#let that last bit sink in before you come for me

[ebongawk]

kiss 17 and or 18 for hellcheer

18. A kiss while laughing

🖤🖤 .

"Did you end up canceling your reservation then, Nance?"

"No," Nancy groaned before sucking up the last few dredges of her drink. She rolled her neck back, covering her face with both hands. "I've had these reservations for three months, and I was praying Jonathan would be better in time. Instead, he's hacking up new ecosystems into our entire life savings' worth of Kleenex."

"Bummer," Robin sighed, stirring her own drink absent-mindedly. "Vickie and I are having a cozy night in that she's really looking forward to."

"I'd take that over spraying Jonathan with Lysol every three minutes," Nancy grumbled.

"He's probably overreacting anyway," Barb interjected with a loose wave of her hand. "Men always think a little baby cold is the coming of Death."

Heather, Robin, and Chrissy all nodded in agreement.

"Jason was like that," Chrissy lamented, rolling her eyes. "I swear, he'd gripe and moan like his organs were failing."

"Was Jason your last Valentine, Chrissy?" Heather asked, pulling the attention of the entire table. Chrissy looked at each of them individually, sinking into her chair a little. Four pairs of scrutinizing eyes sized her up like hungry predators.

"I-I mean," she said, her voice small. "I've–– I've dated other guys, obviously, but––"

"None for long enough to have a Valentine," Heather finished.

"Have you ever had a Valentine?" Chrissy shot back, trying to yank the blanket of attention off her head.

"Nah." Heather flapped her wrist as she pulled from her straw. "But I don't want one, babe. I'm the free spirit. Every girl group has one."

"What does that make me?" Robin asked curiously.

"The comedic relief," Heather said with a shrug. Robin nodded appreciatively. Pointing toward Nancy, she continued, "The brains-slash-getaway driver." With Barb, "The sensible one." And, back to Chrissy, "The romantic."

Murmurs of agreement made Chrissy bristle.

"I am not the romantic," she argued, immediately regretting her decision when everyone's attention fell once again to her. "I–– I've basically been single for, like, four years now! How does that make me the romantic?"

"Because you believe in true love," Heather sighed dreamily. "C'mon, Chrissy, you can't lie and say you aren't holding out for that spark."

Blinking, Chrissy shrank even further into her chair. Staring at her own colorful drink and ruminating. Because Heather was right, and that was mildly infuriating. Chrissy was perpetually single, though not because guys hadn't expressed an interest.

It was because that instant jolt of connection hadn't run through her. Because the Hollywood drama of love-at-first-sight hadn't hit her, a strike of pink lightning igniting her inside and out. She'd settled for adequacy for years with Jason, and once the shiny newness of first puppy love had rubbed off, Chrissy was left trapped in a relationship of cooling embers and strange, unnamable guilt.

It took her a lot longer than she cared to admit to finally leave him.

"Y'know, I've got this friend," Robin started, glancing from Chrissy to Nancy. "I mean, he's a bit of a weirdo, but pretty much exactly what I picture for you. A romantic at heart. Single."

"And I do still have those reservations..." Nancy hedged, connecting the obvious dots Robin was spooning out.

"No," Chrissy stated, slashing her arms through the air in an X. "Absolutely not. I am not letting you guys set me up on a blind date on Valentine's Day."

The other four girls at the table all smiled, broad and a little maniacal.

🖤🖤🖤 .

Against her will, and with Nancy's extremely persuasive bullying nipping at her heels, Chrissy found herself rushing through her makeup routine the following evening. Nuggets, she was already running late, jumping into her heels and wrenching the front door of her apartment open just as the phone rang.

"Let the machine get it," she mumbled to herself, slamming her door shut and locking it. "Not a big deal. Not important. Nancy would kill me if me and this guy were both late and they gave away the table."

Not that she expected him to be late. But, in her experience, guys were always late to things like this. If they bothered showing up at all.

Her watch indicated that it was eight minutes past when Chrissy finally burst through the main door of the little French bistro Nancy had given her the address to. The Maitre'd was nowhere to be found, probably helping another couple among the sea of couples, and Chrissy took a cursory glance around the restaurant.

In all her detailing, Robin hadn't given Chrissy much of a descriptor.

"He's, I dunno, handsome, I guess? For a guy?" Robin had shrugged. "Brown eyes, I think? Shaggy brown hair? Probably in jeans?"

There.

In the middle of the restaurant, a guy sat alone at a table for two. Eyes obstructed by messy bangs, he thumbed absently at the petals of a bouquet. Shaggy hair (maybe a little longer than shaggy, actually) – check. Jeans – check, though he had a nice black button-up tucked into them. He looked a little bit more like a rocker than Chrissy was expecting, but it wasn't as though Robin described anything about his aesthetic. Just that she thought they'd look good together.

Chrissy didn't question why. Maybe she should have?

Taking in a deep, slow breath, Chrissy waded her way through the tables before she could lose her nerve. Swallowing something thick and anxious in her throat.

"Hi," she said, breathless despite centering herself. The guy glanced up, eyes widening in shock. "I am so, so sorry I'm late. Initially, it was my own fault, and then it was the bus's fault, and normally I'm early, I swear, but everything just fell apart today."

The guy blinked, lips parted, as he took her in. Eyes raking over the curl of her hair, the fit of her dress. Staring in obvious wonderment, making Chrissy suddenly feel entirely self-conscious.

"Shit," the guy breathed, bringing his gaze back up to her face. "You're gorgeous."

"Oh, um. Thank–– Thank you––"

Oh, God. Oh God, she couldn't remember his name.

"Aw, fuck, sorry, sorry," he said, jumping to his feet. Holding out the bouquet, he said, "These, uh, are for you."

Carefully taking the flowers, Chrissy blinked in surprise. She sort of expected roses, because that was the norm. Instead, in her hands was a beautiful bouquet of red carnations.

"Thank you," she said again, much more softly as the man once more jumped into action, helping her out of her coat and pulling her chair out for her. "Did, um. Did Robin tell you my favorite flower?"

Her question was soft enough that he didn't seem to hear her as he took his own seat again. Tucking a finger into the collar of his shirt, he stretched it a little against his neck as he cleared his throat.

"Sorry," he said. "Sorry, uh, just–– You're not exactly what I imagined when you got described to me."

Chrissy smiled a little, pursing her lips. He still had that awestruck look in his eye, so the small part of her that thought she should be offended was easily wiped away.

"Did I live up to your expectations?"

"Exceeded them," he admitted easily. Making a sound like a bomb exploding, he wiggled his fingers in an arc to emphasize his shattered expectations. "Entirely. Which, I know, I know, makes me sound like a total asshole. Just–– Fuck, this is gonna sound so much worse than I mean it, but, uh, you aren't exactly the type of girl people think to try and set me up with."

In spite of herself, Chrissy giggled. And the guy's eyes brightened, lips parting around a broad, beautiful grin.

Oh, he had dimples. This was dangerous.

"I understand," she admitted. "Honestly, I was expecting you to be different, too."

"By that, I'm sure you mean you're floored by my dashing good looks," the guy said, tucking his fist under his chin and batting his lashes at her. Chrissy laughed again, hiding the sound behind her carnations, as the waiter approached.

"Lovely of you to actually join us this evening," he said with a halting smile. Chrissy tucked her lip between her teeth, chastised, though that certainly wasn't how the waiter meant it. She was barely late. "May I get you started with something to drink?"

The waiter left after taking their drink orders, promising to return with the first course of their meal.

"Can I admit something without judgement?" Chrissy asked.

"This is a judgement-free zone," the guy promised, gesturing to himself. "Obviously."

"I, um. I'm so sorry, but I completely forgot your name."

He laughed. This big, broad sound that filled the candlelight between them, spilling joy across the fancy linen tablecloth with sound that Chrissy couldn't help but mirror.

"Eddie," he said, reaching across the table with an outstretched hand. For some reason, that didn't sound exactly right. Too simple of a name for such an interesting man, maybe.

"Eddie," she repeated, letting his name sit on her tongue for a long second as she reached out and put her hand in his. Something electric rushed up her arm, and Chrissy gasped a little as she looked at their clasped hands.

A moment, a breath, and she finally found the wherewithal to say, "I'm Chrissy. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Eddie gave her a curious look, head tilted to one side as though letting her name roll through his skull, but his eyes kept gliding back to their clasped hands.

Did he feel it, too?

"Trust me when I say," he began, "that the pleasure is all mine, Chrissy."

Conversation flowed like water between them. Picking up little snapshots of their lives like flower petals and rushing them downstream. Each one a little piece of the bouquet she had sitting on the table between them, smiling its gorgeous, red-toothed smile with every new modicum of information.

She found out that he was a writer, and that he was in a band, which made sense. Robin was always finding the artsy types to pull into her circle. He grew up in a small town, just as she had, and they bonded over the absolute shock of discovering how much bigger the world was when they finally left home for good.

In turn, she told him about the studio she was hoping to open someday.

"Music or art?" he asked.

"Yoga," she admitted, and Eddie laughed again.

"Do guys ever take yoga classes?"

"Sometimes."

"And, uh, do the pretty instructors ever give discounts to, y'know, guys they went on a really fantastic first date with?"

Pretending to think it over, Chrissy tapped her bottom lip with her finger. Searching the ceiling for the answer she already had waiting on the tip of her tongue.

"Not normally first dates," she said with a shrug. "But, you know, fantastic fourth, fifth, and sixth dates? Then we might be able to work out a deal."

Eddie's responding grin was so bright, it lit up the entire restaurant.

The food was probably really good, everything a preset menu that the couples around them seemed to genuinely enjoy.

Chrissy didn't taste a morsel of it. Far too wrapped up in the existence of Eddie, she ate blindly and quickly, ready for the conversation to continue before she finished whatever part of the meal was in front of her.

"You took the bus here, yeah?" he asked after paying for their meal. Chrissy nodded, and Eddie helped her into her coat. "Can I drive you home? And I swear, I have no ulterior motive except to, y'know, spend more time with you."

Grinning, Chrissy popped up onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his jaw. Watching in fascination the way color suddenly pooled in his cheeks, staring down at her with that same unmitigated awe.

"I'd like that," she agreed.

Though Eddie turned the radio off completely when they got in the car, the drive was never silent. The brook of their conversation widening into a creek, then a stream, flowing faster and easier and pooling more and more petals of conversation in the basin.

She directed him to her apartment, and Eddie turned off the car entirely to walk her to her door.

"This was really great," he admitted. "I, uh. I'm really glad I took the chance, Chrissy. You're kinda amazing, you know?"

Chrissy grinned, tongue caught between her teeth as she shrugged. Feigning nonchalance.

"You're pretty fantastic yourself, Eddie," she said.

"Thanks," he chuckled, hazarding a step closer to her. "And, uh. Is it–– Is it cool if I, like, call you in the morning? Maybe we can get breakfast."

Still smiling, Chrissy took her own step closer. Having to crane her neck back to keep looking at him.

"That would be perfect."

"Nowhere near that fancy, though," he pleaded. "Like, I'm a fan of being pampered as much as the next guy, but those wine prices? Yeesh."

"Maybe we just don't get wine with breakfast, then."

"I like the way you think, sweetness," he murmured, still grinning. Chrissy, too, couldn't stop smiling, even as she leaned in. Their teeth clacked, a laugh escaping them both at the awkward angle, before Eddie's hands came up to cup her jaw and guide her into a proper kiss.

Incredible.

Sparks ignited up the entire length of her spine. Sitting, warm and bright and real, in the base of her skull as Eddie kissed her softly. Meaningfully. Pulling her close when her arms wrapped around his shoulders and holding her tight.

Holding her like maybe he didn't want the night to end.

And maybe she didn't, either.

"You know," she said, brushing her fingertips against his jaw, "you could always come upstairs. I have wine. And eggs. For breakfast."

"Yeah?" he breathed, tucking a strand of her hair back behind one ear. "You have enough breakfast for two, you think?"

"Definitely."

Chrissy's machine was blinking red when they found their way through her front door, but that was at the bottom of her list of cares as she led Eddie back to her bedroom. Bypassing the wine entirely.

Not that either of them seemed to notice.

The next morning, after waking up with Eddie in her arms, then spending an entire morning rolling around in bed, Chrissy finally donned a robe and made her way into the kitchen to pull breakfast provisions from her fridge as Eddie found his way into the bathroom. Pressing the little red button of her machine out of habit.

"Chrissy!" Robin shouted through the speaker of her phone. "Oh, my God, I hope you haven't left yet. But you probably have, because you're notoriously early. Ugh! Okay, okay, whatever, you'll listen to this when you get back, but please, please don't be mad at Steve. He didn't stand you up, I swear. He came down with whatever baby cold ailment Jonathan has, so he's, like, having a full-on crisis. The world is ending and whatnot. I'm sacrificing my own evening with my girlfriend to take care of this full-grown man, but he definitely wants to reschedule! Just, um, call me, or whatever, when you get home. Sorry. Sorry! He sucks!"

The message ended. Chrissy stared at her machine, confused, just as Eddie emerged from the bathroom.

"What have you got?" Eddie asked, grabbing her hip and smacking a wet kiss to her cheek. "Not to, uh, toot my own horn, but I am the fucking greatest at making a mediocre omelet."

Waggling his eyebrows for effect made Chrissy giggle, rolling her eyes, before she remembered Robin's message again.

"Hey, Eddie?"

"Hmm?" He'd slunk out of the kitchen, making his way over to her tape collection and digging through the music.

"Who set you up last night?"

"Uhh?" He popped a tape into the player, shimmying his hips a little as the music started. "Billy did. Of course. Which, honestly, I'm surprised he wasn't just being an ass. That'd be exactly the kind of bullshit he'd pull to make me make a fool of myself. He did tell me your name was Kristen, though." Rolling his eyes, Eddie took her hand in his and spun her across the kitchen floor. Pulling her back against his chest with a sultry grin as they began dancing off-tempo to her Fleetwood Mac tape. "Whatever. He's an ass, and you turned out to be fucking perfect. I'll have to thank him." Snorting, Eddie shook his head. "Never thought I'd say that out loud."

"How late was I?" she asked. "Last night."

He blinked down at her, eyes narrowing in confusion.

"Did he give you the wrong time or something?" Eddie asked. "He told me to be there at six-thirty."

Chrissy looked over at the carnations on her counter. They were so beautiful. Her favorite flower. She'd just barely managed to get them into a vase last night before she was practically attacking Eddie to get his shirt off.

He was still gorgeously, beautifully shirtless, in fact. She let her fingertips trail against his sternum, swallowing heavily.

"Eddie," she breathed, a tiny bit of anxiety taking root in her lungs. Those carnations weren't for her. "I don't know anyone named Billy."

Eddie pulled their impromptu dancing to a sudden stop.

"What?"

"I was supposed to be meeting up last night with a guy named Steve, I guess," she said, nodding toward her answering machine. "My friend Robin set up my date for seven, but Steve got sick and didn't show. She called me as I was on my way out. I, um. I think maybe we highjacked each other after we both got stood up."

For a long, long moment, there was only the sounds of Stevie Nicks's vocals in her apartment.

Then, all at once, Eddie was throwing his head back and cackling.

"Wait," he said, pulling back far enough that he could look down at her. "Wait, wait, wait, baby, please, please tell me you're joking."

"I-I'm not," she stuttered, looking down at Eddie's bare feet. "I'm–– Nuggets, Eddie, I'm so sorry. That... I really thought––"

"Whoa, hey, babycakes, are you–– Wait, do you think I'm upset?" Putting his hands on her shoulders, Eddie swooped down to catch her eye. She looked at him, something wrapping around the anxiety in her throat. The utter happiness in his eyes had it slowly bleeding away. Dripping down her esophagus and choking whatever response she attempted. "Chrissy. C'mon. How fucking funny is that? We both managed to end up at the same place, at the same time, and neither of our dates show? But we don't even notice because we're having too much goddamn fun? That's incredible, if you ask me."

"Yeah?"

He leaned down, kissing her senseless all over again.

"Yeah," he chuckled, spinning her across the kitchen again. "Sounds an awful lot like fate, if you ask me."

kiss roulette!

[janicho88]

Know When To Let Go Part 1

Pairing- Dean, x Female!Reader. 

Word count- 3,889

Warnings- A lot of ANGST, Dean is a bit of jerk, fighting,

Summary- You almost lost Dean to a heart attack, now after one phone call there is another threat from the past that could come between you two.

A/N-I know this isn't one of my ongoing series, but this has been in my drafts for years. The first 2 parts are a rewrite of the Route 66 episode. I'm trying to get back into writing, I promise. It's been so long since I've posted, I'm not even sure what to use for a taglist so I'm going off the last Forever tag list. If you would like to be removed let me know. Not Beta'd, all mistakes are mine

Sitting in the back of Baby, you think back on this last week, it was one of the worst of your life.  During the last hunt Dean had been electrocuted which led to him having a heart attack.  Doctors didn��t give him much time, you and Sam worked like crazy looking for some way to save him.  Finally, Sam found a faith healer, which turned into another case on its own.  Now, Dean was in the motel room saying goodbye to the chick he met on this job.  Sam was kind enough to bring her back to talk to Dean.  No, you weren’t jealous at all, but does he seriously have to meet a girl in every town you stop in?

Your parents had been hunters and would drop you off at Bobby’s, which is where you met Sam and Dean as kids. Dean was a year older, and had taken you under his wing.  When you were twelve, your parents never made it back from a hunt.  You lived with Bobby until you turned 18, then you started hunting with the Winchester instead of researching at Bobby’s. Sam was like a little brother to you, even if he shot up taller than all of you.  Dean was your best friend and as you grew up, he was the man who stole your heart.  You never saw him sharing those feelings so you kept them bottled up.  This left you standing by and watching, the constant hookups and flirting breaking your heart a little more each time.  Sam has known since you were kids there was something between you and Dean, and often pushes you to tell his brother.  You could never bring yourself to do it, and in turn, lose Dean altogether.  

You were there for Dean through everything, the rough hunts, Sam leaving for Stanford, fights with his dad, then John disappearing a few months ago which led to picking up Sam who then lost Jess.  You couldn’t imagine what losing Dean last week would have done to you.  When he was in the hospital, you came close to telling him how you felt when he was holding you next to him in the tiny hospital bed.  The two of you had gotten fairly close over the last case, but once again someone else had caught his eye. 

The three of you stop at a gas station when Dean gets a phone call and walks off.  Sam is standing next to the car looking over a map to plan your route to Pennsylvania, where your next case is. Dean starts heading back to the car putting his phone away.  

“I think I found a way we can bypass that construction just east of here.  We might even make Pennsylvania faster than we thought,” Sam calls out.

Dean looks out over the car before turning to the two of you, “Problem is, we’re not going to Pennsylvania”

You and Sam look at each other before looking at Dean.  “Where are we going then?” You ask.

“I got a call from an, uh, old friend.  Her father was killed last night, thinks it might be our kind of thing.”

“What? Who’s the friend?” Sam wanted to know.

“Listen, trust me on this, she never woulda called, never, if she didn’t need us.”

There is a sinking feeling in your stomach, “who is the friend Dean?” He just ignores you and hops in the car.

As you were driving Sam again tries to get Dean to tell him who the old friend is.  You are headed to Mississippi, which gives you a pretty good idea of who this friend is and you are livid. 

Dean finally says the name you are dreading, Cassie.  You had been traveling with Dean when he met her in Ohio, and they had gone out for a few weeks.  You didn’t like her then and you really didn’t like her the night Dean came back to the hotel drunk and heartbroken because she ended things.  She was a stuck up snob, she absolutely crushed Dean. 

“She actually had the nerve to call you and ask for help?” you exclaim. Unfeaking believable, and apparently Dean is still pretending he can’t hear you.

“You never mentioned her before,” Sam is telling Dean.

“Really?” When Sam just looks at him Dean continues, “ Yeah, we went out.”

“Like more than one night?  You actually dated somebody?”

“What are you not getting here?  Dad, Y/N, and I were working a job in Ohio, she was in college.  

We went out for a couple of weeks.”

“What happened between you guys?”

“Drop it Sam,”  you really didn’t want to dig up this part of the past.

“Was there more going on?” The dense man kept pushing.

“Yeah, they went out. She was a bitch, they broke up, it broke his heart, and I had to fix her mess.”

“Knock it off, Y/N.  That was years ago, and in the past.”  Now he acknowledges you, just to  defend her.  He couldn’t still have feelings for her could he?

“Okay.  So I’m sorry about her dad, but why would she call you if he was in a car accident?  Not really our kinda thing?” It took Sam a minute, “wait, does she know what we do?”  Dean didn’t answer staring ahead. “Dude, you didn’t?”

“He actually told the bitch what we really do, Sam.”

“Watch it Y/N.” Dean gives you a glare through the rearview mirror, and you give one right back.   

Sam looks at you curiously. You aren’t usually one for hate unless they deserve it. 

