

You loved being treated like a girl, being taken out on dates, spoiled rotten, and fucked so hard you couldn’t walk. You had a type, the typical charismatic, outgoing, athletic, and relentless boy who could easily pick you up and throw you across the room. 

But you weren’t gonna turn down an opportunity like Art Donaldson. 

You noticed him occasionally glancing at you during lunch freshman year. He was blonde, a little shy, and cute in your grade. You first talked to him when you and the girl's Stanford tennis team were waiting near the tennis courts.

freshman year.....

The team was waiting for the team bus to Pepperdine for the big doubles match for you and Tashi against Anna Mueller and Yuri Shishida. Teams from around the country were coming to watch this game to support you and your doubles partner, considering you guys were basically the it girls of tennis. 

“Okay, the bus is coming in 5. Be ready! ” our coach said as she finished taking a head count of all the girls, making sure no one was left behind. 

“Finally,” some of the girls groaned. Slowly, some heads started to turn, and chatter began as they saw the boys team heading to the courts, seeing that they finished their warm-ups. Sweaty, hair messy, and best of all, shirtless. After all, Stanford did have the reputation hot “fuckable” tennis boys. 

You spotted the blonde wearing a white long-sleeve turtleneck under a red Stanford polo, his red Stanford hat backward, and matching shorts, unlike his best friend Patrick, who was shirtless, holding his white t-shirt in his hand, and in the sluttiest short shorts. Art was typing away on his blackberry, Patrick blabbing his ear off to get his attention. 

“shut the actual fuck up, Patrick,” Art says, looking up from his phone. 

“Oh, c'mon, maybe if you’d reacted to what I’m saying, I’d shut up,” he snaps back, snatching Arts' phone from his hands and forcing him to look up at Patrick.

Before art can argue back, Tashi, who was standing beside you, sees them. 

“ART!” Tashi shouts. Art starts walking over to her, and Patrick trails behind him. 

“oh, uh, hey, Tashi,” art says.

“I was just wondering if u can finish the lab report for bio. I have a match at Pepperdine, and uh, idk if I have time to finish it.” 

“yeah, of course, I can finish it tonight, probably,” Art replies.

“what was the lab on?” You speak up, wanting to engage in their conversation, “if it’s the same one as my sections. i can probably just share the doc with you and you can just copy it?” 

“oh, that actually be great” Tashi responds. 

“Where are you guys going?” Patrick intervenes, also wanting to join the conversation. 

“Pepperdine,” Tashi says dryly, clearly disliking his presence. 

“here, uh- art give me ur phone i’ll just text u the link when i’m on the bus” you say holding your hand out, and trying to shift the mood.

“BUS IS HERE, LADIES!” your coach yells. The swarm of girls pick up their bags, hurrying onto the bus, hoping to get a seat next to their friends.

“i’ll be on the bus ___, come when ur done getting his number” tashi says, picking up her red stanford duffel bag and racket. 

“Okay, yeah, got it, save me a seat, trash,” I shout, hoping she can hear me. 

“here.” i hand arts phone back, “i’ll send the link on the bus so you’ll get it soon.” 

“alright. Thanks a lot, bye!!” Art responds, 

“bye, art!! see you round and text me if u need anything!” you pick up your bags and wave as you run to the bus, not wanting to miss it.

[amalgamateofficial]

Hey, y'all. DoctorHaifisch, the author of the Danganronpa V3 fanfic Amalgamate here <3

Some of you might've already seen the above video on my TikTok page, but I wanted this thank you message to reach as many Amalgamate fans as possible. I only found out about the fic having the 4th most hits of any DRV3 fic on AO3 a few days ago, and when I was told about it, I couldn't believe it. I went to AO3 to confirm, and that's when I found out about Amalgamate also being #7 in kudos, #4 in bookmarks, and #3 in comments. I'm still completely shocked because I truly didn't realize Amalgamate had reached such a level of notoriety in the DRV3 fanfic community

So, I just want to say thank you to everyone who reads and enjoys Amalgamate. Whether you've only read some of it, read all of it, reread it, left kudos, left comments, or even just sent happy thoughts in the fic's direction, I appreciate you all so much. 2 1/2 years ago, I posted chapter 1 of Amalgamate under the assumption that hardly anyone would even read it, and now there's an audio project, fanart, fan comics, dubs, songs, animatics, fics inspired by Amalgamate, and so much more. It still blows my mind, and not for one second do I ever take any of it for granted.

So truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you all so much <333

Amalgamate changed my life for the better, and I'm so glad it had such a huge impact on so many you too <3

-- DoctorHaifisch