“Wait. You told her. You told her our secret! Our big family number one rule, we do what we do and we shut up about it.  I never said a word about it to Jess for over a year and a half, instead I lied to her. But you tell some girl you only knew a few weeks, everything.”  Dean still didn’t answer, just looking straight ahead.  “Dean!” 

“Yeah, looks like.”  He just pushed down on the accelerator ignoring Sam’s bitchface.

“Witch, didn’t deserve to know anything,”  you muttered under your breath.  Judging by the glare Dean sends back he still heard you.

There isn’t much talking between any of you after that. You arrive in town and Dean parks near the newspaper building and quickly exits the car.  Guess she told him where she works.  

Walking inside you see three people arguing and unfortunately recognize one of them as Cassie. One of the men leaves and the other walks away when Cassie turns to face the three of you, giving Dean a grin and calling out his name. Dean gives her a small grin.  Why is she so happy? She's the one who dumped him.  Oh she just made you fuming mad. 

“Hey Cassie.” She doesn’t say anything and they just stare at each other before Dean continues.  “This is my brother Sam, and you remember Y/N.”  

You would be pretty shocked if she didn’t remember you.  After calming Dean down and he finally passed out that night, you went to her apartment and bitched her out. Which is probably why she smiled at Sam and ignored you.

“I’m sorry bout your dad,” Dean started.

“Yeah, Me too,” she answers.

 Well, she does talk.  This staring is driving you nuts.  “You called Cassie, apparently you think you need our help.”

“I didn’t know you would still be around.” She quickly glances at you before going back to Dean, “Maybe we should go somewhere else.”

“Well, I don’t desert the people I care about.”

Dean glares at you as everyone leaves the building and walks back to the Impala to follow her to her mother’s house.  When she gets in her car Dean grabs your arm stopping you.  “That’s enough out of you! You don’t have to be such a bitch, you know.”

He climbs behind the wheel of Baby, and you roll your eyes before sliding in yourself. 

Cassie brings out tea when you arrive, she settles down close to Dean. She tells you all how her mother has been in bad shape, so she was staying at the house with her.  She has been very nervous lately and worried about her husband.  When Dean asks why, Cassie mentions her dad had been scared and seeing things, like an awful-looking black truck following him.  Sam interrupts to ask who the driver was, but apparently her dad never mentioned one.  The truck was always appearing and disappearing.  Her father’s car had been dented in the accident, and it looks like something big. 

You’ve been watching Dean, and have to hide a laugh when he is giving his tea a weird look before quickly putting it aside on the table. You turn your attention back to what Cassie is saying.  The sooner you solve this, the sooner you can leave this town. 

“Dad sold cars, and was always driving a new one. There wasn’t a scratch on it before the accident.  It was raining hard that night, and mud was everywhere.  There was one distinct set of muddy tracks which led from dad’s car to the edge where he went over.”  She paused trying to gain control of her emotions, “only his tracks.”

“The first accident, he was a friend of your father’s?” Dean asks her.

“Yes, Clayton Soames, they were best friends, and owned the dealership together.  Same thing, a dent, no tracks, and the cops said he lost control too.”

Dean wants to know if she has any thoughts on why the two men would have been targets, but she doesn’t. Then Sam asks her if she thought it was the vanishing truck her dad saw.

“When you say it out loud like that, listen, I’m a bit skeptical about this… ghost stuff… or whatever it is you guys do.”

“Skeptical?  If I remember right you said I was nuts.”

“If you don’t believe it, why did you bother calling Cassie?”  You cut in after Dean.  Getting another glare from the man. 

“That was back then, I just can’t explain what happened so I called you.” Her and Dean are back to staring at each other, I just might be sick you think. 

“Excuse us a second,”  Dean gets up and grabs your arm, pulling you out of your seat across from him and to the corner of the room.  “If you aren’t actually going to be any help you can leave, and go wait in the car.”

Before you can reply, Cassie’s mom walks in and she gets up to talk to her.  Dean walks away leaving you standing alone.  She introduces Dean as a friend from college and Sam as his sibling, you get nothing.  Sam sees you hurry outside trying to hide the tears in your eyes, he knows Dean’s behavior has to be getting to you.  Excusing himself he follows you outside.

“Sam, you are always telling me I need to be honest with Dean about my feelings.  This is why I can’t, he’ll choose some chick who hurt him over me, the person who has been there for him for over 15 years.”  Dean comes out and you turn away from him quickly.

“I don’t understand what your problem is, but that was unnecessary,” he snaps at you. 

The three of you head back to the motel shortly.  It is a quiet ride back, you and Dean aren’t speaking to one another, and Sam doesn’t want to get either of you going. Usually, you share a bed with Dean, but that isn’t going to happen tonight.  At least the room has a couch, as bad as it looks it is still better than the floor.

Early the next morning Dean’s phone rang waking you up from the little sleep you had gotten.  It’s Cassie, apparently someone else died during the night, same way as the others.  Dean is hurrying both you and Sam to get ready and out the door. When you arrive at the scene Cassie is talking to one of the men from yesterday.  Dean is quick to walk over, you and Sam following behind. 

“Did the cops check for additional denting on Jimmy’s car, see if it was pushed?”

The man looked at Dean then back to Cassie, “Who is this?”

“Dean and Sam Winchester, and… his friend Y/N, they’re family friends.  This is Mayor Harold Todd.”

“There is one set of tracks, just one. Nothing points to foul play here.”

“Mayor, the police, officials, everyone is taking their cues from you, if you are indifferent about this then..”

“Indifferent!” He interrupts her

“Mayor, would you close the road if the victims were white?”

“Are you suggesting I’m racist Cassie, I’m the last person you should talk to like that.”

When Cassie tries to find out why, he just tells her to ask her mother and walks away. 

From there Dean drives you all back to the motel room to change into fed clothes.  While in the bathroom getting ready you can hear the boys talking, well Sam at least trying to get information from Dean about Cassie

. 

“I’ll say this for her, she’s fearless,” Sam starts, Dean just humming.  “I bet she kicked your ass a few times.  It’s interesting you guys never look at each other at the same time.  You look when she isn’t and she checks you out when you aren’t.  It’s an interesting observation you know, in an observationally interesting way.”

Just shut-up about her Sam, you think to yourself. “You think we might have more pressing issues here?” Dean finally responds.

“Hey, if I’m hitting a nerve.”

“Y/N, hurry up we’re leaving, let’s go,” Dean yells for you.

You leave for the docks to talk to a few guys who are friends of the victims, Cassie has mentioned they would be there having lunch.

“Excuse me.  Are you Ron Stubbins?”  You asked, reaching the two men first. When he nods, Dean takes over talking.

“You were friends with Jimmy Anderson?”

“Who wants to know?” Ron counters.

“We’re with Mr. Anderson’s insurance company, got to dot the I’s and cross some T’s.”

“We were just wondering if the deceased had mentioned any unusual experiences recently?” Sam cut in.

The men are looking at the three of you funny so you step in, “Well visions, hallucinations.  It’s part of a medical examination kind of thing.  This is all standard.”

“It takes three of you to come down?  What company did you say you were with?”

“I’m new, these guys are training me.”

“All National Mutual,” Dean cut in.  “Can you tell me, did he ever mention seeing a truck? A big black truck?”

“What the hell are you all talking about?  You even speaking English?” Ron asks.

“Son this truck, is it a big scary monster looking thing?”  The man with Ron cut in.

“Yeah, actually, I think so.”  Dean answers him.  The man just nods.  “What about it?”

“I’ve heard of a truck like that,” he finally answers.. 

That gets Sam’s attention, “You have, Where?”

“Not a where, but a when, son. Back in the ‘60’s there was a string of deaths.  Black men.  Story goes they disappeared in a big, nasty, black truck.”

“Did they ever catch the guy?” Dean wants to know.

“No, never found him.  Hell, not sure if they even really looked.  See there was a time, this town wasn’t too friendly to all its citizens.” 

“Thank you for your time,” you tell the men as the three of you turn to walk back to the Impala.  

The guys start talking while you follow behind. 

“This truck,” Dean starts.

“Keeps coming up doesn't it?” Sam fills in.

“You know, I was thinking.  You heard of the flying dutchman?” Dean asks his brother.

“That ghost ship?  It was infused with the captain’s evil spirit, and basically part of him.”

“What if this is like the same thing here? You know, a phantom truck, an extension of some bastard’s ghost, that is re-enacting past crimes?”

“Could be, the victims have all been black men.”

“It’s more than that, everything seems to be connected to Cassie and her family.”

“It’s all, all about Cassie,” you mutter under your breath, but apparently not low enough again.

“What is your deal?” Dean turns to you, “you have been a nag ever since I told you we were coming here!  All these stupid little comments.  What the hell is your problem?”

“You really have to ask me what my problem is?  You are so blinded by what you once felt for her.  I was there with you Dean, when things ended, I know how much she hurt you.  I absolutely hate her, and so did you before yesterday.”

“She hurt me, me, not you.  I never asked for you to help me, it’s not up to you how I handle this.  My life doesn’t concern you, stay out of it!  Grow up Y/N, I’m sick and tired of your attitude.”

“Maybe it’s just time I did get out of it.  If I’m gone then I can’t interfere in your life anymore.”

“Maybe that would be a great idea.  I’m over the way you’ve been lately.”

“Fine, after this case, I’m out of your hair.”

“Best thing you’ve said all case.”

“Alright guys, let’s just calm down,” Sam tries to intervene before it blows up, turning to Dean,  “you go work that angle with Cassie and her family, talk to her”

“Yeah, I will.”  Dean throws a glare your way when he answers.

“You might also wanna mention that other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“The unfinished business between you two. Dean, what is going on between you?”

You can’t listen so you walk away to calm yourself down.

“Maybe, we were a bit more involved than I said before.” Sam just stares at him.  “Okay so a lot more. I told her our secret, what’s out there and what we do.  I shouldn’t have.”

“Come on man, everyone needs to open up to someone at some point.”

“No, I don’t.  It was stupid of me to get that close. Just look how it ended.”

“Is that what’s wrong with Y/N?  How bad this thing ended with you and Cassie?”

“I don’t know what the hell her problem is, but she needs to get over it fast.”

“Did you love her?”

“Y/N? She’s my best friend, dude I can’t.”

“I meant Cassie, but good to know your mind goes there first.”

“No, didn’t. I’m leaving.”

“You did love her, and you dumped her.”  Sam watches Dean for a minute, “Wait, she dumped you?”

Dean walked over to the Impala’s door, “Just get in the car, get in the car.”

“What about Y/N?”  Sam asks, getting in and looking around for you.

“She can walk back, maybe it will cool her down.”

You walked around the corner trying to calm yourself down and keep the tears at bay.   When you are turning to go back you see the Impala speed by.  They seriously left you here?  Dean really did want you gone. Looking down, you are glad you didn’t grab the heeled shoes, at least this pair wasn't awful for walking. 

You turn back around and start the thirty minute walk to the motel.  This time you can’t stop the tears from falling.  You have loved Dean for years, and been his best friend even longer.  You want to be there for Dean. You were best friends, wasn’t that how it was supposed to be?  If you  are honest with yourself, you would know it was more than that, he was it for you.  It was clear lately, you're not the one for him.  Apparently you mean nothing to him.  Years ago, when he was hurt by Cassie, he changed and didn’t let anyone, even you get as close as he used to.  Maybe you should get your own room tonight, and start adjusting to being on your own.  This case couldn’t wrap up fast enough for you to get out of this town. 

You arrive back at the motel and the Impala is nowhere to be seen.  Either they aren’t back yet, or Dean dropped Sam off and went to her.  Heading to the room you plan to grab your things and get another room.  Opening the door you think you are alone, until Sam walks out of the bathroom. 

“Y/N, I’m glad you’re back, I’m sorry Dean left without you.”

“Don’t worry about it Sam, he obviously isn’t.

”

“What is going on with you two?”

“I think we have just had enough of each other.”

“It’s more than that.”

You let out a sigh before turning to sit on the bed.  “Dean doesn’t think straight around Cassie, he never has.  I don’t want to see him hurt again, because I know she will.  He changed the minute he got her call.”

“When are you going to tell my brother you are in love with him?”

“I’m not Sam, I told you last night, he doesn’t share those feelings.  Hell, he wants me gone, out of his life, and maybe that isn’t a bad idea.”

“What are you saying?”

“Our friendship is barely hanging on by a thread, I’m not going to cut that final one by telling him how I feel.  He wouldn’t wait for this case to even be over before he made me leave.  It’s clear I’ve overstayed my welcome with you two.”  

“No, you haven’t.  I think we all just need a break after this.  You and Dean aren’t thinking straight right now.”

“I’m going to grab another room. I don’t think we need the three of us in one tonight.”

“You don’t need to do that.” 

“It would be better if...”

“No,” Sam cuts you off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, but Dean is with Cassie, we need to figure out how this relates back to her family. I don’t know when he’ll even get back tonight, so don’t worry about another room. Everything will be back to normal in a day or two.”

“Sam, I’m leaving when this case is over.  I need to be on my own for a bit.  You will always be my not so little, little brother, but I can’t stay around him anymore.

Y/N, come on.  It’s just a fight, you guys will be fine in a few days.

“I’m going to hit the shower.”  You don’t want him to try and talk you out of this decision.  

Walking into the bathroom you quickly turn on the water so Sam won’t hear you cry.  After 18 years of friendship this is where you finally part ways from the man who has been there for you since he was 8 years old. Dean doesn’t want you around and you can’t keep watching him sleep with all those other women.  The knife in your chest twists a little more every time.  Getting out of the shower you get ready for bed, sleeping on the couch again because you couldn’t bring yourself to sleep in the bed that smells like Dean, even if it would be the last time.  You know Sam is asleep and you don’t fight the tears that surface once again.

Part 2-coming soon

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[yannasuniverse]

𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐊𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐈𝐭 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐁𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮? | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Dominique Darius x Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Cussing, arguing.

𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: If you want to be in the taglist just dm me or comment! I tried my best editing this so if there’s any thing spell wrong or said wrong just ignore it😀

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝘀: Chapter 1

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚: This toke me all day to write😭 am sorry it’s so long but hope y’all like it!.

You and Aubrey sat in a booth at McDonald’s waiting for your food to be ready. “Do you think if we put butter in a middle of a cookie and bake it I’ll taste better?” Looking up from your phone giving Aubrey a ‘are you dumb?’ look.

“That’s so stupid, it would make the cookie soggy in the middle duhh” you said in a teasing tone rolling your eyes.

“I’m going to check on the food I’ll be right back” “Ok can u go you fill me cup back up again?” Aubrey nods her head taking your cup with her.

Scrolling through tiktok, turning your head towards the door hearing it door open, your eyes winded a bit seeing Dominique and her teammate Kiki walk in.

Of course she had to be here, you think. Could your day get any worse?. Sliding all the way in the booth putting your head down hoping she didn’t see you.

“Bro what the fuck are you doing?” Lifting up your head, meet with a confused face from Aubrey. “Am hiding” You said looking around making sure Dominique was no where near you two.

“No way your hiding form her” She said laughing as she stuffed a fry in her mouth. “It’s not funny, I don’t feel like arguing am already exhausted” You said grabbing your food.

“Whatever you say” Aubrey said in a teasing tone “Aubrey griffin don’t piss me off” you said mugging her. “Fine I’ll leave it alone, for now.. ” rolling your eyes at her.

You had finished your food, grabbing your Dr Pepper bring it to your mouth but dropping it in the process spill it on your white shirt. “Oh just fuck my life” You said pick up the cup off of your lap.

“Your so clumsy how does that happen?” Aubrey said laughing, “Shut up and am not clumsy” you said glaring at her.

“You are, go to the bathroom to wipe yourself off, and take the tray with you while your at it” She said handing you the tray.

letting out a whine “But that means I have to walk past them, can you come with me please” you ask dragging out the e.

“No, you can by yourself, while I’ll clean up your mess” Aubrey said shoving her last chicken nugget in her mouth.

“Some best friend you are” you said pretending to be mad at her hoping she give in.

“I’m not falling for the fake mad thing, now go” Aubrey said waving you off with a smile. You get up grabbing the tray taking it with you.

“Fine” you said before walking away, dumping the food in the trash, putting the tray away. Your heart started to speed up as you got closer and closer to their table. Making eye contact with Dominique as you walk past into the bathroom.

Grabbing paper towels before making your way to the sink. You began to wipe yourself off with the water hoping you wouldn’t be sticky later.

The bathroom door opened, looking in the mirror to see Dominique in her casual clothes. Just great, you think.

“So how’s your nose” Dominique ask, with her usual shit eating grin. “It’s just fine, thanks for asking” you responded sarcastically continuing to wiping yourself off

Her eyes watch your every move like she was almost examining you. “Are you just going to watch me the whole time or say something” you say becoming annoyed at her watching you. “What’s got you all moody” she ask moving to the other side of you, crossing her arms watching you though the mirror.

“What does it look like? I spill my whole drink on me” You say pointing to the obvious. “Maybe if you weren’t so clumsy that would have happened” Domi said a teasing smile on her face. Your mouth slightly opened no word’s coming out.

“Whatever Dominique” You said turning off the sink, looking down at your shirt still a visible light brown stain on it. Sighing know you should have not wore white.

“Well I have to go before Aubrey gets mad at me, um nice seeing you I guess?” You said questioning the last part. Starting to walk away but stop as Dominique grab your hand cause you to stop.

“What do you d-” “here” She said cutting you off before you could finish, She took of her jacket revealing her white wife beater under. Expand her arm waiting for you too take it.

“You want me? to take your jacket?” You question confused, you could see see Dominique face become slightly red with a look of annoyance and embarrassed lace in. You began to smile preparing to tease her

“Is The Dominique Darius being nice to me?” you teased putting a hand over your heart pouting a bit. Dominique rolled her eyes her face getting more red by the second. “Don’t get use to it” She said shoving her jacket into your hands.

Mumbling a thank you as you put it on, Surprisingly It fit just right on you. “Did you want it back before you leave?, I can wash it and give it back before you do” You ask.

“Yeah that would be great, give me your number so you can drop it off” Dominique said, pulling her phone out of her pocket opening it handing it to you.

Putting your number in under ‘favorite uconn player’ before handing her phone back. She look at the contact name giving you a look.

“What?” You said pretending not to know, walking out of the bathroom with her following behind you “You know what, Favorite uconn player?” Dominique questioned raising a brow. “Yeah because am the best” You say proudly.

“Umm sure if you believe that” Turning your head to glare at her “Whatever you hater, text me the address and I’ll drop it off tomorrow” You said annoyed “And she back to acting like a bitch” Dominique said rolling your eyes at your mood switch as you glared at her.

“You can’t call me a bitch when your one yourself” Domi scoffed “Yeah am a bitch? yeah ok, at least am not in somebody shadow all the time”. A look of hurt come across your face but quickly hide it. And just to think y’all were getting into each other’s good side.

“How about you grow up” “You first” opening your mouth to let out another comeback before Kiki and Aubrey came up to y’all stopping the arguing.

“I see y’all are getting alo-” Aubrey said stop mid sentence seeing y’all giving each the nastiest look’s she ever seen “Never mind then” she said looking at Kiki who just shrug her shoulders in response.

You began walking away, heading outside. Leaving Aubrey and Kiki giving each other confused looks. Aubrey awkwardly waved bye at her new friend before making her way outside.

She got in the car seeing you slouch in your seat arms cross. “Do you want to talk about it.” She ask hesitant. “No.” Nodding her head wanting to give you space, Starting up the car, driving away from McDonald’s making y’all way to the dorms.

The next day you woke up to kk shaking you, “Y/n get up you promised to make me breakfast” Kk whispered in your ear as she shook you. Opening your eyes letting out a load groan turning over to the other side “Kk really? Now? How bout I make you lunch instead” You said your voice a little raspy “No you promised so get up now, before I jump on your bed” Her saying that made you get up. “Fine wait for me in the kitchen” You said getting out of your bed.

Checking your phone to see that Domi had texted you the address of the Hotel, looking over at your desk to see her jacket unwash. Getting up grabbing some sweats off the floor that might be Aubrey’s but who knows. Grabbing the jacket on your way out of your room.

Walking into the kitchen to see kk at the on her phone. Tossing her the jacket “Go put this in the washer while I’ll start making the food” You said diapering into the kitchen not waiting for her response.

“Alexa play Deeper by Dej Loaf and Jacquees” Texting the group chat that breakfast would be ready in 20. “So who’s jacket is that?” Kk ask coming out of nowhere scaring you “First don’t do that and second it’s none of your business” You said handing her a bowl of batter and a spoon.

“Is it someone your hooking up with?” Kk ask even more curiousthen before. “Kk stir the batter before before I’ll not make you any bacon” You said that seem to shut her up.

20 minutes went by fast, now the whole team was in your dorm eating all together. It’s made you happy to see all of your closet friend’s being together all happy. Your phone loudly rang making everyone look at you

“Dang y’all being nosy ”. You said getting up going to your room closing the door behind you. “Hello” You say answering the FaceTime “When are you dropping my jacket off?” Dominique ask only her forehead and eyes showing.

Dang not even a hello?, But I can drop it off now it just got out of the dryer” you say flipping the camera showing her the jacket. “Did you eat yet?” You ask leaving your room, “Um no why?” She questioned you now sitting down at a desk.

“Because I made breakfast and I have a lot leftover, who else didn’t eat?”. Propping up your phone walking away to get to go boxes. “Nobody had anything yet” “Ok I’ll be there in like 30 minutes” You said hanging up the phone.

“Can someone help me make these plates please!” You yelled from the kitchen, soon Aubrey and Jana walk in, “Just put everything in” You said giving them some boxes.

Y’all had finish making the to boxes 10 minutes and now you were at the Hotel waiting for Domi to come help you. Raising your head hearing a loud knock at your window. Opening the door “Did you really have to bang on the window?” You ask annoyed at her childish behavior, opening the back door handing her some of the boxes.

“Yeah I just wanted to make you mad, and it work” She said proudly. “Your so infuriating” you say shaking your head as you grab the last boxes and her jacket before closing the car door.

“Lead the way” walking into the hotel which was really fancy inside. She press the elevator button waiting for a couple seconds as the door opened before stepping in. “So why did you make all this food?” Dominique ask looking over at you a bit “Just made to much that’s all” you said keeping your answer short.

The door finally opened you stepping out the the elevator first then Domi, you followed her down the hall in silence. Reaching her room she knock on the door, the door was opened by Kiki “Hiii thank you for bringing us food, you really didn’t have too” Kiki says to you as she let’s y’all in. “It’s no problem I just made to much” You say giving her a smile.

You sat down at the edge the bed while Kiki sat across from you. “Your so nice I don’t see why Domi hate’s you so much” She says looking over at Domi with a smirk. “Kiki shut up your not funny at all” “I think she very funny” You butting in grinning as Kiki laugh at Dominique face.

“Well am going to take the food to everybody, It was really nice to meet you, you should come to California sometime” She says giving you a hug “Sure I don’t see why not, It was great meeting you too” You said hugging her back “Bye I’ll have Domi give you my number” Kiki said waving before walking out.

Now it was just you and Domi in the room. Neither of y’all said anything to break the silence. “I’m sorry by the way” Turning to look at her confused “What are you talking about?” You ask “You know what I said about you being in somebody shadow all the time” She said not meeting your eyes, realization hit you now remembering.

“Oh it’s ok i guess” You say, “What do you mean i guess, do you not believe me?” Dominique said standing up for the bed making you get up as well feeling threatened. “I mean Kiki probably told you to say sorry”.

She let out a scoff in disbelief “I take my apology back then, you should be lucky that I even said sorry!” She said rising her voice a little “What’s that supposed mean? Oh am sorry that your apology is so fucking rehearse!”. You said crossing your arm’s over your chest stepping a bit closer to her.

“Ok and what if it is! And you wonder why I called you a bi-” “You can’t be serious when you literally do is bully me on the court! And sleep with as many fucking girls you can!” You shout cutting her off, furiously shoved your finger in her chest. “Why does it matter who I sleep with?! Are you mad because you don’t get no pussy or because I wouldn’t fuck you?”

The room went silent, you and her both breathing heavy, tears started to roll down your face. Domi face slightly red from the yelling “Your such a asshole Dominique” “But look who is over here crying like a little fucking girl”. She said rolling her eyes still down at the desk covering her face.

“You know what? fuck you and to think we could get on each other’s good side for once but of course you just had to mess it up” “Well you obviously thought wrong” Grabbing your keys, opening the door to see her whole team at the door with shocked faces.

Mustering the biggest smile you could despite the tears rolling down your face “I hope y’all all enjoyed the food, good bye now” You said walking past all of them speed walking to the elevator.

Everyone went into the room to see Domi sitting down at the desk with her head buried in her hands “I leave y’all alone for a couple minutes and this what happens, why were y’all even arguing this time” Kiki ask walking over to Domi, she uncovered her face shaking her head “Nothing just know she a easy sensitive bitch”.

©𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @hellokittyfeenie @favreader23 @authentic-girl03

[bellaxgiornata]

You Are My Sunshine [5]

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader Word count: 5.4k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Teller Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; sunshine!Reader/grumpy!Jax (somewhat), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, canon divergent, canon typical violence (more tags to possibly come)

a/n: Lots of Jax and Reader interacting in this update, which is quite lengthy in itself. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

tag list: @mariamadison6-blog @moongirlgodness @kmc1989 @thedreadandthefugitivemind @fallout-girl219 @nfm-12

Closing down the shop tonight felt far more like a chore than usual. Today had been a long, busy day at Honest Coffee since you’d decided to run a special event this afternoon–half off drinks for a few hours during the time when most people in Charming usually finished work for the day. You’d called it Happy Hour, and it had led to a rush of revolving customers all late afternoon until almost closing time. 

Now you were exhausted closing things up by yourself. Miguel, the barista who you had on the schedule to close with you tonight, had an exam early in the morning tomorrow. Knowing how incredibly nervous he’d been about the upcoming test with how he’d been talking about it his entire shift after school, you’d rushed him out the door for some last minute studying instead of letting him deal with the cleanup. You figured you could handle the aftermath of the day by yourself. But as you swept the floors and wiped down the counters and tables tonight, even you were aware that you’d worked with far less enthusiasm than normal. 

Attempting to finish cleaning in a rush, all you wanted was to get done for the evening so you could settle down on your couch at home with some leftover pasta and one of your shows. But before that could even happen, you still had to walk all the way home first. Because on the nice evenings that you closed your shop, you usually walked home since you didn’t live too far from downtown Charming. Though, admittedly tonight you weren’t exactly looking forward to the added exercise that was just another delay before you could sit down and finally relax. 

It wasn’t until twenty minutes after you’d closed the shop that you were finally turning off the lights before making your way to the door. With your purse slung over your shoulder, you pushed the door open and stepped out into the warm evening air. The sun was beginning to sink closer to the horizon, the sky a wash of pretty pinks and oranges. Taking a moment as you stepped onto the sidewalk, you unzipped your purse as you turned back towards the door, digging through your bag’s contents. You searched for the shop keys before pulling them out, but you’d barely just gotten the key into the lock of the door when a voice nearby startled you so bad you nearly jumped out of your skin.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Head whipping to the side, you were surprised to see Jax sitting at one of the outdoor tables in front of your coffee shop. There was a lit cigarette in his hand, a trail of smoke drifting upwards from it as his blue eyes fixed on you. You noticed the way his mouth curved faintly upwards at how you’d frightened at the sound of his voice before his expression quickly shifted back into something serious. 

Clearing your throat, your attention returned to locking the door in front of you. You twisted the key as your racing heart steadily began to slow back to its normal rhythm after that scare, questions already starting to arise in your mind about why he was sitting out here. It was obvious he’d been there for a bit waiting on you, but you weren’t entirely sure about the reason as to why he’d been sitting here waiting for you.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Figured you saw me sitting here and were just ignoring me.”

“I didn’t notice you, actually,” you answered distractedly as you focused on locking up. “Was in a hurry to close the shop for the night. Been a long day.”

Pulling the key from the door, you slipped it back into your purse before turning around and focusing on Jax where he sat at the table. The cigarette was in his mouth now as he took a drag, your eyes briefly focusing on the way his lips pursed around it. He took a deep inhale before removing the cigarette from between his lips, turning his head and blowing the cloud of smoke away from you. As Jax sat further back in the metal chair, he stretched his legs out in front of himself on the sidewalk as if he was making himself comfortable, though he looked the furthest thing from it as he sat there.

“I was wrong,”  he said after a moment.

His eyes remained fixed on the cigarette between his fingers as he knocked some of the ash from the tip. Eyebrows raising marginally at his comment, you wondered if an actual apology was coming next or if that was going to be the extent of it. Honestly, you weren’t sure if you’d even expected him to actually say anything about the way he’d treated you the other night, so the fact that he’d shown up here of his own volition was a bit of a surprise in itself. 

“Those things I said the other night,” Jax continued after another brief silence, his eyes still intentionally avoiding you as he spoke, “they were shitty. I admit that. I don’t really know you and you’d done nothing to deserve me speaking to you like that. I just…”

He trailed off, his eyes still on the cigarette pinched between his fingers before he pulled it back to his lips for another deep drag. You watched him as the golden glow of the setting sun behind him swathed him in a soft warm light. It was an odd contrast to that distant, pained look lingering in his eyes as he kept avoiding the sight of you. 

“You just what?” you prompted gently.

As if the sound of your voice had broken through whatever thoughts were running through his mind, he withdrew the cigarette from between his lips before expelling the smoke. His head turned towards you, his eyes finally meeting yours again. For some reason you felt a little transfixed by them this time with how intently he was holding your gaze captive.

“I was pissed off that night about a lot of shit, none of it having to do with you,” he continued. “And I saw you in your shop looking all happy, like nothing could ever be wrong in the world, and it just, I don’t know–” he shook his head, an agitated expression crossing his features before it vanished, “–it pissed me off more. And for some reason I just wanted to knock the smile off your face. Wanted you to stop being so goddamned cheerful for once.”

Nodding slowly at his explanation, you crossed your arms over your chest as you eyed him. “And did that make you feel any better?” you asked, genuinely curious. “Upsetting me? Trying to bring me down to whatever you were feeling?”

Jax sighed deeply, almost visibly deflating in the chair as he drew the cigarette up to his lips for a final drag. Afterwards, he tossed it to the ground and stamped it out with his shoe. A steady stream of smoke blew out from between his lips as he stared at the butt on the pavement, a crease between his brows.

“No,” he finally admitted. “No it didn’t. If anything I felt like a massive piece of shit afterwards.”

He looked over at where you still stood just in front of your shop’s front door, noticing the way your arms were still crossed over your chest. His bottom lip rolled back between his teeth in silent contemplation as he just looked at you, his eyes studying your face carefully.

“I’m sorry for that, too,” he finally said. “You didn’t deserve me coming into your place and being a bastard. I know that, alright? But I warned you that I’m not a good man. I’m not nice. Certainly not the kinda guy you should be sending free coffees to, especially after I just insulted you.”

“You’re apologizing though, aren’t you?” you pointed out, uncrossing your arms before taking a hesitant step closer to the table he was seated at. “You felt guilty for what you’d said. You just admitted that being hurtful hadn’t brought you joy.”

Jax’s eyes narrowed back at you. It was obvious that now he was really studying you. Taking a few more cautious steps forwards, as if you were approaching a wild animal that might pounce instead of a man who looked worn down, you crossed the distance towards the table. Slowly, you reached a hand out and grabbed the back of the other metal chair before pulling it out, all the while aware of how he was watching your every move carefully.

“What’re you trying to get at?” he finally asked.

Lowering yourself into the chair, you focused solely on him and the way he was examining you. There was something guarded in his expression as he waited for your response, like he was trying to hide part of himself from you. 

“I’m getting at the fact that if you really were that awful of a person, you wouldn’t have felt bad for saying those things to me,” you answered, getting comfortable in the chair. “There’d have been no guilt, no regret, and certainly no apology.”

Jax scoffed, rolling his eyes a little. “Apologizing doesn’t suddenly make me a good man somehow, sunshine,” he replied. “It doesn’t just erase shit.”

There was a brief moment before you responded, noticing how he'd taken to calling you that nickname again so easily. Except without the malicious intonation that he’d used last time. It almost sounded affectionate.

“Well, taking your anger out on someone doesn’t make you a bad man, either,” you countered. “It’s not nice and it’s certainly not acceptable, but show me a person who hasn’t done that a handful of times in their life.”

A small, almost surprised laugh fell out of Jax in response. When he looked across the table at you, there was a look of disbelief etched on his face now. He shook his head, a slight crease between his brows as his blue eyes raked over you for a minute.

“I’m not saying what I did the other night alone makes me a bad man, sunshine,” he told you. “I’ve done far worse things than just saying mean shit to someone. You realize that, don’t you?”

“I do,” you answered. “But considering you’re able to apologize for something like insulting me–to feel bad about it–means you’re not quite the bad guy you make yourself out to be.”

“What?” he asked, his brows furrowing even tighter together at that. “What the hell are you even getting at with that line of thinking?”

A soft huff fell out of you as you relaxed back in the chair, a small smile finally making its way onto your face. He clearly needed it pointed straight out for him because apparently the view he had of himself was just that bleak. He wasn’t getting the point.

“You’re capable of guilt,” you explained. “Remorse. Which are good things that help guide a person to live with at least some semblance of morals. And besides that, you’re taking responsibility for your actions by coming here to apologize to me. If you were truly a horrendous individual, you’d have lashed out and felt nothing about it and never apologized.”

“So what?” he asked, confusion still written all over the way he was looking at you. “That makes me suddenly a good guy in your book? Is that what you’re saying?”

Biting your lip to fight back the growing smile on your face, you shook your head slowly back at him. What was it with everyone assuming a person was one thing or another all the time? That people were just so black and white?

“No,” you began slowly, “I’m saying that makes you human.”

Somehow, he only grew further confused at that. His head tilted slowly to the side as he eyed you skeptically for a long moment, a growing silence dragging out between the two of you. Then gradually, he leaned forward in his chair and rested both of his arms on top of the metal table, his hands clasped together as if you had his full attention. The sun behind him was sinking even lower now, the sky growing a dark orange and purple. 

“What’s that mean, sunshine?” he asked curiously. 

“It means,” you began, leaning forward in your chair, mirroring his posture as you rested your arms on the table across from him, “that you’re human. Capable of doing both good and bad equally. In my book, you can’t lump someone into one category. It’s not like a–” you paused, gesturing a hand in front of yourself as you tried to find the words you were looking for, “–a tally system or something. Good deeds don’t cancel out bad ones, and bad ones don’t just automatically make you a bad person. People are far too damn complex for that. There’s too many nuances and things to understand and consider.”

Jax’s brows pulled together on his forehead once more as you spoke, a deep crease forming between them as his eyes narrowed at you. It was as if he was hanging off of every word you were saying, sincerely interested in your point of view as he took in your explanation.

“I've never met anyone before who thought like that,” he admitted after a moment. “It’s always been black or white. Good or bad. Straightforward. And I'm always seen as the bad guy.” He paused, giving you a long, hard look before he spoke seriously. “Which I am.”

You breathed out an amused scoff, shaking your head. “I don’t think anything in life is necessarily that straightforward, Jax, let alone the idea of whether someone is morally good or bad.”

His lips pressed into a thin line as he considered that. After a moment, he gestured his chin at you. “Fine, so how do you gauge who’s good or not then? How can you tell for yourself, sunshine?”

Shrugging a shoulder, you answered simply, “By getting to the heart of a person.”

One corner of his lips curved upwards into a small grin instantly, a light flickering behind his eyes at your answer. Almost as if he was amused despite the slight bit of intrigue at the idea.

“Sunshine, there’s no way in hell you can get to the heart of every person you meet,” he pointed out. “Let alone even a handful of people.”

With another smile spreading across your face, you playfully pointed a finger at him from across the little table. “Exactly,” you replied. “That’s my point. We never truly know people, therefore it’s not fair to lump them into a category and make assumptions. Because you have no idea why people do what they do, or how they feel about the actions they take, whether they're being eaten alive by the things they've done or not. And I think the guilt a person carries says more about them than most people think.” 

Something hard to decipher flickered behind his blue eyes as he listened to you, one of his hands running over the blonde hairs of his scruff. Another pregnant pause filled the air between you both, the street lights coming to life as the sun sunk down almost out of view now.

“You really aren't putting on a front as a friendly barista, are you?” he questioned back.

A soft laugh passed between your lips at the mistake he kept making before you once more corrected him. “I’m the coffee shop owner, Jax. I’m not a barista. I just like slinging coffee sometimes, too.” A genuine warm and friendly smile spread across your mouth next as you realized that he finally wasn't questioning you quite so much now. “And no, I'm not. This really is who I am.”

Jax continued quietly observing you, his eyes scrutinizing you closely. “So you view…everyone like they're just good then?” he asked skeptically. “That's how it works for you?”

Shrugging a shoulder lightly at the question, you didn't know how to necessarily answer that. “I mean, there are things that I personally have a difficult time reconciling with. Things that make it difficult for me to see the good sometimes. I’m only human myself,” you answered carefully. “But–”

Jax immediately perked up at that, his head cocking curiously to the side as one of his blonde brows arched back at you. “So absolute no's do exist with you?” he asked, cutting you off. “Enlighten me on that, darlin’.”

You hesitated for a moment at how he’d interpreted your explanation before carefully trying to answer him. “Well, I mean, I don’t know if I'd call it that exactly. That's sort of where the gray area comes into play, right?” you told him. “Because there are things that feel completely unforgivable, but how can you know someone isn't capable of change? That someone can't feel remorse and be reformed?” At the look on his face, you quickly added on, “I'm not saying I’m naive enough to think that's true of everyone, I'm just saying, you never know with a person. Which is where the weight of someone's guilt factors in and why I say the only way you can know is to know someone’s heart.”

Jax’s fingers slowly ran across his mouth as he studied you across the table from him, clearly considering what you’d just told him. You could see a question beginning to form in his eyes, like it was sitting there right on the tip of his tongue, and you were just waiting for him to finally say what he was thinking. 

“Okay, so let's say hypothetically that my club was more like a gang and less of a club,” Jax began slowly. His blue eyes intensely studied you from across the small table, as if your response to this question was going to tell him something he deemed important. “Would I hypothetically fall on your absolute no's? Assuming I did things you'd expect a gang to do–things of the unforgivable nature–am I one of those people you'd have a hard time ‘reconciling’ with?”

That had taken you entirely off guard. Wordlessly you sat there across from him, seriously pondering the question he’d posed you. It wasn't exactly an easy one to answer because you knew as well as anyone in Charming that the motorcycle club was in fact a criminal organization and not actually a group of motorcycle enthusiasts, even if you didn't know the full extent of what all they did. But at the same time, you'd lived in Charming long enough to also know that Jax’s father had been the one to start the whole thing and that Jax had grown up entrenched in that life since birth. He'd known that life to be normal. 

And yet here he was, showing up at your coffee shop to apologize for being mean and callous a few nights ago. Showing that he reflected on his actions, thought about how they affected others. Probably also had some things eating away at him internally judging by that dark glimmer often hiding in his eyes. 

So how did you judge someone for circumstances beyond their control? Jax couldn't help that he was born into the family that he was just as much as he couldn't be blamed for the way he was raised. And sure, you could argue that he was a man capable of making his own choices now, but considering how he was shaped and how his own moral compass was forged, it wasn’t realistic for someone to just know any different than what they always had. He was a product of his upbringing, but that also didn't mean he wasn't capable of change–if that's what he wanted. But you also had no idea what he wanted because you barely knew him.

So could you so easily conclude that he was someone you’d find unforgivable? Someone incapable of reformation and beyond redemption? No, not really. You hadn't seen enough of what was in his heart to make you think he was truly some evil villain.

Eventually, you slowly shook your head at the question. Jax's eyes widened marginally at that, as if he was surprised that was your response. 

“No, because I don't really know enough about you as a person to make that call,” you answered. “You've done illegal things–hypothetically–but I've seen your club do charity work, too. Help the community. I think you all care about this town more than it realizes. In my mind, there's just not enough for me to form an opinion on what’s in your heart, so to speak.”

Jax quietly sat there, his arms still resting on the table as one hand continued running over his mouth in thought, the tips of his fingers passing absently back and forth along his bottom lip. Your attention dropped to his rings, curiously wondering if there was any meaning behind them. He'd always had them on whenever you'd seen him and there were quite a few of them. 

“So you're saying,” Jax began slowly, his voice drawing your attention back to his eyes, “that you'd need to see more?”

Shrugging a shoulder, you nodded at the question. “Yeah, I'd say that's a fair assumption.”

He hesitated, his eyes narrowing marginally at you before he continued. “Do you want to see more?” 

Yet again Jax had thrown out another question you hadn’t exactly expected. Surprise briefly flickered over your features as that question sat between the two of you. Was he…offering to let you get just a bit closer to him? 

“What do you mean?” you asked cautiously.

He huffed out a laugh at you, that darkness in his eyes lightening a little as the smallest smile crossed his lips. “I'm asking if you genuinely don't mind me coming to your shop, sunshine. Especially after I was a massive prick to you. Do you actually not mind seeing more of me?”

“As long as you refrain from using me as a verbal punching bag,” you began, a smile once more forming on your face as you began to understand his question, “then no, I don't mind seeing you here. I told you the first time you stopped in Honest Coffee that you were welcome here just as much as anyone else and I meant it.”

The small smile on his lips grew into a wider grin, a warmth reaching his eyes that you hadn't seen there before. For a moment, you found yourself unable to do anything else besides sit there admiring the sight of him smiling back at you. He looked completely different than all those other times you’d seen him when he was tense and scowling across the street. The deep creases and frown lines had completely smoothed out on his face, and there was a light in his eyes that made them look somehow even more blue. He looked handsome in a way that had your heart beating just a bit faster when he looked like that.

“I'll keep that in mind,” he replied, pushing the metal chair back and rising to his feet. “But I won't keep you any longer darlin’. I just wanted to apologize for being an asshole the other night. I really am sorry.”

Pushing your own chair back, you rose to your feet as well. The day's exhaustion once more hit you, the aches in your body returning. The prospect of walking home in the warm summer night now that it was even later seemed daunting after the day you’d had, but you didn’t have a choice. 

“I appreciate the apology, Jax,” you told him, sending him a tired smile. “You're forgiven, by the way. Especially after taking the time to understand me better instead of continuing to blindly judge me.”

He laughed lightly, taking a couple of steps backwards towards the street, his eyes still on you. “Could say the same about you. You're definitely unique, sunshine,” he told you with a grin. “Don't think many like you exist.”

Hands wrapping around the straps of your purse, you took a few steps backwards down the sidewalk yourself. “Probably not,” you agreed. “You have a good night though, Jax.”

Turning around, you focused your attention on the sidewalk as you started to make your way down it in the direction of your street. It was about a fifteen minute walk, but after being on your feet so much today, you winced at how uncomfortable each step already felt. But you hadn't gone more than a handful of steps before Jax was calling out behind you.

“You're not walking home, are you?” 

Looking over your shoulder at him behind you, you stopped in place on the sidewalk. He was already walking back over towards you, something like concern written on his features. 

“I usually do when it's nice out,” you replied, turning around to face him.

Jax finished crossing the remaining distance between you, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. That look of concern remained when he came to a stop a few feet away. 

“It's late, sweetheart,” he pointed out. “And dark. You probably shouldn’t be walking home by yourself. It’s not necessarily safe and all.”

Waving him off with a dismissive hand, you shook your head. “It's fine. I don't live far and it's not like I haven't walked through Charming alone at night before.”

“You’re too damn trusting of everyone for me to feel comfortable with that,” he teased. He paused for a second before he gestured his head behind him at the clubhouse across the street. “Let me give you a ride home. I'll feel better knowing nothing happened to you because I kept you so late.”

Eyes shifting to where he'd gestured, you spotted the ever present line of bikes in the lot. Something unexplainable fluttered in your stomach, but whatever it was wasn't exactly an unpleasant sensation. 

“You…want to drive me home on your bike?” you questioned carefully, attention returning to him.

“If that's not a problem, yeah,” he told you. “Strictly just to make sure you get home safe, sunshine. No ulterior motives despite the things I'm sure you've heard about me, I promise.”

Chewing your bottom lip in thought, you mulled his offer over. You really didn't want to walk all the way home tonight after the day you’d had, and it wasn't like he couldn't find out where you lived if he wanted to in order to do something shady. Considering the power the Sons wielded in Charming, you knew he could easily find your address if he wanted to–though you didn’t remotely get a feeling of being unsafe around him. So was there really any harm if he gave you a ride? It wasn't that far of a drive anyway.

“Okay,” you accepted after a brief deliberation. “I suppose I wouldn't mind not walking tonight, it's been a long day.”

A little grin slipped onto his lips before he gestured his head back towards the clubhouse. “Then c'mon, sunshine. Let me take you home.”

As you began to cross the street, Jax fell in step beside you. His hands were still in his pockets, that small grin on his lips as he walked. But you were focused on the clubhouse, faint music and laughter coming from inside. Were they already partying again? It was still fairly early, though you supposed that probably meant nothing to them. 

“My bike is over here,” he told you.

Letting him walk ahead of you, you followed after him through the lot. As he walked, your eyes drifted to the reaper patch on the back of his kutte, never having really examined it this closely before. You'd been curiously inspecting the scythe it was holding when a voice across the lot drew both yours and Jax’s attention.

“I was looking for you, Jax!”

Turning towards the voice, you spotted a petite blonde in short shorts and a cropped top making her way over towards him. She only noticed you long enough to send a sharp, piercing glare in your direction before her attention returned to Jax as she threw him sad, puppy dog eyes. Your brow arched curiously at her quick dismissal of you and the way she was interacting with him.

In front of you, Jax tensed at the sight of her before a deep, tired sigh fell out of him. “What is it, Ima?” he asked.

She continued closing the distance between them, her focus solely on Jax. Something about her seemed to give you pause, but you quietly stayed back and just watched the interaction. You had no idea who she was to him.

“I was hoping for a ride home,” she told him, stopping to talk to him at a fairly intimate distance. “I was having trouble with my car and I brought it in a bit ago, but no one had time to work on it today. And now I need a way to get home.”

You watched as she batted her eyelashes at him, flashing him a bit of a pout. Jax almost appeared annoyed in response as his shoulders tensed further, which was interesting considering how much of a show she was putting on and how familiar she seemed with him.

“Ima, the shop closed over an hour ago,” Jax pointed out. “You could have gotten a ride from any one of the guys in that time. You didn’t need to wait for me.”

“Well,” she continued, her tone dropping into something suggestive as she stepped towards him, raising a hand and resting it against his chest, “I was hoping we could…spend a bit of time together afterwards. You know, as a thank you for helping me out?”

At this point, you weren't sure if you should have just turned around or not. This was beginning to feel too personal, making you uncomfortable to be standing here listening to their conversation. But before you could even turn back around, Jax’s hand reached up and encircled her wrist before removing it from himself. 

“Find another ride home tonight, Ima,” he replied firmly. “It ain't gonna be me.” 

Jax focused back on you, raising his hand and waving you over with a faint smile. Ima finally returned her attention to you, a bitter glare on her face when she realized why she was being turned down. 

“C'mon, sunshine,” Jax said. “Let's get you home before it gets any damn later.”

You saw Ima beside him silently mouth the nickname ‘sunshine’ with a look of sheer contempt on her face. Not really sure what to do in this situation, you just followed after Jax when he waved you over again. When you neared Jax’s bike and he handed you the second helmet, you heard Ima let out something like a frustrated huff before she stalked off towards the clubhouse.

“Ignore her,” Jax told you as he put his own helmet on. “She's always bitching and whining about something.”

Pulling the helmet he had given you on, you eyed him curiously. “Girlfriend of yours?” you asked.

He laughed at that, a loud, hearty noise that drew a smile on your face. Not because of what he’d said, but because, like you’d noticed when he'd smiled at you a bit ago, he looked really good when that darkness behind his eyes dissipated.

“Hell no, darlin’,” he told you, still chuckling at the thought. “I don't do relationships, and if I did, that crazy ass broad would not be the one I'd pick.”

“Probably not the nicest way to talk about someone,” you gently pointed out. “But alright. Not a girlfriend then.”

He shook his head at you, still smiling as his gaze lingered on you for a long moment. Then he turned back towards his bike, swinging his leg over it before looking back at you.

“Hop on, sunshine,” he ordered, one hand patting the space behind him. 

Making your way over to the back of the bike, you ignored how awkward it was going to be holding onto him–a man you hardly knew–before you climbed onto the seat behind him. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you also chose to ignore the strange flutter of something in your stomach as you pressed yourself to his back. 

Jax turned the bike on once you'd settled behind him, the noise even louder than when you always heard them from inside your shop. Glancing over his shoulder at you, Jax sent you a cheeky grin that had your heart stuttering unexpectedly. 

“Hang on tight, sunshine,” he teased. “Wanna make sure I get you home nice and safe.”

[excusemyobsessions]

Just say so.

Rafayel x MC/You

Scenario: Rafayel likes to talk your ears off but sometimes you just want him to get straight to the point. (600 words)

Warning: use of pet names (babe/baby)

Rafayel was beating around the bush again.

Reclined on his sofa in his studio, one hand draped over the cushion on which he rested his head. He was holding his phone barely high enough for you to see his face and his collarbone peeking through the first few opened buttons of his white shirt. You were video calling.

There was a hint of blue paint smeared across his jaw which he hadn’t bothered cleaning away, dusk purple locks slightly tousled, as if he’d been running his hands through his hair too many times.

He’d been going on for a while now, talking your ears off, as if he’d been keeping that in all day and was finally, finally able to tell you every single thought that went through his head while you were busy at work.

“You remember that flock of seagulls which always passes by, right? Right so, one of them told me about the fight. Mind you! They were two young crabs, very tiny. So, imagine the tiny pincers and they were going at each other which is kinda cute but super unnecessary because there were literally two shells! But they were going at it for a single one.”

You found yourself sinking deeper into the sofa cushions, stretching your legs out, tired after a long day.

You’d resorted to letting Rafayel go on, too tired to be enthusiastic about his ramblings, and yet drowning in how endearing this man was. You responded to him with little hums and ahs, encouraging him to keep going.

And he did.

“And! They told me the rock pool nearby was full of newcoming sea stars. The anemones were not happy about it at all because apparently the sea stars are super flashy. One of them is bright red which, if it is true, is pretty flashy.”

He lifted his hand and lazily ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his pretty stormy ocean eyes.

“But I haven’t gone out to see them myself yet. I do wonder if they’re really that flashy because okay, they’re red but there’s a lot of shades of red. What if the anemones are just being dramatic? Also, it’s really fresh coming from creatures which look like flowers and decorate themselves in all sorts of colors to call another creature flashy.”

You couldn’t help the little chuckle that escaped you. Dramatic and fresh, huh?

“Also, the sun will set very soon and they said it’ll be gorgeous today. It’s meant to be pink today, you know, like the color of that dress we bought together. And…”

You sighed.

“Babe,” you called.

“...the weather isn’t even that bad for winter, it was rather nice today. It’ll probably be really pleasant tonight as well.”

“Raf,” you tried again.

“Oh, and there’s a new restaurant nearby and they said it looked rather nice and the food looked tasty as well.”

“Rafayel,” you called firmly, a bit louder now.

The pretty yapper on the other end of the line blinked his slightly widened eyes, halting his rambling.

“Oh… yes?”

You sat up straight.

“Baby, if you want to go out to the beach and have dinner together just say so,” you told him, suppressing the need to laugh.

Especially when even through the phone screen you could see his ears turn a deep red. He stuttered.

“Go get ready, I’ll be there in 30. Wear something nice,” you told him, already standing up. “Not that you don’t always look nice.”

“O-okay!” he answered.

Last thing you saw was him scrambling off the sofa before the call ended.

[aikuwrld]

barou considers himself a man with patience— most of the time. he tries. he really does. he’s been practicing especially hard for you. barou also considers himself a realistic man— again, most of the time. what was he expecting? no, really, what exactly was he expecting when he had chosen to dorm with four other boys who seemed to foolishly believe that hygiene was a foreign, irrelevant, rather tedious concept? four boys whose spare time “bonding” was spent talking about their hook-ups with hot girls or debating how “glam” or “unglam” another team’s play was. and don’t even get him started on how they asserted their dominance through burping contests held almost every single day— how could a king end up with such misfortune?

of course he was the only one cleaning up after four boys who treated their dorms like nothing but a pigsty. sendou’s sweaty socks sprawled all over the floor after practice or a match when the laundry bin was not even three feet away, aiku’s spicy ramen packets still filled with powder littering the kitchen counter, niko’s skin care creams and manga abandoned on the bed and on the floor alike, and good god… was that… aryu’s strands of long hair all over the tub? it looked like something straight out of a horror movie. a plugged in hairdryer dangerously close to the sink— oh, he could gag… a man can only hold himself back for so long.

barou’s throat was nearly raw after yelling for everyone to tidy up after themselves at least a little before he’d start on the deep-cleaning for the day. it was a free day for everyone in the blue lock building which meant he’d finally have this dorm to himself. and he was going to spend it cleaning. that meant everyone had to leave. no exceptions. his head pounding so hard, so viciously, that he considered for a fleeting moment that strangling his teammates to death once they all came back from their day off and proceeding to bashing his head in after would be the smartest way out than dealing with another mess after all his hard work.

oh, but then there you are when he opens the dorm door after finally finishing up the last bit of cleaning for the day. the weariness racking his body disappearing while he leans against the door frame to look down at you, squeezing his broom tightly in what he believes strongly must be ‘cuteness aggression’ at the sight of your beaming, bright smile and your arms held out wide for a hug. and was that a basket of snacks for him in your hands? god, how could barou resist?

“hey, princess…” barou sighs out in a low voice, a small smile forming on his usually stoic face. a smile meant just for you.

without a second thought, almost as if it were second nature, barou props the broom against the wall before pulling you close to him. it must’ve been the longest hug he’d ever given you in your years together. not that you’d ever complain about that though. his tense, weary muscles relaxing as the smell of your shampoo dulls his senses. his eyes flutter shut while he presses gentle kisses on your shoulder, murmuring softly about how much he loved you and missed you.

he doesn’t waste any time at all to indulge in you, after all, he’d managed to finish cleaning up after ruthless animals, he was more than deserving of this— of you. barou keeps your warm body tucked in between his legs, back pressed against his chest with one hand on your waist, the other pushing back your hair to kiss at the nape of your neck while you tell him about his sisters that you’ve taken care of while he’s gone. how life is back at akita. how much you’ve missed him.

barou was taken aback when you suddenly pull away from him, a pang of disappointment hitting him before you’re telling him to move up. the mattress dipping from the weight of your knees as you crawl behind him, running your hands down the expanse of muscles as you pull him back a little.

“where are you going? come here, i wasn’t finished kis—”

“relax, sho. let me do your hair.” you giggle out, his eyebrows that were once furrowed suddenly washed away with a look of surprise.

barou melts in your arms seconds later, his worries dissolving while you tangle your nimble fingers through his soft hair. a groan leaving his lips while he shifts back comfortably, careful not to put so much weight against you. for someone who styled his hair with gel so often, it never failed to impress you just how soft and luscious it was. the red streaks— now a little dull from the constant washing still looked so good, you had to remind yourself to thank aiku some time for recommending it to your stubborn boyfriend in the first place.

“mm.. definitely needed this… thank you, baby..”

he groans out while you comb through the silky, smooth hair, the familiar scent of his shampoo and hair oil hitting your nostrils. barou was always adamant on using white musk oil after shampooing. it was his signature smell. it was the one step that really brought his routine together.

as your fingers glide through the lush strands, you marvel and coo at the softness, how long it seems to have gotten over the time he’s been gone. you let the strands cascade through your fingers while you appreciate just how his hair, usually disciplined and controlled like the man himself was on the field, was soft and loose— like this secret side of him. a secret side the king only gave you the privilege to see.

barou forgot about his stresses, about the grueling matches, the relentless practices he had, how the therapeutic hours he spent cleaning the dorm would be undone in half the time. around you, he didn’t have to worry about anything else. none of it mattered. you were always so good to him. so ready to love him and care for him. how could barou ask for more? the trust he had for you— the vulnerability to see him in such a relaxed state was for your eyes only. he wouldn’t have it any other way.

he’d lost. niou lost and all he felt was frustration. anger. disappointment. how could he have lost? his defense was outstanding. he’d sacrificed his usual hours at boxing practice to get it right. spent countless hours with aiku and darai to sharpen his skills. yet the hardest pill to swallow, the thing he couldn’t wrap his mind around was how could he have lost in front of you? his pretty baby. you were so proud of him. you’d given him the biggest kiss, cupping his face and telling him how well he’d play.

he looked up at the first half of the game and there you were. all dolled up in his jersey, showing off his name and number like a badge of honor, the brightest smile on your face. and all he could think about was how he could anticipate nagi’s next move and whether you’d prefer a wedding ring with vintage or modern style twist. his sweet angel in the front rows, best seat. and then he’d blinked, and before he knew it, he lost. and god. he was ashamed of himself.

he looked up while everyone lined up to bow at the end of the game to the crowd and noticed that your seat was empty. the weight of his loss only seemed to become heavier. niou had let not only his team down, but he had let you down too. it gnawed so mercilessly at him that while everyone clapped each other on the back and grumbled about dissecting the tactics used by the blue lock team to play better in the locker room, the usually boisterous and proud man stayed silent.

he stayed by the corner, slumped over a bench with heavy arms resting on his knees and a towel draped over his damp hair that covered the view of his face. the weight of everything slowly pressing down onto him at an unforgiving force; crushing him into place. he was ashamed to face anyone, least of all his damn self.

“hey, good defense back there, niou. you… you did good, alright?”

his captain’s gruff and unusually gentle voice breaking through the heavy air followed by a firm slap on his broad back that jolted him forward. niou grunted out a hollow ‘thanks’ in response.

it isn’t long before the chatter in the locker room dies out and empties. aiku was the last to leave, eyes never leaving niou as he looks back at his teammate with a sigh. he knew niou needed space. it was rare for the doberman to look so... defeated.

as the heavy door clicked into place and the footsteps faded off, niou steeped in the demeaning silence. the muffled drip of water from the shower heads blending in with the water droplets beading down his wet hair and hitting the tile floor. each rhythmic plop of water sounding heavier than the last. he swallow thickly, clenching his fists tightly until they were white, thumbs digging into the flesh of his palm.

he doesn’t lift his head when the door creaks opens again, assuming it’s most likely aiku back to coax him into grabbing a drink to swallow away all his sorrows or another one of his teammates who might’ve forgotten something in the locker room. it wasn’t until he heard it— his ears perked up at the familiar, light sound of footsteps. and when your voice cuts through the silence, his head shoots up, the towel on his head slipping off.

“kazuma? baby, what are you still doing here? i was in the back waiting for you to come out and— kazuma, you’re going to catch a cold, oh, your hair’s still wet and—“

he looks away; the shame twisting and pulling at his chest. how could he look you in the eyes after failing you with that sorry excuse of a performance? you must’ve been disappointed to call him yours, to wear his name on your back. you must’ve been embarrassed walking back to get to the locker rooms having to endure the pitying glances of everyone, you must’ve—

“kazuma, look at me.”

your voice is still soft as ever just firm and as tough as nails. it popped right through his bubble of self-loathing he’d grown comfortable suffocating in for the past hour. he knew better than to ignore you. he didn’t want to. even if he was disappointed in himself. he glances up at you with uneasy eyes, breaking contact to bend down to pick up the damp towel stalling for time to try to collect himself in some way before meeting your eyes again.

“i…”

niou starts, his mouth going dry as he swallows hard. trying his best to piece together what he so desperately wanted to say. niou sure as hell wasn’t a man who made excuses. he owned up to his shit. but, right now? right now, he was blanking out, hair uncomfortably soaked and slouched over like a loser trying to own up to something— a failure he never really expected in the first place in front of his lover.

“i’m sorry, baby. i don’t… you wore my jersey out there. proud as hell, cheerin’ for me and i couldn’t even give you a win. i just don’t understand… i worked ass off for this. and i still… i let everyone down, i…”

he doesn’t know what else to say, his voice dying down again and fading off into the silence again. he drops his heavy head once more, damp hair falling forward and slipping off his shoulders. his heart shattering as his own words seemed to have hit him like a bullet. it was unforgiving and sharp, his body crumbling.

“kazuma, come here, my love…”

you start, voice as soft and gentle as ever as you slide over next to him, wrapping an arm around the side of his neck to guide his head down on your shoulder. you could care less if the damp strands of his thick hair soak into your jersey. you press a lingering kiss on the top of his head, one hand cradling his head as the other holds onto the back of his shirt in an attempt to ground him to get your words to come through.

“i don’t come to your games expecting a win. i come because i love you. how could i ever love you any less because of a score? you worked so hard and gave it your all— i saw that. and i’m so proud of you. i love you. i always will.”

he’s suddenly still; his trembling fists relaxing as your words begin to sink in. for a second his body does limp in your arms as he sighs out shakily. god, it was all he wanted to hear from you and more. you were here. you always were.

“i… i don’t deserve you, baby. you know that?”

his warbling voice is thick with emotion, the cracks of disbelief and insecurity not going unnoticed by your trained ears. he looks up at you before bringing a large hand up to cup your face.

“you’re still here. i made all these mistakes and you’re still here.”

he croaks out, his chest tightened as his words slow down as he struggles to process everything.

“of course i’m here. where else would i be? look at this hair, hm? you didn’t even comb it, your beard still looks good as ever though.”

you grumble out, running your fingers through his hair and lifting it up before letting it flop back down, running a thumb over his facial hair to try to ease the tension.

“hold on, let me find the dryer and your brush. stay here.”

and he does exactly that. niou sits there, glossy eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. all he could think about is what he did to deserve you. he just can’t bring himself to look away— lost in this little blessing that’s you. how all his aches and pains seemed to unravel the tight, thorny hold it had on his poor heart.

it doesn’t take long until you’re back with the dryer, brush, and his bottle of oil, running your fingers through his hair as you tend to drying it off as quickly as you can. with every manageable comb through with your fingers, niou finds himself coming alive; cracking open bit by bit. slowly starting to become himself a little more with each joke you two crack or kiss he steals from you. his heart growing softer, his weary body lighter.

niou eagerly leans into your touch as you begin to work the brush through his hair, you’re standing in between his legs, combing carefully through the knots and working your way up to his scalp as the slight waviness begins to set in his dark hair, soft and loose. you bring lips down to kiss the hair occasionally, basking in the warmth. he has one arm around your waist and the other beneath the curve of your ass, squeezing the supple flesh of the back of your thigh once in a while as he rests his cheek against your stomach.

you’re finished in no time, rubbing in the egyptian musk oil into his hair. the comfortable silence settling around you both. the rich, masculine smell of wood and amber filling the room. he basks in the warmth of your working hands while you scratch at his scalp, bunching up the curled ends of his hair in your hands before letting them go. the soft clicking sounds of your rings brushing together creates the perfect sound that reminds him of stars twinkling up in the night sky.

“there we go, handsome. you look so good, baby.”

your hands cupping his face once more as you bring your lips down to kiss his, he has his arms wrapped around little tighter around your body before he’s breaks away.

“i love you,” he murmurs out against your lips.

“i love you. you’ll always be my man,” you reply out breathlessly, your heart swelling with nothing but affection and adoration.

“yeah? say it again.”

“god, you are just… my man. you’re my man.”

“again.”

“you’re my ma—“

you gasp out sharply, unable to finish your sentence he’s up on his feet with that mischievous glint dancing in his bright eyes and a smile you’d rather die now than live a hundred years without seeing. he throws you over his shoulder with ease and picks up his duffle bag with his free hand. he ignores your laughter and pleas to put you down as he kicks open the locker room door, heading towards the parking lot to his car outside, striding like a man who had won the absolute world.

ᣟ៹ ❤︎៝ : happy valentine’s day weekend!! spent mine eating burritos n typing this up n yearning .. i hope you guys treated yourself n had fun!! you deserve it. <3 i barely see anything for barou as it is but niou work is BARREN .. i hope i reached some niou fans out there pls i love him he is underrated !! i love both of my long haired princesses sm and i just KNOW they are absolute suckers for you and when you comb their hair they just fall in love pls .. i am sorry for any spelling mistakes in advance these came out a lot longer than i had expected omgg .. also got my first ask !! i am so excited to start writing that n those reiner hcs :3

[get-good-tardigradez]

I don’t know who needs to hear this but:

if he reminds you of Dean from Gilmore Girls, run

if he reminds you of Jess from Gilmore Girls, also run

if he reminds you of Logan from Gilmore Girls, you know it, skrrt skrrrt

If you disagree, this post was for you.

[sugucide]

two weeks.

it's been two weeks since kento has been inside of you. He's gone months, hell even years without sex before he met you and he was fine. he didn't even wish for it like most of his bachelor counterparts did.

but now that he's had a taste of you? two weeks may as well be a death sentence. which is ironic, giving the nature of this sex ban. everything you do is inviting: maybe it's just his underworked sex drive or maybe he's reverted back to his teenage years because he sure does feel like an impatient, entitled brat whenever you walk past him.

he can smell you. not the smell of your perfume you spritz on each morning. not the product in you hair. not the moisturiser you use. but you, the scent of your self, your body, the skin he's so often inhaled as he bit down between your thighs or up the column of your neck. he can smell the memories of sex, sweaty and tangled in pheromones and all things primal.

he can hear you. not your words or laughter or the way you hum absentmindedly when you're pottering around the house. he can hear that sharp little intake of breath when you accidentally, or not-so-accidentally, brush against him. he can hear that whining tinge to your voice when you tell him you won't sleep with him, that you're punishing him, as if its moreso a punishment for you than him. he can remember the way you'd moan for him, desperate and glassy eyed and oh so perfect for him as he ruins you from the inside out.

he can't take it anymore.

"two weeks is more than enough time for me to think about my actions," he tells you over dinner one night, eyes cast downwards at his plate. "...and to come up with a suitable apology."

you place your chopsticks down at his last words and look up at your husband. "oh? let's hear it then."

over the frames of his glasses, kento's eyes meet yours. "i apologise for worrying you and risking my life for my work."

you tap your fingers against the table. "and will you continue to do it?"

"yes," he admits. "it's my job, one that i do well. if i die doing it, i hope it's in place of someone who didn't sign up for it, like you."

kento reaches over the table and takes your hand. "i can't just stop being a sorcerer. that would be too selfish of me. but i do promise that i will make more of an effort to reduce my chances of getting hurt from now on: no more unnecessary risks. okay?"

though that was all you needed to hear from him, you start to wonder if lifting the sex ban was a good idea when your pent-up husband is swiping plates from the dinner table to make room for you to lay back on it. claiming he can't wait the few extra second to carry you to the bedroom, he has you stripped and laid bare on the dining room table in no time, and he's ready for his meal.

"missed her," he mumbles as he parts your legs with a strong hand and bends down to kiss once at your clit. that's about and gentlemanly as it gets, though, because soon after he's making out with your pussy like he's a virgin. no technique, no precision, nothing but unfiltered need and its so much hotter than you'd imagine it to be.

eyes locking onto yours from between your thighs, he adds two fingers and works you open. two weeks was a long time for the both of you, so he'll need to get you used to the stretch of him again. he scissors his fingers inside of you, curls them upwards to hit your g-spot and smirks like a saint when your back arches off the table in response.

"missed you ken," you ramble on as your climax nears. "missed you so much. hated doing this. love you. loveyouloveyou god i love you."

you cum hard, harder than you've cum in a long time and kento laps it up like he's never tasted anything so good. he savours your taste on his tongue like he would an aged wine, something expensive and delicious and worth keeping bottled. though he's harder than diamond and worried he'll cum in his pants if he doesn't sink inside of you soon. so he stands and undoes his belt in record time (with those lovely hands of his) and repositions you at the end of the table with his leaky cock already pressing against your wet entrance.

he leans over you and shares a kiss with you as he pushes in. he inhales the gasp you let out at the stretch and moans into your mouth as a gift in return. he pulls out almost entirely, so it's just his head nestled in your tight pussy, and then slams in again. hard.

"god kento—" you start, about to chide him for being so rough with you when you notice his face dip into your neck and the sudden warmth filling you from the inside. kento's hips stutter and he bites at the skin of your shoulder to muffle the heavy moans that ache to free themselves from his chest.

"did you just—"

"don't," he cuts you off, cock twitching inside of you with his release. he's plugging you up, keeping you full of him and his cum. "give me a minute and i'll fuck you so stupid that you forget that just happened."

"you just—"

"don't laugh."

"im not laughing! it's just, you know like our first time..."

"shut up." kento's hips pull away and then slam back into yours as he starts a brutal pace with you.

that shuts you up good.

[k3n-dyll]

Warnings...18+, wlw, not proofread, dom!Sevika, dom!Ambessa, rough sex, porn with zero plot, oral (r!receving), strap usage, strap sucking/face fucking, spit, squirting, spit roasting Word Count: 898

Notes ☆ this is just a sleepy, disgustingly horny, rant, man. Like, more so than usual.

Sevika practically holds you down with her body, mech arm caught tight around your torso as her flesh palm paws and squeezes at your tits, her lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck and shoulder. She's enjoying the view more than she'd ever admit out loud, silver eyes fixated on the other woman that's had her head snug between your legs for what at this point feels like fucking hours. Neither of you can seem to take your eyes off of the way Ambessa's scarred back and broad shoulders move as she forces you to keep still for her, the same large hands that so gently caress your face and hold you close any other time now locked in a vice grip against your thighs, sure to leave bruises against the soft skin.

The noises coming from her sucking and lapping at your cunt are bordering on obnoxious, the amount of time you've been pushed over the edge with her mouth alone having landed you sitting in a wet spot of a collection of your own squirt and her saliva. The overstimulation has reduced you into a babbling, trembling little mess, and yet neither of them have had their fill yet.

"I c-can't, I can't..." You slur, both women letting out amused huffs of laughter at your pathetic attempt to speak. Dumbly, you think that Ambessa pulling away and Sevika's grip on your body loosening means that you finally get a little bit of a break, your sigh of relief getting cut short by Sevika's voice as she whispers into your ear.

"You're not done, doll. Hands and knees." Her coaxing is gentle, her hands keeping you steady as you switch positions with the elegance of a newborn calf. It'd be humiliating if your brain hadn't been rendered so useless, eyes half-lidded as you watch Ambessa's tear-blurred form tower over you, a hand coming to grip your chin.

"Such a pretty thing you are. You've got a little more in you, don't you angel?" Ambessa's sultry tone fills your ears, a dopey grin crossing your features at the praise as you give an equally lazy nod. Gently, she presses the red silicone hanging from her hips against your mouth, seeking permission for entrance. "Good, girl. Open that pretty mouth for me"

Your jaw slacks almost immediately, a low hum of approval escaping the woman in front of you, her murmured praises and the feeling of her hand gently palming the back of your head distracting you from the girth stuffing your jaws. Distracting you from what's happening behind you as well.

You get little warning - the bed slightly sinking in from behind and the cool touch of a metal hand against the plush of your hip before you start to feel Sevika pushing her own strap inside of you. A choked yelp of surprise escaping you at the feeling, your body tensing up.

"Uh-uh, relax... that's it, just breathe baby.." Sevika purrs, leaning down and peppering wet kisses along the arch of your back to ease your tension, though she doesnt stop her advances, each shallow pump of her hips stretching you further.

They give you grace, letting you adjust, kissing and marking you as you settle around them but the gentle front doesn't last long. Sevika can't stop herself from slamming into you from behind, admiring the way your ass jiggles with each hard thrust, her own pussy dripping against the harness at the sight of the white ring forming at the base of her cock.

Each thrust from behind forces Ambessa's strap down your throat, every gag forced from you sending strings of saliva pooling from behind your lips and onto your chin, your neck, the bed...

"You're such a fucking mess, look at that.." Ambessa chuckles as she watches you struggle to take her in your mouth, enjoying how eager you are to please, even if it turns you into well...this. She rewards your eagerness by pulling out of your mouth, barely letting you get down a few much-needed gulps of air before she's shifted the harness down off of her hips, instead shoving your face flush between her thighs, letting you taste her.

Your breathlessness doesn't stop you from lapping at her like a woman starved, fingers curling into the sheets as you do your best to focus on the task at hand without succumbing to the intensity of Sevika's sloppy pounding from behind. Their grunts and overlapping praises drown out all thought, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat, shaking and twitching as you're split between the two. The only warning you're able to give before your climax ultimately rips through your body is a couple of muffled, loud whines.

Your head falls from Ambessa's grip, the woman letting you breathe as you cum, Sevika's hips just barely slowing as you finally let go, too enthralled in the way you squirt around her, the liquid wetting both your and her lower halves.

"Gonna have so much to clean up when we're finished with this one - fuck" Sevika boasts, letting her human palm land on your ass with a thwack. Ambessa just chuckles, her palm lightly patting the side of your face to keep you grounded in reality.

"You'll get to rest that pretty head in a little while, angel..." She coos. "But we're not quite done yet..."

Donations 4 Palestine - Arcane Masterlist

Taglist: @archangeldyke-all, @delinthecut, @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery, @glass-apothecary, @cobraisveryhorny - Wanna be tagged?

We're gonna pretend I tagged the correct ppl the first time, 'kay? <3

[swytdoll]

emoloser!choso, who nearly breaks down when you hint at removing the condom for the very first time. “are you for real...?” he gasps, his eyes fluttering, toes tensing up at the mere thought. a gentle smile creeps onto your face as you nod. “i’m for real real.” you hum, savoring the way he trembles. his breath catches with each caress of your hands across his bare chest. "ugnh, i...i’m not sure if i’ll be able to—hold on!" his voice cracks as your hand clasps his shaft, pad of your thumb teasingly circling the sticky slit.

choso's hips twitch uncontrollably, the warmth emanating from him palpable. he mutters that he might faint as you tighten your grip, his whole body quaking. and in that moment, he thinks to himself, this is how i could go. my pretty girl playing with my cock, really, what more could a guy ask for?

you choose to show compassion to the unfortunate loser as you float above him. he truly is a gracious victor, and honestly, you enjoy being the one in charge. watching him writhe underneath you. slowly you take the condom that dangles loosely from the rubber ring and slide it back over his arousal, playfully building up the tension. “ah! don’t i’ll cum—“ choso shudders, hands sinking into your thighs.

a slight shift is all it takes to position the tip just right. then you lower yourself onto his fat size, observing the way his eyes flutter shut, his jaw slackens, and his eyebrows arch in surprise. the sounds he emits are captivating; he starts with a whimper that evolves into a deep moan. his body tightening, muscles taut with the overwhelming sensation of your walls inviting him.

it sends chills down your spine, knowing you can turn emoloser!choso into a quivering mess with just your cunt. you revel in the sensation of his hands gripping you tight, fingers pressing into your skin as you rock back and forth, savoring every bit of his length as he splits you. he wants to tell you how good it feels, how good you’re doing, but the words come out as mangled sobs.

delicately you grasp his hands, guiding them to your chest. his thumbs caress your stiff nipples with a natural ease. a soft moan escaping your lips as you tilt your head, lost in the moment. you’re so fucking pretty, eyebrows scrunched over flickering eyelashes, waves of hair splashing down your back as you ride his taut cock. he see’s the way your plump lips quiver each time he bottoms out inside you, you’re enjoying this just as much as he is. if not more. "oh my god, oh my god—can’t take it anymore! m’sorry!” he stammers and with a sudden shift, he turns you onto your back, parting your thighs before diving back into your warm pussy, his mouth forming a perfect 'o' in bliss.

your fingers tangle in the sheets as he drives into you with increasing intensity, each thrust more urgent than the last. your heels press into his backside, drawing him nearer, compelling him to push harder. a deep groan escapes him, resonating through his body. "cho!" you gasp, the pleasure overwhelming. his fat dick throbs and swells, his eyes squeezed shut, while his hands clutch your waist with a possessive grip.

he doesn't mean to be so rough with you, but god, does it feel good. "feels so— fuck, fuck, fuck," he's crying out, leaning down to press the sloppiest kiss against your lips, his black hair falling into his eyes. his purple-tipped fingers hold your cheeks and pull them apart, the dark eyeliner on his nose smudged while his heated skin glimmers in a light sheen of sweat.

he pushes into you deep, the tip of his cock bumping your cervix. any other time he'd be embarrassed to be acting like this... so pathetic for your pussy, but he can hardly help it. you're so damn warm, sucking his length in, letting him ruin you. he’s tugging his lip ring between his teeth as he fucks you ditzy, hands intertwining with yours as he fucks you into the comforter. “look at me... please?” his voice is desperate; he wants to fill you up. he swears he’s gonna come when you flutter open those pretty little eyes and lock them with his. “oh my—shitttt. can’t b-believe you’re m-my girlfriend—m’so lucky. hah!” his breath is hot against your skin, and you can feel the tension building in every thrust.

choso imagines this is what heaven feels like, he swears he can feel every ridge of your cunt.

emoloser!choso who forces his tongue down your throat as he shoots his load across your cunt. he’s mortified. he’s come before you. “fuck fuck, i-i’m sorry!” he’s whimpering, remaining spurts of cum emptying from his sore balls. you giggle, running your hands over his lips then his eyebrow piercing, then burying them in his sticky wolf cut. “it’s okay baby boy. . .” your hand guides him down, and he immediately catches on. “let me take care of her, yeah?” and before you know it he’s spreading your thighs apart, eating you like a starved man.

[froggiequarium]

1.1k words; nsfw (just pure smut); caleb puts a collar w a bell on you.... cw for possessive caleb (comes off more yandere-ish than i intended oops..?)

"i got a collar with a bell. that way, it couldn't escape without being noisy."

the collar around your neck suits you, he thinks, unable to help the smirk that grazes his lips with the little jingle when he first put it on you, and unable to suppress it along with the possessive look in his eyes as he pounds into you from behind, hips meeting your ass in sharp thrusts, one large hand deepening the arch of your back while the other wraps around your pretty neck, applying just enough pressure as he tilts your head up, reveling in your sweet mewls and each jingle of the bell as his thick cock slams into your leaking entrance.

"you're enjoying this, aren't you, pipsqueak?"

he knows the answer already, obvious from the way you're clenching around his cock and the drool slipping past your parted lips, pretty pleasured sounds music to his ears, making him grip your neck just a little bit tighter as his hips pick up the pace, jingling of the bell becoming more frequent.

"fuck."

the extra applied pressure causes you to gasp, caleb letting out a drawn out moan at the way you tighten around him even more.

"so tight, baby" caleb curses, sweat trickling down his bulking body, taking a look down at your expression, eyes glassed over, lips wet and trickling with saliva, as he wills himself to not come completely undone at the sight, not yet.

"you wanna cum, baby?"

barely able to speak, your answer is akin to mindless babbles.

"please caleb, wanna cum, please,"

"yeah? you want it that bad?"

"yesyesyes, please, caleb," you practically cry, your begging driving caleb to the edge.

a husky laugh rings out beside your head, his warm breath tickling your ear at the proximity.

"wanted you for so long, just like this," he drives his point hitting a certain spot inside just right, causing a pretty drawn out moan from you.

"you look so perfect like this baby, gonna keep you all to myself," the way his cock impales you at this pace has your eyes rolling back, gripping at both the bedsheets and the beefy arm of the hand that still grips your neck for any semblance of stability.

"never letting you get away again, never gonna let you out of my sight."

"ca-leb—"

your words are broken from the pressure on your neck, clenching around him at his words.

"fuck— seems like you'd like that too, huh? you can't live without me," he breathes out a laugh, taking pleasure in the idea that you need him.

"gonna keep you here, just like this, all to myself— hah, fuck, baby—"

"co-ming, caleb, ca-"

he swallows up your sweet whines, hand around your neck now gripping your cheeks as he pulls you into an all-devouring kiss, one that easily conveys his feelings in this moment, hips continuing to thrust into you, the little bell jingling wildly in response.

he breaks the kiss, saliva connecting you both for a moment before both hands are grasping your hips, pulling you against him as he continues ramming into you.

"w-w-wait, ah, haah, aaaah~,"

still sensitive from your orgasm and weak from being in the position for so long, your body goes limp against the bed, whines your last line of defense against caleb's repeated thrusts as he easily keeps your hips in the air.

"feels so good, knew you'd feel so good, hah," he mutters, watching the way his cock sinks into you with ease, coming out covered in your shared essence.

"im close, baby."

caleb's mind is mostly mush, body hot and driven by your mewls and whines of his name, mind reeling at finally having you like this, loving how willing you are, ready to truly make you his.

a frown adorns his face for a moment before a hand reaches out, gathers your hair, and pulls your head up from the mattress.

"..! haah..."

you gasp out in surprise, barely registering the sound of the bell that's now clearly ringing through the room again but caleb is all too aware, a satisfied smirk creeping up his face once more.

"gonna cum again? can feel it. gonna cum inside, yeah? you want that?"

"caleb!"

unable to cry anything but his name, he's more than satisfied.

the feel of your body, the blissed-out expression and whines of his name are too much, and he feels himself reaching his peak.

"ready, baby? cum with me, cum with me, cum-"

he's cut off by a groan as he reaches it, both of your sounds entangling together as you come undone once again around him as he rides out his high, thrusts slowing as he releases his warmth within you, marking your insides with his seed.

you're both panting out into the air, reveling in the moment together before he slowly, slowly pulls out, your body immediately falling against the mattress with a small jingle of the bell.

a small smile graces his lips at the sound, eyes dragging over your figure. the bites he left all over your body, the marks from his hand around your neck, the essence slowly seeping out of you—

it was almost enough to make him hard all over again.

but he willed himself against it at the sight of your spent form, making his way to grab a warm towel to clean you up at the very least.

even in this sort of situation, his first instinct was to take care of you.

you're practically on another planet, not even realizing that he's left the room and returned with something, jolting at the warm touch of fabric.

"just cleanin' you up, pipsqueak," he mumbles, gently dragging the towel over your body before gently making his way between your thighs.

you whimper at the feel, still sensitive from the brutal treatment you had to endure, but unable to make any remarks at the moment.

after all, its not like you didn't enjoy it.

he finishes quickly, tossing the towel into a nearby basket before settling himself onto the bed next to you.

"caleb..."

"i'm here," he reassures.

"caleb, i..."

he reaches out, easily pulling your tired body against his warm one.

"just stay right here with me, right where you belong."

and you give in, all too eager, shaking body curling up against his perfectly built one, resting your head on his chest as you regain your breath, fitting against him just as perfectly as you always have.

he's satisfied for now, having you by his side just like this, just as it should be.

and if you tried to slip away for any reason throughout the night, well....

the bell would be more than enough to easily locate you.

-

a/n: might rewrite this/make it a fic but i just needed it out of my system cause i haven't been able to stop thinking ab it since the trailer dropped

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[pucksandpower]

Baby Steps

Charles Leclerc x single mother!Reader

Summary: you are barely staying afloat, desperately trying to wrap your mind around your impending motherhood while juggling being a press officer for Scuderia Ferrari … Charles shows you that you don’t have to do it alone

Warnings: pregnancy, family abandonment, and harassment

You grip the edges of the trash can tightly as your stomach lurches again. The half-digested remains of your breakfast spill into the plastic liner with a sickening splatter. Straightening up slowly, you take a few deep breaths and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. The smell rising from the can makes your stomach roll threateningly once more.

Turning away quickly, you lean against the side of the Ferrari motorhome, eyes closed. The sun beats down relentlessly, and you can feel sweat beading at your hairline.

This “morning” sickness is no joke — it seems to strike at all hours of the day. You thought you had gotten away with a quick breakfast break an hour ago when Carlos was in a team briefing, but apparently not.

Footsteps on the gravel make you open your eyes. You pray it’s not a member of the press, or, god forbid, Carlos. The last thing you need is a photo of the Ferrari press officer tossing her cookies behind the paddock. But no, it’s Charles Leclerc striding towards you, his brow furrowed.

You straighten up and attempt nonchalance. “Good morning, Charles.”

He slows, glancing between you and the extremely obvious trash can of vomit. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yeah, fine,” you say breezily. “Just a bit of food poisoning, I think. Had a questionable chicken salad for dinner yesterday.”

You notice Charles is wearing a soft grey t-shirt and track pants, his hair damp from the shower. He must have just finished with physiotherapy. He looks so effortlessly handsome, it’s frankly unfair. You suddenly feel acutely aware of the sheen of sweat on your face and your limbs heavy with fatigue.

Charles’ face remains creased in concern. “Food poisoning? Have you been to the medical center?”

You wave a hand. “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably just 24 hours of hell before I’m back to normal.” You attempt a smile, but have to grab the trash can again as the smell from it hits you like a wave.

Charles springs forward and grabs your arm as you retch miserably. “Whoa, take it easy,” he says, supporting you until the heaving subsides.

You stay hunched over, breathing hard. The world is spinning a little. You hear Charles say firmly, “Okay, come with me. Let’s get you sat down.”

He keeps a hand under your arm and leads you into the blessedly cool motorhome. The rich scent of coffee fills the interior, reminding you that you haven’t managed to keep any food down today. You sink gratefully onto a padded bench at one of the tables.

Charles sits opposite you, his green eyes studying you intently. “When did the sickness start?”

You sigh, shoulders slumping. The jig is up. “About four weeks ago,” you mutter.

Understanding dawns on Charles’ face. “Oh. Oh!” His eyes flick down to your still-flat stomach. “So you’re ...”

“Pregnant. Yes.” You drop your head into your hands.

“Well, hey, congratulations,” says Charles gently. “That’s really exciting.”

You huff out something between a sob and a laugh. “Exciting? More like a nightmare!” You run your fingers back through your hair and look desperately at Charles. “You can’t tell anyone, okay? Not even Carlos. I can’t risk anyone finding out about this. If I lose this job ...”

Charles’ brows draw together again. “Why would you lose your job? You’re Carlos’ press officer. I’m sure he’d be thrilled for you.”

You shake your head rapidly. “No, no way. I can’t take time off. The season just started! Carlos needs me, I organize everything for him. The travel, the events, the media, everything!” You bite your lip anxiously. “Maybe … maybe after the baby comes, I can figure something out. But I have to keep this quiet until then. Please.”

Charles reaches over and lays a hand on your arm. His touch is gentle but firm. “Y/N. Working yourself into the ground won’t be good for you or the baby. Have you thought about taking a sabbatical? Just a few months to rest, focus on yourself.”

Panic flares in your chest. “No! No, I can’t.” Your breathing quickens. “You don’t understand — I have no one else. No partner. No family. This job is everything. If I lose it ...” You trail off, trying to blink back the sting of tears.

Charles is silent for a long moment. Then he says, “Okay. I understand this is your decision. And I promise I won’t tell Carlos or anyone else.” He hesitates. “But Y/N, please take care of yourself. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.”

You nod jerkily and avoid his earnest gaze. With a shaky breath, you push yourself to your feet. The motorhome tilts sickeningly for a second.

Charles rises too, watching you with concern. “Will you be alright?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. You start to head deeper into the motorhome, desperate to lie down before the nausea returns.

“Y/N,” Charles calls after you softly. You pause, glancing back. “Congratulations again. You’re going to be a wonderful mother.” He gives you a small, warm smile.

You swallow hard. “Thank you, Charles,” you whisper. Then you turn and continue on unsteadily, one hand braced against the wall.

You make it to the small office that passes for your private quarters on race weekends. Collapsing onto the ergonomic desk chair, you stare up at the ceiling and place a hand over your still-flat belly.

A baby.

Your baby.

Fear and wonder tangle inside you.

You must have dozed off, because the next thing you know a hand is gently shaking your shoulder. You jerk awake to find Carlos standing over you, his eyebrows drawn with concern.

“Y/N? Are you ill?”

You stand up too quickly and immediately regret it as the room spins. Carlos grabs your shoulder to steady you.

“I’m fine,” you say hoarsely. “Just needed a quick nap.”

Carlos frowns, clearly unconvinced. “Charles said you were throwing up outside. That you have food poisoning?”

You make a mental note to kill Charles later. “Uh, yeah. Bad chicken salad, I think. But I’ll be okay.” You attempt a reassuring smile.

Carlos sits down on the edge of your desk, watching you closely. “Why didn’t you tell me you were unwell? You know you don’t have to worry about me, I can look after myself for one day.” His dark brown eyes are filled with worry.

Guilt twists your gut. Carlos has always been extraordinarily kind and thoughtful, a rarity in the high stakes world of Formula 1. You hate lying to him.

“I know,” you say quietly. “I just didn’t want to let you down. But you’re right, I should have said something. I’m sorry.”

Carlos shakes his head immediately. “No, don’t be sorry. Just focus on feeling better, yes? Take tomorrow off too. I order you to rest,” he adds with a small grin.

You smile weakly back. “Okay, boss.”

Carlos stands and gestures to the tiny table bolted to the wall. “I brought you some tea and crackers. Hopefully you can keep it down.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate you checking on me.”

He smiles. “Of course. Feel better, Y/N.” With a last lingering look of concern, he turns and leaves you in peace.

You look at the steaming tea and crackers and feel tears prick your eyes again. Carlos is a good man. Too good, probably, for the pragmatic demands of Formula 1. You know you should tell him about the pregnancy. But the thought of losing your place here, on this team, fills you with dread.

This high stakes world of racing is all you’ve known for the past three years. You can’t imagine life outside the bubble of the paddock, away from the adrenaline and pressure. Away from the team. Away from Carlos. Away from Charles.

With a deep breath, you sit up straight and tear open the crackers. You need to think about this rationally. Maybe Charles is right and you do need to slow down eventually. But for now, for the next few months at least, you have to keep going like nothing has changed.

You place a hand on your stomach as you nibble a cracker. “It’s gonna be okay, little one,” you whisper. “We’ll figure this out.”

***

The smell of coffee turns your stomach these days, but you still make your way blearily to the breakfast buffet each morning. Carlos is an early riser, and you need to be available whenever he is ready to start the day. You scan the offerings, deciding toast is the safest option, and reach for a couple of dry slices.

“Oh, Y/N!”

You turn to see Charles holding out a pre-packaged parfait cup. “I grabbed an extra yogurt by mistake. Do you want it?”

You hesitate. Your first instinct is suspicion — this is the third time this week Charles has “accidentally” had an extra snack to offer you. But the yogurt does look appealing ...

“Sure, thanks,” you say, taking the cup from him. Charles shoots you a smile before grabbing a plate and continuing down the buffet.

You sit down next to Carlos with your toast and yogurt. He glances up from his phone. “Morning. Feeling better today?”

You nod, mouth full. In truth, the nausea has continued, but you’ve gotten better at hiding it from Carlos and powered through.

Charles joins you both a few minutes later, greeted by Carlos with a fist bump. You peel open your yogurt while half-listening to the two men discuss the upcoming practices.

The sweet, fruity parfait is cool and soothing on your sensitive stomach. You find yourself polishing it off in record time. As you scrape the last bit of yogurt from the bottom, you realize Charles is watching you.

“Good?” He asks.

You lick the plastic spoon clean before answering. “Yeah, really hit the spot, thanks.”

Charles’ eyes crinkle with a smile. “No problem. I’ll try to grab two tomorrow.”

You feel your smile grow fixed. This is getting ridiculous. Charles Leclerc does not care this much about your yogurt preferences. He’s up to something.

Over the next week, Charles’ thoughtfulness continues. A cold bottle of water when you’re looking hot and tired. A sandwich from a local bakery when you missed lunch. Your favorite chocolate bar when you mention a craving in passing. Always with an innocent smile, as if he’s not playing Superman to your pretend Lois Lane.

It all comes to a head on race day. You’re in the scorching sun on the grid, already feeling the fatigue of the hectic weekend. Carlos is doing his pre-race routine, so your attention has lapsed. Suddenly a blessedly cold bottle of water appears in front of your face. You look up to see Charles grinning down at you.

“Stay hydrated,” he says with a wink.

That does it. “Okay, enough!” You snap, smacking the water bottle away. It falls to the ground with a thud, water glugging out.

Charles’ eyes go wide with shock. “Y/N?”

Grabbing his arm, you pull Charles several steps away from eavesdropping mechanics. “Why are you doing this?” You hiss. “I don’t need you to baby me!”

“What?” Charles looks completely bewildered. “I’m just trying to help-”

“Well, stop,” you interrupt sharply. The hurt on Charles’ face makes you falter, but you press on. “I don’t need your pity. I’m fine.”

“Pity?” Charles frowns. “It’s not pity, Y/N. I care about you.” He places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You’re always taking care of everyone around you. Now you need someone to take care of you too.”

His kind words hit you like a gut punch. Oh God, the stupid hormones! You feel hot tears spring to your eyes.

Charles’ alarmed expression softens. “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you ...” He pulls you into a hug. One hand smoothes your hair while the other rubs comforting circles on your back.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he murmurs. You cling to him, embarrassed by your raw emotional response but unable to stop the tears.

After a minute the wave passes. You pull back, wiping your eyes. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Charles smiles kindly. “Nothing is wrong with you. But I understand this is a difficult time.” His expression turns serious. “If you ever need anything, please ask me. I’m here for you.”

Looking up into Charles’ earnest green eyes, you feel a rush of gratitude. Whatever awkwardness lingers between you has evaporated. Charles is a true friend.

You squeeze his hand. “Thank you. That means a lot.” Glancing around, you notice some odd looks from passing crew members. “We should probably get back to work before people think there’s a full-blown soap opera going on over here.”

Charles grins. “Agreed. But this conversation isn’t over. Dinner tonight in my room?” He raises an eyebrow.

You laugh, blinking away the last dampness from your eyes. “It’s a date.”

***

You smooth your hands down your dress as you approach Charles’ hotel suite, suddenly feeling nervous. You’ve been in drivers’ rooms countless times for work, but this feels different. More intimate.

You take a steadying breath and knock. Charles opens the door, looking unfairly handsome in a crisp button down shirt.

“Y/N! Come in.” He steps back to allow you inside.

The suite is spacious and modern, with floor to ceiling windows along one wall looking out over the glittering city. Charles leads you through the living area to a set of glass doors. “I thought we could eat out on the balcony,” he explains, opening the doors with a flourish. “The fresh air will be good for you and baby.”

You step outside and have to stifle a gasp. A small table is elegantly set for two, a vase of flowers in the center. String lights twinkle overhead. “Charles, this is beautiful!”

He looks pleased. “I’m glad you like it.” Pulling out a chair, he gestures for you to sit.

As he takes the seat opposite you, you notice several covered dishes on the table. Charles sees you looking and smiles a bit sheepishly. “I, uh, called my mother earlier.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. Charles rubs the back of his neck. “I asked her what foods she craved when she was pregnant with me and my brother. So I ordered a bunch of that from room service, in hopes there might be something you’d like.”

A lump forms in your throat. You reach over and squeeze his hand. “Charles, that is so incredibly thoughtful.”

Pink tinges his tanned cheeks. “Of course. I want to take care of you.”

You chat comfortably over food and Charles’ excellent choice of wine for you — sparkling grape juice. He relaxes as you praise the chicken and melon he ordered.

When you sit back contentedly, Charles fixes you with a thoughtful look. “So, do you know how far along you are?”

You hesitate. “About three months now.”

He nods. “And have you been to a doctor yet?”

Your fingers find a groove in the wooden table to trace. “Not yet.” At his surprised look, you add defensively, “I’ve just been so busy with work. But I’m sure everything is fine.”

“Still, you should make an appointment soon. Just to be safe.” Charles’ tone is gentle.

You nod without meeting his eye. An uncomfortable beat passes.

“Do you ...” Charles pauses delicately. “Forgive me, but … do you know who the father is?”

Your cheeks flame. You stand abruptly, walking over to the balcony railing. After a moment Charles joins you, leaning on the rail at your side.

“I’m sorry, that was too personal,” he says quietly.

You shake your head. “It’s okay. I just ...” You glance up at him. “He’s no longer in my life.” You look away, a lump in your throat.

Charles doesn’t ask anything more, just moves closer in a gesture of silent support. You stand together breathing in the night air. The twinkling city sprawls before you. For a moment, the future doesn’t feel quite so frightening.

Eventually you stifle a yawn behind your hand. Charles glances over. “You must be exhausted. I should let you get to bed.”

You smile gratefully. He walks you to the door of the suite. Pausing, you stand on tiptoes and kiss Charles lightly on the cheek. “Thank you again for dinner. For everything.”

His eyes shine as he gazes down at you. “Of course. Sweet dreams, Y/N. And ...” He brushes a feather-light touch over your belly. “Sweet dreams to you too, little one.”

You feel your heart melt just a little. With a last smile, you head down the hall to the elevators. As the doors slide closed, you catch one last glimpse of Charles watching after you.

Back in your smaller, blander room, you change for bed in a happy haze. Sliding between cool sheets, you let out a contented sigh. Tonight was lovely. Charles’ thoughtfulness reminds you there are still good people in the world. For the first time in weeks, you feel a spark of hope.

You drift off to sleep with a hand resting gently on your belly. Everything seems less frightening now that you aren’t alone. Whatever happens next, you and your baby will get through it together.

***

The buzz of the media pen is giving you a headache today. Or maybe that’s just the pregnancy. You blink heavily, trying to focus on Carlos speaking into the microphone in front of you. You hit record on your phone as he answers the first question. It’s your job to capture every word to ensure he’s not misrepresented later.

The reporter’s voice fades in and out. You sway slightly, shaking your head. Just need some fresh air. You take a step away from the crowd, vision blurring at the edges. Dark spots dance across your eyes. The concrete floor rushes up to meet you-

“Y/N!”

Strong hands grab your shoulders, slowing your collapse. Your head spins as you try to make sense of it.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Charles’ worried face swims into view above you. You part your lips but no words come out.

There’s loud commotion around you now. You feel yourself being shifted, lifted. Snatches of Charles’ voice pierce through the fog.

“She’s pregnant ... get help ... ambulance ...”

You try to cling to consciousness but it’s like grasping at smoke. The world goes dark.

When you resurface, it’s to antiseptic white walls and a steady beeping. Hospital. An IV pulls at your arm as you shift.

“Y/N?” Charles appears at your side, relief breaking across his face. “Thank God. You’re awake.”

Before you can respond, he’s disappeared again, calling for a doctor. You try to push yourself more upright but your limbs feel like lead.

A brisk older woman in a white coat enters, glancing at the monitor beside your bed. “Good to see you awake, Miss Y/L/N. You gave us quite a scare.”

“What happened?” Your voice comes out hoarse.

“You fainted from low blood pressure. A common issue in pregnancy, but yours seems to be more severe.” The doctor flips through your chart with a frown.

Charles stands anxiously at the foot of the bed. “But she’ll be alright now?”

The doctor hesitates. “I’m recommending complete pelvic rest and limited activity for the remainder of the pregnancy. Strictly no standing or walking for prolonged periods.” She pins you with a sharp look. “And if your blood pressure drops again, we’ll have no choice but to put you on full bed rest.”

Your stomach drops through the floor. “What? No, I can’t! I have to keep working, I-”

“Y/N.” Charles’ voice stops your panicked rambling. His face is lined with concern as he takes your hand. “Your health is what matters most.”

The doctor nods briskly. “Precisely. No job is worth risking your or your baby’s safety.” With a final warning look, she departs.

The moment she leaves, you burst into tears. Harsh, gasping sobs wrack your frame. This is a disaster. Without being able to stand or walk for long stretches, you’re useless to the team. You’ll be fired for sure. And then what will you do? You have no one, no other skills-

Warm, strong arms wrap around you as you weep. Charles cradles you against his chest, making low soothing sounds.

“Shh, it’s going to be alright,” he murmurs, stroking your hair. “We’ll figure this out.”

You clutch fistfuls of his shirt, burying your face in the soft cotton. The steady thump of his heartbeat slowly calms your hysteria.

When the tears finally subside, Charles eases you gently back against the pillows. His thumbs brush away the moisture from your cheeks.

“I know you’re scared,” he says quietly. “But I promise, I will do everything I can to help you. We are in this together now.”

His green eyes radiate such sincerity, you feel some of the panic and despair lift. You cling tightly to his hand, anchoring yourself to him like he’s a rock in a stormy sea.

***

You pick listlessly at the greyish meat and mushy vegetables on your hospital dinner tray. At least Charles had the foresight to sneak in some contraband snacks earlier — you polish off the last crumbs of the cookies he brought, wishing futilely for something more appetizing.

A knock at the door precedes Charles peeking in. “Hungry for something better than hospital food?” He holds up a paper takeout bag and shakes it enticingly.

You brighten immediately. “Charles, you’re my hero.”

He laughs and enters, pulling a table over your lap to serve as a makeshift dining surface. Soon plastic containers of pasta, salad, and fresh bread are opened, the savory scents making your mouth water.

Charles watches fondly as you tuck in. “I wasn’t sure what you’d feel up to eating. But who doesn’t like Italian food?”

You make a noise of emphatic agreement through your full mouth. Charles chuckles.

When you finally surface for air, he clears his throat. “So I was thinking ...” Charles busies himself folding and refolding your napkin. “My apartment in Monaco is pretty big for just me. And it has a guest room that’s just sitting empty.”

You raise your eyebrows, waiting for him to go on.

“Well ...” Charles rubs the back of his neck. “I thought maybe when you’re discharged, you could come stay with me for a while. So I can make sure you’re not overexerting yourself.”

You frown slightly. “Oh. That’s really kind, but I’ll be fine once I’m out of here.”

“Will you?” Charles levels you with a knowing look. “No offense, but you’re not exactly the best at asking for help when you need it.”

You open your mouth to protest, but can’t really argue with that.

“Let me do this for you. For my own peace of mind too,” Charles implores gently. He takes your hand, blue eyes full of sincerity. “Please?”

Looking into his earnest face, you feel your weak resistance faltering. Still ... “I don’t want to be a burden,” you mumble half-heartedly.

Charles squeezes your hand. “You could never be. I care about you, Y/N.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles. “I want to take care of you and the baby.”

The warmth in his voice melts away the last of your reluctance. And honestly, the prospect of having Charles doting on you is far preferable to being alone in your small, dreary apartment.

You meet his hopeful gaze. “Okay. If you’re sure you don’t mind, then … I accept your kind offer.”

Charles’ answering smile rivals the sun. “Yeah? Oh, that’s fantastic!” He sweeps you into an enthusiastic but gentle hug. You cling to him, feeling the nervous knot that’s been your constant companion for weeks finally start to loosen. Everything will work out.

That night as Charles is leaving, you call his name softly. He pauses, one hand on the door.

You twist your fingers in the blanket, suddenly shy. “I just wanted to say … thank you. For everything. I’ll find a way to repay you someday, I promise.”

Charles’ expression softens. He comes back and squeezes your hand. “You don’t owe me anything. Just focus on yourself and that little one.” He strokes a finger over your belly. “That’s all the repayment I need.”

With a last smile, he slips out, leaving you to fall asleep with a heart full of gratitude and growing affection for your kind rescuer.

***

You smooth your hands nervously over your dress as you approach Fred Vasseur’s office. This is it. Time to tell your boss that you’ll be leaving him in the lurch smack dab in the middle of the season.

Charles gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It will be okay. Just explain the situation.”

You take a deep breath and nod. Charles opens the door and gestures for you to enter first.

Fred rises from behind his desk, surprise flickering across his face. “Y/N, Charles. What can I do for you?” His gaze darts between you curiously.

Your mouth goes dry. Charles gently guides you to sit in one of the chairs facing Fred, taking the other himself.

“Y/N has something she needs to discuss with you,” Charles begins calmly. “I’m here for moral support.”

Fred’s eyebrows raise but he nods for you to go on. Your hands twist together in your lap.

“Well, I ...” You have to pause and swallow hard. “I recently learned that I’m pregnant. And I’ve developed some, uh, complications that mean I can’t travel or be on my feet much.”

Fred’s eyebrows climb higher. “I … see. Congratulations?” He still looks perplexed.

Charles jumps in. “What she’s trying to say is, she needs to take a leave of absence. Doctor’s orders.”

“Ah.” Understanding settles on Fred’s face. He turns back to you. “I’m very sorry to hear you’re unwell. Of course health must come first.”

You feel yourself relax slightly. “So I can take a sabbatical? My job will still be here when I’m able to return?”

“Absolutely.” Fred nods. “You’ve been invaluable to our team. Your role will be waiting whenever you’re ready.”

You could cry with relief. “Oh, thank you! That means the world.”

Fred smiles kindly. “Think nothing of it. Focus on your health and that baby. We’ll manage in the meantime.”

Charles reaches over to clasp your hand supportively. “Is there anything else she needs to know before starting her leave?”

Fred considers this. “Y/N will have full pay during sabbatical, of course. And keep me posted on any support you require — medical, household, anything at all.”

You clutch Charles’ hand, too overwhelmed to speak. He smiles. “Very generous. We appreciate that greatly.”

After finalizing a few details, you both stand. Fred comes around the desk to shake your hand. “Best of luck with everything. Let me know if you need absolutely anything.”

You whisper a heartfelt thank you before allowing Charles to guide you out. Safely in the hallway, you turn and fling your arms around him.

“Charles, thank you,” you murmur into his shoulder. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

His strong arms come around you, cradling you close. “Of course, Y/N. I meant what I said — I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”

You cling to each other for a long moment, his steadfast support washing away your lingering fears. As long as Charles is with you, you know everything will work out just fine.

***

You fidget in the generic mint-colored exam room, paper crinkling beneath you as you perch on the edge of the table. Charles sits in a nearby chair, scrolling through his phone, the picture of calm. You wish you shared his zen attitude.

A brisk knock precedes the door swinging open. A smiling older woman enters, glancing down at her chart.

“Y/N? I’m Dr. Boucher, nice to meet you.” Her smile widens as she looks between you and Charles. “And you must be the dad! Wonderful.”

Your mouth drops open to correct her, but Charles beats you to it. “That’s right, thank you,” he says easily, standing to shake the doctor’s hand.

You snap your mouth shut, eyes widening. But the doctor has already moved on, washing her hands at the sink.

“Now then, let’s take a look at this baby, shall we?” She pats the exam table.

You lie back, hiking up your shirt to expose your belly. The cool gel makes you shiver as the doctor smears it over your skin. She places the ultrasound wand low on your abdomen and moves it slowly.

The screen blooms to life, blurred black and white shifting until a shape emerges — a tiny profile, curled arms and legs distinct. You gasp softly. There’s your baby.

Dr. Boucher smiles. “There we are. Looks to be about 16 weeks along. Growing beautifully.”

You can’t tear your eyes away from the screen. Your throat feels tight. After so many weeks of secrecy and fear, this precious little life finally seems real.

“And there’s the heartbeat.” The doctor turns up the volume, and a rapid thumping fills the room. “Nice and strong.”

Tears spill over your cheeks before you can stop them. A glance over shows Charles watching the monitor intently, green eyes shiny with emotion. He reaches for your hand, gripping tightly.

When the appointment ends, you both exit the office in a daze. As you walk down the street to Charles’ car, he turns to you.

“That was … incredible,” he says softly. “Seeing your baby for the first time ...” He trails off, at a loss for words.

You lift his hand and press a kiss to the back, hoping he understands the depth of your gratitude. Charles smiles tenderly in return.

Safely home in Charles’ plush apartment, you curl up together on the sofa with mugs of tea to continue gazing at the ultrasound photos. Charles slips an arm around your shoulders, his thumb idly stroking your arm as you chatter excitedly about preparing a nursery.

This moment, here with Charles, your child’s heartbeat still echoing in your ears … it’s the closest thing to pure joy you’ve ever known. The future finally feels bright with hope. You lean into Charles’ warmth and send up a silent prayer of thanks for this man and the new life he’s given back to you.

***

You curl deeper into the plush couch in Charles’ apartment, cradling your mug of tea. Rain patters against the windows overlooking Monaco’s glittering harbor. The cozy scene makes you feel safe enough to finally open up.

“Charles?”

He glances over from where he’s poking at the fire. “Hmm?”

You twist your fingers together nervously. “There’s more I should tell you. About how I got pregnant.”

Charles rises and comes to sit beside you, face open and attentive. Taking a deep breath, you begin.

“It happened last winter, during the off-season. I went back home to Italy for a while, to the little town outside Milan where my family lives.”

You stare into your tea, remembering. “There was a man vacationing there, from Rome. Dario. We met in a cafe and just … clicked. He was handsome, charming, a perfect gentleman.” Your lips twist wryly. “Or so I thought.”

Charles remains quiet, letting you gather the words.

“We spent every day together for two weeks. Took long walks, went on romantic dinners. When it was time for him to leave, we ...” You trail off, face warming.

“You made love,” Charles supplies gently. You nod, still not meeting his eyes.

“I thought it meant as much to him as to me. But after he went back to Rome, his texts and calls slowly stopped. And then I found out why.”

Your voice drops to a pained whisper. “He was married. His ‘business trip’ was just a chance to fool around. When his wife saw my texts on his phone … it exploded. And then my family found out about the affair.”

Finally you lift your head. Charles’ face is lined with compassion. “They disowned me. Called me a fool and a harlot. It didn’t matter that I was lied to — as far as they’re concerned, I brought shame upon our family.”

Hot tears spill down your cheeks. Charles immediately pulls you into his arms. You cling to him, crying into his shoulder as he rubs your back.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. “You did nothing wrong. This Dario took advantage of you, and your family should have supported you.”

Charles holds you until the storm of tears passes. When you finally pull back, he cups your face in both hands, brushing away the lingering moisture with his thumbs.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says softly. “I know that wasn’t easy. You’re so incredibly strong.”

Leaning forward, he places a tender kiss on your forehead. Then his palms slide down to cradle your rounded belly.

“I’ve got you now,” Charles murmurs. “Both of you. You’ll never be alone again.”

Nestled in his lap, you close your eyes and just breathe. The remnants of hurt and betrayal wash away, replaced by the safety of Charles’ embrace. Whatever comes next, you have found your sanctuary here, with him.

***

You wander through the apartment looking for Charles, one hand braced on your lower back. Your belly has popped noticeably in the last couple weeks, throwing your balance off.

Not finding Charles in any of the usual spots, you head down the hall towards the spare bedroom. When you push open the door, your jaw drops.

The room has been completely transformed. Bright sunshine spills through the windows onto whitewashed walls. A plush rug covers the hardwood floor. In one corner sits a fully assembled crib, stuffed animals piled inside.

Charles stands back to admire his work, shirtsleeves rolled up and hair adorably mussed. He turns when you gasp softly.

“Y/N! I wanted to surprise you.” His grin falters. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? Charles, I love it!” You blink back happy tears, wandering further inside. Charles’ face lights up.

“I wasn’t sure what color to paint, so I left the walls white for now,” he explains, coming over to slip an arm around you.

You lean into him, gazing around. “It’s perfect. Our baby is so lucky to have you.”

Pink tinges Charles’ cheeks. He kisses the top of your head. “I’m the lucky one.”

You decide on a pale green for the walls. Charles immediately fetches paint supplies, but hovers anxiously as you start rolling color onto the first wall.

“Are you sure you should be doing this?” He eyes your protruding stomach. “The fumes can’t be good ...”

You wave off his concern. “I’ll be fine! Here-” You dip a roller in paint and offer it out. “Make yourself useful instead of worrying.”

Charles accepts the roller reluctantly. Soon you’re both working side by side. Charles takes on the higher parts of the walls that you can’t comfortably reach anymore.

Humming under your breath, you step back to critique your work so far. As you do, your foot catches on the paint tray and you stumble. Charles reaches out to steady you, but not before a fat drop of paint lands on his cheek.

“Oops!” You clap a hand over your mouth, trying not to laugh at the green splotch on his tanned skin.

Charles narrows his eyes in mock indignation. “You think that’s funny, do you?” Before you can react, he flicks his loaded paintbrush at you, spattering your shirt.

You gasp in delighted outrage. “Oh, it is on!” Grabbing your roller, you swipe it down his arm.

Charles lets out a laugh of surprise. Soon paint is flying from both directions. You run around each other, giggling and slipping on the drops coating the floor.

Finally Charles catches you gently by the waist. You’re both absolutely covered in pale green, sides aching from laughter. Your faces are inches apart, smiles fading into something more tender.

Slowly, Charles leans in and presses his lips to yours in the softest, sweetest kiss. You melt against him, hands coming up to cradle his jaw.

When you finally part, Charles rests his forehead against yours. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he confesses, a little breathless.

You smile, heart soaring. “What took you so long?”

His answering grin outshines the sun. There, surrounded by dreams of the future, you share another lingering kiss.

***

You settle back against the mountain of pillows, trying to find a comfortable position for your unwieldy body. At nearly 8 months along now, your belly feels impossibly huge. Luckily Charles’ plush bed offers plenty of space to sprawl.

Speaking of Charles, he appears in the doorway holding a bottle. “Ready for your massage?”

You eye the bottle of oil eagerly. The stretch marks crisscrossing your stomach have been itchy and tight. “Yes please.”

Charles props up pillows behind you so you’re half-reclining. Then he drizzles some of the oil into his palms, warming it up before smoothing his hands over your bump.

You sigh in bliss at his gentle but firm touch. The fragrant oil soothes and softens your irritated skin. Under Charles’ ministrations, the discomfort slowly ebbs away.

His strong hands glide over every inch, easing out the aches and pains. As Charles works, he murmurs to your belly. “There you go, little one. We’re going to make your home nice and cozy.”

Your heart clenches at the tender scene. Even after all these months of living together, it still sometimes hits you how domestic this is. Sharing a home, sharing a bed … it’s everything you secretly longed for but never expected to have. A real family.

You trail your fingers through Charles’ soft waves. His eyes lift to meet yours, soft with affection. The look on his face steals your breath — pure adoration, like you’re the most precious thing in his world.

“I love you.” The words slip out unbidden. Charles’ hands still. For a heartbeat, you’re afraid you’ve said too much.

But then he surges up to capture your lips in a searing kiss. “I love you too,” Charles whispers fiercely when you finally break apart, both panting. “So much.”

He seals his words with another drugging kiss. Your hands clutch him close, heart near bursting with joy.

Suddenly Charles breaks the kiss with a gasp. His wide eyes dart down. “Did you feel that?”

You start to shake your head no, distracted by the sensation of his calloused hands massaging your belly, but then you feel it — a distinct thump against your insides. Your baby shifting and kicking.

Charles’ face lights up. “There it is again!” He laughs in wonder. “The little one is saying hello.”

Happy tears blur your vision. Charles presses a delighted kiss to your stomach. “I can’t wait to meet you,” he whispers tenderly.

Through your tears, you smile at the man you love. The one who gave you and your child a home when you had nothing. However you got here, this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

***

A dull ache starts low in your back as you crawl into bed. You shift and stretch, trying to get comfortable, but can’t seem to. Charles notices your restlessness.

“Alright?” He murmurs sleepily, rolling over to rub your back.

You nod. “Yeah, just some back pain today.” Probably from lugging around this massive belly.

Charles makes soothing noises and continues massaging you until he drifts off. You finally manage to doze too.

Sometime in the night, you jerk awake. The sheets under you are soaked. For one confused moment you think you wet the bed. But then it hits you.

Your water broke.

“Charles!” You shake his shoulder urgently.

He comes awake with a snort. “Huh? What’s wrong?”

“It’s time! The baby-” You break off with a hiss as the first real contraction clenches your belly.

That wakes Charles up fully. “The baby? It’s coming?” He practically falls out of bed, all long limbs flailing.

You have to stifle an inappropriate giggle at his panic. “Yes, so we should-” Your instructions die as Charles sprints from the room. Alright then.

You shake your head in amusement and heave yourself to your feet, one hand braced on your lower back. Waddling slowly after Charles, you find him hyperactively rushing around the living room, tossing items randomly into your hospital bag.

“Okay, let’s go!” He grabs the overflowing bag and dashes out the front door. You stare after him in disbelief then lower yourself carefully onto the couch to wait.

Not thirty seconds later, Charles comes barreling back inside. “Oh God, I forgot you!”

You have to laugh at the panic on his face. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”

Looking marginally calmer, he helps you up, frantically gathering your bag in one hand while keeping the other wrapped around you.

You lean your weight on him during the next contraction, breathing through it. “It’s okay. But we should really go now.”

Charles practically carries you down to the garage and bundles you into his Ferrari in record time. He drives well over the speed limit, one hand clutching yours the whole way.

At the hospital, Charles refuses to leave your side even for a second. He holds the gas and air for you to breathe during contractions, whispering how strong and amazing you are.

When the time comes to push, the pain is unimaginable. You nearly give up, sobbing that you can’t do this. But Charles is there, guiding you through it, telling you that you absolutely can. And with one final scream, your son enters the world.

The shrill cry is the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. Charles cuts the cord with trembling hands. Then the nurse lays your wailing, squirmy son on your chest.

You press kisses to his downy head, tears of joy streaming down your face. Charles gazes at you both with pure reverence.

“His name is Matteo Charles,” you whisper. Charles lets out a choked sob at the middle name.

Too soon, the nurses take Matteo for cleaning and checks. One asks Charles if he’d like to hold him. Charles looks to you questioningly, and you nod through your exhaustion.

Charles settles into a chair, shirtless, and Matteo is laid on his bare chest. Charles strokes a gentle finger over Matteo’s cheek, seemingly enraptured.

“Thank you,” he rasps to you. “For our beautiful boy. Thank you, mon amour.”

This is everything you never knew you needed — a family, a home, and an overflowing love you once thought would forever be lost to you. But you’ve found it now, here in this room, together.

***

The sharp cries jolt you from sleep. With a groan, you roll out of the warm circle of Charles’ arms. Your body still aches and protests as you make your way to the nursery in the dark.

Picking up little Matteo, you carry him to the rocker and situate him at your breast. He latches on eagerly, cries fading to soft snuffles.

Charles appears in the doorway, hair adorably mussed. “Everything okay?” He asks through a yawn.

“We’re good now.” You smile tiredly down at your nursing son. His downy hair and scrunched features are all you — you find yourself thankful that there is barely any indication that his biological father even participated in making him.

Charles comes to perch on the ottoman, watching Matteo. “I can’t believe he’s really here,” he murmurs. “Our son.”

Pride swells in your chest. Charles has fully embraced his role as Matteo’s father, as naturally as breathing.

When Matteo finishes eating, Charles takes him to gently pat his back while you right your nightgown. He kisses your son’s head when Matteo lets out a tiny burp.

Back in bed, you curl into Charles with Matteo nestled safely between you. Charles has a race this weekend, his first since the birth. The thought of him leaving fills you with anxiety.

In the morning, Charles confirms your fears. “I’ll just tell Fred I’m not coming this weekend,” he says casually over breakfast. “The team will manage without me. One of the reserve drivers can take over for a few days.”

Your head jerks up. “What? No, Charles, you have to race.”

“But I don’t want to leave you two!” Charles gestures helplessly to where Matteo snoozes in a bouncer.

You catch Charles’ hand. “This is your dream. Matteo and I will be right here cheering you on when you get back.”

Charles wavers. You soften your voice. “It’s only for a little while. We’ll be okay.”

Finally he nods reluctantly. You know how hard this is for him — but Charles was born to race. You won’t let him give that up.

The morning Charles is set to fly out, he clings to you and Matteo like a second skin. You practically have to peel him off at airport security.

“I’ll be back so soon,” he whispers fiercely. One last kiss, and then he’s gone.

The apartment feels empty and too quiet. But you fill the time singing and playing with Matteo, keeping yourself busy until the race.

You and Matteo cuddle close on the couch to watch Charles zoom around the track. Your heart swells with love and pride seeing your man do what he was meant to.

When Charles wins, he shouts his ecstatic thanks to you and Matteo over the team radio. The podium champagne gets sprayed directly into the camera for you.

Finally Charles is home, sweeping you and Matteo into his arms. “I love you both so much,” he murmurs in wonder. You whisper it right back, nestled safe in the arms of your little family.

***

The energy in the Albert Park paddock is electric as teams prepare for the first race of the 2025 season. You feel a thrill just being back, Matteo cooing happily in your arms. At nearly six months old now, he’s ready for his first race.

Charles bounces on his toes, unable to contain his excitement. “Are you ready to see Papa race, Matteo?” He tickles Matteo’s belly, eliciting bubbly giggles.

You head first to the Ferrari garage, where the mechanics crowd around eagerly to fawn over Matteo. Lewis gives you a careful hug, peering curiously at the baby.

“Lewis, meet Matteo,” Charles says proudly. At Lewis’ questioning look, he adds “My son.” The way he says it brooks no argument.

Lewis’ eyes widen slightly but he just smiles. “Hi Matteo!” He offers a finger for Matteo to grip.

Fred comes over next, cooing over how much Matteo has grown. You enjoy the familial atmosphere, everyone fussing over your boy. Matteo basks in the attention.

Charles takes him down to the front of the garage to watch the crews work on the cars. He points out parts of the sleek machines, explaining them seriously to Matteo as if he understands. Matteo just gazes adoringly up at his Papa.

When Charles finally straps into the car for practice, you have ear muffs ready for Matteo’s sensitive ears. Charles blows kisses to you both before pulling on his helmet. Matteo squeals and waves his little fist as the car roars out.

In the hotel that night, you set Matteo on the bed while Charles showers. Stripped down to his diaper, your son kicks his chubby legs excitedly.

Charles emerges in comfy clothes, his hair still damp, and laughs at Matteo’s antics. “Alright, my little race car driver, time for bed.”

He tickles Matteo’s tummy as he puts on a fresh diaper and snaps up his pajamas. Then Charles cradles Matteo close, humming softly as he sways back and forth to soothe him. Your heart clenches at the tender scene.

Once Matteo is deeply asleep, Charles lays him gently in the travel crib. He turns to you with a soft smile. “I can’t imagine life without him now.”

You slip your arms around Charles from behind. “He loves his Papa so much already. Your biggest fan.”

Charles covers your hands with his, gazing at Matteo. “I’m going to win tomorrow for him.”

And he does. On the podium, Charles looks down to where you cradle Matteo in one arm, and gently showers you with champagne. Matteo’s delighted laughter is the sweetest sound.

This is everything you’ve ever wanted.

***

The energetic buzz of the Italian Grand Prix washes over you as you stroll hand-in-hand with Charles, your son cradled safely in his arms. At nearly a year old now, Matteo is fascinated by the vivid colors and cacophony of sounds surrounding him.

Charles playfully bounces Matteo as you weave through the crowded walkways, pointing out the sights and sounds. “Look Matteo, there’s the cars! Vroom vroom!” Charles mimics the roar of an engine. Matteo’s delighted giggle melts your heart. You can’t help but grin, chest swelling with love and pride for your little family.

You’ve just about reached the looming Ferrari motorhome when an absolutely venomous female voice shrieks out, “You!”

Every muscle in your body instantly tenses. You freeze mid-step, heart lurching into your throat. Whipping your head around, you see an immaculately dressed woman barreling directly towards you, her face mottled an ugly shade of rage-induced crimson.

“You disgusting harlot!” The woman spits with unrestrained fury. “You filthy whore!”

Stunned, you instinctively take a faltering step backwards, nearly stumbling. Charles’ strong arm immediately wraps protectively around you and Matteo, steadying you. His body angles partly in front of yours and Matteo’s smaller form, shielding you both on pure instinct.

The deranged woman continues her tirade, advancing until she’s nearly screaming in your face. “Oh, I know exactly who you are, you reprehensible little homewrecker!”

Before you can even begin to formulate a response, a ghost from your past suddenly materializes behind the enraged woman. A man you hoped to never lay eyes on again.

His eyes blow wide at the sight of you, Charles, and the infant cradled against Charles’ chest.

The woman — his wife, you realize with dawning horror — grabs viciously onto his arm, her razor-sharp nails digging in hard enough to leave crescent-shaped gouges. “Just look at her!” She shrieks, spit flying from her mouth. “Parading that little bastard child around like it’s something to be proud of!” She violently thrusts her finger towards Matteo, still safely ensconced in Charles’ embrace.

Your son, sensing the onslaught of hostile energy, immediately begins wailing in distress. You instinctively reach out to take him from Charles, desperate to comfort your frightened boy. But Charles subtly shifts his stance, moving further out of her reach, as he focuses intently on gently bouncing and shushing Matteo in an attempt to calm him.

Matteo’s biological father simply stares, slack-jawed, at the sobbing infant. The gears visibly turn in his head. “Is that ...” he chokes out, “Is he … mine?”

“No.” Charles’ immediate response is biting and unequivocal. He clutches Matteo tighter to his chest. “Matteo is my son.” Though his voice remains steady, you can see a muscle in his jaw ticking from the effort of holding back more heated words.

But Dario clearly does not accept this response. His eyes narrow calculatingly as he continues scrutinizing the wailing baby. Behind him, his unhinged wife keeps up her tirade of slurs and accusations, whipping the gathering crowd into greater frenzy.

You feel lightheaded, paralyzed. This is a living nightmare. Distantly you are aware of camera phones pointed your way, capturing every wretched moment. Charles seems to realize the same, his handsome face darkening with rage.

With frightening efficiency, Charles strides directly over to the nearest paddock security officers and has a brief, terse exchange. Moments later, two bulky guards firmly take hold of the still-screaming woman and shellshocked man, forcefully escorting them away. The crowd reluctantly disperses, murmuring.

Charles immediately returns to envelope you and Matteo in a fiercely protective embrace. “It’s alright now, you’re both safe,” he soothes, though his rapid heartbeat belies his calm words. Matteo’s panicked sobs have faded to tiny hiccups against Charles’ neck.

The rest of the chaotic day passes in a blur. Much later, in the privacy of your hotel room, Charles reveals that he pulled every string and called in every favor necessary to have Dario and his deranged wife permanently blacklisted from all Formula 1 events.

His voice shakes with quiet rage as he describes how close security came to needing to restrain him physically.

Finally he takes your face so very gently in his hands. “I promise you, I will do anything and everything to protect our family. You and Matteo are my entire world. Nothing will ever hurt you as long as I’m breathing.”

Overwhelmed with gratitude, you collapse against his solid chest. Charles’ strong arms anchor you in place as you cling to him. He continues murmuring fervent assurances, pressing kisses to your hair.

Despite the ugliness of the day, you know with utter certainty Charles will shield you and Matteo from the darkness of your past. Your family is still perfection in your eyes.

***

“Papa, I wanna be a race car driver like you when I grow up!”

Your five-year-old son looks up at Charles with big, adoring eyes as he makes this pronouncement over breakfast one morning.

Charles freezes with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. He slowly sets it down, gazing at Matteo with surprise and pride. “You do?”

Matteo bobs his curly head eagerly. “Yeah! I wanna drive fast cars and win like you! Can you teach me?”

Charles melts, ruffling Matteo’s hair. “Of course, buddy. We’ll have to convince your maman first though.” He shoots you a meaningful look.

You shift uncertainly. Of course you want to encourage Matteo’s interests, but motorsport is dangerous ...

Charles seems to sense your hesitation. “Why don’t you think about it, mon amour? No need to decide yet.” He winks at Matteo, who grins in excitement.

Over the next few days, your two boys put on a full court press to sway you. Charles points out safety advances in karting and helps Matteo make adorable PowerPoint slides with photos of your son in race helmets. They both unleash heartbreaking puppy dog eyes.

Finally you cave. “Alright!” You laugh, holding up your hands in surrender. “You can start teaching him the basics.”

Matteo and Charles high-five so hard it makes a cracking sound. “Yesss!” Charles pumps his fists while Matteo dances in glee. Seeing their matching enthusiasm melts away the last of your reluctance. Your little daredevil was born for this.

The next weekend, Charles takes Matteo to a racetrack an hour outside the city. It’s just a small circuit, but Matteo gazes around with wide eyes, gripping Charles’ hand tightly.

Charles shows him the karts and safety gear, patiently explaining how everything works. Then it’s time. Charles helps strap Matteo into a kart made for kids, snugging his helmet gently under the chin.

“Ready, mon petit champion?”

Matteo gives him a thumbs up, practically vibrating with excitement. Charles grins and drops the visor down. “Alright! Let’s do this!”

He gives Matteo a little push to get the kart rolling onto the track. Your son quickly gets the hang of working the gas and brakes. Charles jogs alongside, gesturing and calling out instructions.

Gradually he lets Matteo take full control. Your little boy zips around the course, hair blowing out the back of his helmet. His delighted laughter echoes around the circuit.

Watching from the sidelines, Charles records it all on his phone, face alight with joy and pride. “That’s it Matteo, you’re doing amazing!” He cheers.

This is only the beginning. But seeing the utter bliss on both their faces, you know Matteo has chosen the right path. The Leclerc legacy will live on.

***

“I’m here in the pit lane with Charles Leclerc on the momentous day his son, Matteo Leclerc, makes his highly anticipated debut with Scuderia Ferrari. Charles, you must be incredibly proud right now.”

The Sky Sports reporter holds her mic out to Charles as he stands, beaming, in front of the scarlet Ferrari garage. Charles nods, looking slightly choked up.

“Incredibly proud doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he replies earnestly. “This has been Matteo’s dream since he was just a little boy. To see him achieve it, to be standing here watching him drive for the team I devoted my life to … it’s indescribable.”

Charles pauses, glancing over fondly at where you stand with Matteo, straightening your son’s helmet and race suit.

“His mother and I, we’ve worried and experienced every up and down along the way with him. But Matteo has worked so hard for this, never gave up even when it seemed impossible. He more than deserves today.”

The reporter smiles. “And his last name isn’t the only way he takes after you. Matteo is widely considered your protégé after you mentored him through the junior ranks.”

“I taught him everything I could,” Charles acknowledges. “But his talent and dedication are all his own. Matteo is his own man now. I can’t wait to see how high he continues to climb.”

“Any advice you’ve given him before his first race with Ferrari?”

Charles chuckles. “Just to enjoy every second. This only comes around once.” He looks off into the distance, eyes crinkling nostalgically.

“Still seems like yesterday I was in his shoes for my own Ferrari debut. I’ll never forget that feeling.”

The reporter wraps up the interview and Charles makes his way over to where you and 21-year-old Matteo are embracing. Charles’ eyes shine with unshed tears as he clasps arms with his son.

“I’m so proud of you,” Charles says hoarsely. “Your mother and I both. Now go show the world what you can do.”

Matteo’s answering smile is blinding. “I’ll make you proud, Papa.”

He hugs you tight, then pulls on his helmet and strides confidently to his waiting Ferrari. The mechanics cheer as the car roars to life and Matteo peels out onto the track, on the cusp of achieving his lifelong dream.

You cling to Charles’ side, waving tearfully. “Our little boy,” you whisper in awe.

Charles wraps an arm around you, never taking his eyes off the bright red car. “He’s all grown up. But he’ll always be our son.”

No matter how high Matteo climbs, Charles knows he will always remain his sweet little boy — the bright-eyed child you and Charles raised with love.

His greatest source of pride and joy as the future beckons brightly, another generation of Leclercs carrying the hopes of Ferrari forward.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Chosen || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader (love island au)

Summary: (lil backstory) you and Rafe have been a couple since day one and are pretty closed off but a new bombshell has come and chose Rafe for a date and now it’s time for her to choose who she wants to couple up with.

Warnings: angst

Word count: 2,070

A/n: Inspired by the whole ordeal between rob liv and leah in love island usa lol SECOND PART IS HERE

MASTERLIST (love island au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The villa was buzzing with the usual pre-recoupling jitters, and as you sat at your vanity, carefully applying the final touches of makeup, you heard Rafe’s voice echo down the hallway. “Babe,” he called out, his tone relaxed yet filled with that casual affection you’d grown to love. “Yeah, I’m in here!” you responded, smiling to yourself.

Through the mirror, you caught the familiar image of him entering, his sandy-blonde hair tousled, sun-kissed skin accentuating the sharp angles of his face. Your eyes met in the mirror, and the edges of his mouth softened into a smile that made your heart flutter.

“You okay?” he asked, stepping closer and bending down to press a gentle kiss to your shoulder, lingering just long enough to make you feel like he was truly checking in. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” you chuckled, meeting his eyes in the mirror with a playful glint. He watched your reflection intently, as if trying to read your every expression.

“Just making sure,” he murmured, pulling a chair up beside yours. He settled in, crossing his arms, his gaze steady as he watched you apply the last bit of powder. You raised an eyebrow, feigning a casual tone. “Why? Should I be worried? Is there something you’re not telling me about your date with Kayla?” You smirked, trying to keep it light, but deep down, you were fishing for any reassurance you could get.

His hand found its way to your thigh, his grip warm and reassuring as his thumb brushed soothing circles. “No, of course not,” he said, his tone calm yet firm. “I told you everything, and, honestly, I don’t think she’ll pick me. We don’t have that spark—you and I do, though, yeah?” His eyes held yours, his expression open and genuine.

His gaze was steady, his smile reassuring, and despite the flicker of insecurity, you let out a slow breath, his words sinking in and soothing the lingering doubts in the back of your mind. “Okay,” you said finally, a genuine smile breaking through as he chuckled.

“You’re adorable, you know that?” he said, leaning in to press a series of soft kisses along your bare shoulder making you giggle, a genuine, unrestrained laugh that he seemed to crave as he pulled back, grinning. “What are you wearing tonight?” he asked, scanning the room with an approving gaze as his eyes landed on the green dress you’d laid out on the armchair nearby.

“That one.” You nodded toward the dress, and he hummed, his smile widening in approval. “Good choice. It’s gonna drive the others crazy.” “Glad you think so,” you replied, warmth creeping into your cheeks as you noticed the way he looked at you—like you were the only person who existed.

“Well, I’ll let you get ready,” he said, standing up and moving behind you. Through the mirror, you caught yourself staring. How could you not when Rafe looked so... edible. He met your gaze in the mirror, catching your look, and smirked. “Like what you see, Mrs. Cameron?” he teased, his voice dropping to a playful, almost dangerous tone that made you laugh.

“Very much,” you replied, tilting your head back as he leaned down, catching your lips in a kiss that was both soft and full of promise, a reminder of the bond that the two of you had since day one. But before things could get too heated, you gently placed a hand on his jaw, pushing him back with a giggle.

“Alright, alright, I’m going!” he said, chuckling as he stepped back. Before he could leave, the door opened, and you both turned to see Kayla enter, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Rafe. “Hey,” Rafe greeted her casually, his tone polite but distant. You watched them exchange brief smiles before looking away, busying yourself with your lip gloss as Kayla approached her drawers.

“Hey, Y/n,” she greeted you brightly, her tone friendly as she settled beside you. “Hey,” you replied with a polite smile. “Excited for tonight?” “Oh, definitely!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’m so ready to sleep next to someone again; it’s been way too long.” She giggled, and you chuckled in response, keeping the mood light even as you fought off a pang of unease.

“Do you know who you’re choosing?” you asked, carefully applying your lip gloss as she fiddled with something in her drawer. She nodded confidently, her fingers tapping lightly as she glanced at you with a knowing smile. “Uh-huh. I knew who I was gonna pick the second I walked in here.”

You nodded, hoping your expression didn’t betray the subtle tightening in your chest. It was in these little moments that the villa’s intensity hit, the constant swirl of emotions and unspoken fears. But as you caught a glimpse of your own reflection, you reminded yourself of the quiet confidence in Rafe’s words, of the unspoken bond you’d built.

~

The night air felt thick with tension as everyone gathered around the firepit, the familiar crackling flames casting flickering shadows across the group. You sat beside Rafe, his arm draped casually over your shoulders. The warmth of his touch had been a quiet comfort, his thumb tracing soothing patterns along your skin—a small reassurance that whatever happened tonight, he was there.

But as Kayla’s voice broke through the murmur of anticipation, her words twisted the air around you, each one slicing deeper than the last. "I'm coupling up with this person because, from the moment we started talking, I definitely sensed that we had potential and that there was a spark there that I want to explore," Kayla said, her tone confident and unwavering as her gaze locked on the group.

Your eyes dropped to the flames, heart pounding, silently willing her words to be about someone else. When she finally spoke his name, “The person I want to couple up with is… Rafe,” the world seemed to freeze. Your breath hitched, and a wave of shock washed over you, cold and biting, despite the warmth of the firepit. Around you, a few gasps broke the silence, the girls’ faces mirroring the same surprise that you felt.

Your eyes darted to Kayla, disbelief clouding your expression, and then turned to Rafe, who sat motionless beside you, his face an unreadable mask as he stared blankly at the ground. “Really? Nothing to worry about?” you said, your voice low but sharp, brushing his arm off your shoulder. Anger surged through you, raw and uncontainable. You’d trusted him, taken his reassurances at face value.

And now, every promise felt like it had shattered between you. Rafe’s shoulders slumped slightly as he raked a hand through his hair, a long sigh escaping his lips as he shook his head. “Rafe, you look surprised at Kayla's decision,” the host, Sophie commented , looking at him expectantly. He hesitated, his gaze finally flickering up to meet Kayla’s. “Yeah, uh—I don’t know what to say, really,” he mumbled, the frown deepening across his face.

“I thought I made it clear that I wasn’t really interested,” he shrugged, but his words felt hollow to you, hanging in the tense air between him and Kayla. Kayla’s eyes flashed with indignation, and she crossed her arms, a hint of challenge in her expression. “Wow, yeah—that’s not how I felt during our date,” she said with a pointed look, and you felt a pang of betrayal twist in your stomach as her words settled over you.

The whole night, the small reassurances Rafe had given you, the gestures, the closeness—it all felt tainted. Sophie's voice cuts through, pulling you from the storm of emotions swirling within you. “Well, Kayla, if you could switch places with Y/n… and Y/n, if you could come stand beside me.” Standing, you avoided looking at Rafe or Kayla, the weight of the moment pressing down on you.

You forced yourself to breathe as you stepped away from the firepit, feeling the collective gaze of the group on you. “Y/n, you are now single, which leaves you vulnerable here on Love Island,” Sophie announced. You nodded slowly, your jaw tight as you bit down on your bottom lip, desperately holding back the flood of emotions welling inside you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Rafe looking anywhere but at you, his gaze flickering across the ground as if trying to distance himself from the situation. The sense of betrayal weighed heavily on you, every unspoken word thickening the air between you. As soon as Sophie left, the girls immediately swarmed around you, their arms linking through yours as they ushered you away from the firepit and into the makeup room.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered to Sofia, who gave you a sympathetic squeeze. “Honestly, you deserve so much better than that,” she whispered, her hand rubbing comforting circles on your back.

~

Rafe’s voice was soft but strained as he appeared behind you, his presence looming uncertainly. “Can we please talk?” His tone was laced with a vulnerability you weren’t used to seeing in him. His gaze drifted to your face, catching the redness around your eyes, the remnants of tears. You sighed, dabbing away the traces of mascara that had smudged beneath your eyes.

“I don’t think there’s much to talk about, Rafe.” You shrugged, brushing him off as you tried to compose yourself. “Y/n, please,” he insisted, the desperation in his voice tugging at the edges of your anger. “I swear to god, I was making it crystal clear that I wasn’t interested. I told her, over and over, that I was in a happy situation with you.”

You felt the flicker of an ache under your ribs, a small crack in the wall you’d put up. “Then why, Rafe?” Your voice rose, bitterness spilling over. “Why did she pick you? She wouldn’t have done that out of the blue if she didn’t think there was something real, something genuine, between you two.” Your words struck him, and he took a small step back, almost flinching.

He opened his mouth as if to argue but stopped, as if suddenly unsure. “I don’t know why she chose me,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “But you have to believe me, Y/n. None of this meant anything to me—she doesn’t mean anything to me.” He looked at you, and for a split second, you caught something raw, almost pleading, in his expression.

But the anger and the hurt still clouded your heart. You shook your head, exhaustion coating your words. “I’m just… I’m really tired, Rafe. I just want to go to bed.” You didn’t meet his eyes, the weight of the evening pressing down on you. He paused, the silence stretching painfully between you both. “Right. Good night, then,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a sadness that lingered in the air as he turned and left.

By the time you walked into the bedroom, Sofia was already there, her arms opening for you without a word. You melted into her embrace, the comfort of her support soothing your frazzled nerves. “You’ll be okay,” she whispered, squeezing you tightly before you finally pulled away, giving her a small, grateful smile.

As you made your way to your bed, your gaze involuntarily flickered to Kayla’s. She lay there, already settled in, Rafe’s pillow on the other side, and it made your stomach churn. You slipped into bed, laying in the center, feeling an aching emptiness beside you. Rafe should have been there. His warmth, his steady breathing as you fell asleep, had been a constant.

Then, as if on cue Rafe walked into the room. His eyes skimmed over you for a second before he headed toward Kayla’s bed. The air was thick with unspoken words, unacknowledged feelings, and for a moment, you wanted to reach out, to say something, but you held back, the bitterness fresh in your chest. Rafe leaned over, whispering something to Kayla, though you couldn’t make out the words.

Then, without warning, he grabbed his pillow, stepping away from her bed and heading out of the room. You caught Sofia’s gaze across the dimly lit space, her knowing look meeting your own. She offered a small smile of understanding, and you returned it faintly before letting your eyes drift shut, hoping sleep would bring a break from all the emotions.

next

[mintmatcha]

Continuation.

Bakugo Katsuki swore that he would die before he let you have Izuku's number.

And yet, somehow, the three of you have ended up together for drinks.

He thinks it's a fair compromise; Izuku can ask his million questions, Bakugo can kill the rumors that the two of you are together, you can-

He's not sure what your goal is, but he can see it shining in your eyes.

Izuku is still in his teaching clothes, a pristine button up rolled up to the elbows and a pressed pair of pants. There's an extra shine and coil to his curly hair, and it smells like sandalwood; he put effort into his appearance and Bakugo knows it isn't for him.

Your words echo in the back of his mind: people always want what they can't have.

"You worked for the commission? As a hero?" Izuku asks you.

You never give direct answers- just these convenient truths delivered with a pretty smile.

"I'm retired."

Lipstick clings to the rim of your drink. It makes your lips looks soft and round, even when you run your tongue across your teeth.

"Retired?" Izuku asks. "Wow, I'm kind of jealous."

"She's my social media manager." Bakugo cuts in. "And a tiktok person."

Not his girlfriend, he wants to add, but he refrains.

"Kacchan says you have a cool quirk." Izuku talks without pause, rambling mostly to himself in that way Katsuku has taught himself to find endearing. His attention never wanes away from you, but you don't blush or squirm. You sit and endure with that damn smile on your face. "What is it called? How does it work? I tried to Google it, but nothing comes up. You are so young to be retired, I just-"

You lean forward and place a hand on Izuku's upper thigh, cutting him off midsentence.

"You have very beautiful eyes," you say, slow, stepping gently over every word. "Wide, wet: like a rabbit's."

Izuku snaps silent. Each one of your nails taps against his thigh, one by one. Bakugo watches how your thumb swipes side to side, how your lips part with your exhale, how your smile creeps up all on its own as you lean even closer-

"You twitch like one too."

"Oh, wow, uh-" Izuku stutters, his whole face flushing a dark pink, so strong it eats his freckles. Finally, someone else understands your goddammit issues. Bakugo swallows down the strange feeling in his chest with the last dregs of his beer.

"I'm going to get a drink, I think." Izuku stands, pulling away from your touch.

"Grab me a beer?" Katsuki shakes his empty can. Izuku nods, then looks at you.

"Soda water with lime."

"No alcohol?"

"I like to keep my wits about me."

The man nods, then practically scurries off to the bar. You huff, content, like a dog that's bought it's master their hunt.

"You scared the fuck outta him."

"He liked it." You pick a piece of lint off of your skirt. "They always do. Watch: he'll come back and sit even closer to me."

Bakugo throws himself back into his seat, arms crossed. "You're so damn cocky."

"Look who's talking, Kacchan." You tilt your head, pouting your lips with fake sincerity. "I can call you that, right? As your girlfriend?"

He sinks even lower in his chair. "You aren't my girlfriend."

"I could be." You mimic him. You lean back and let your knees spread just a bit, just enough that he could see what under if he tried- "The sex would be phenomenal."

That hits him like a shot. It's not that he wants to have sex with you, but he can't deny that the thought crosses his mind every now and again. He thinks about it when he's alone, when the bed feels too big, when he's-

"You don't fucking know that!" He's too angry already, especially compared to your nonplussed response.

"I do.'

"You don't even fucking know me." He points a finger back at you. "And I don't know anything about you."

"It's better if you don't know."

Bakugo sneers. Another nonanswer. He looks back towards Izuku, who's locked in conversation with the bartender. Why would you even bother with him? Someone like you would rip through him like tissue paper. You're right- he is a rabbit, and you're a dog, waiting with your sharp teeth to-

A hand cups his ear. Bakugo watches as you lean in over the table, bringing your lips to his ear.

"I grew up in the commission. One of their little project kids," you whisper. Sometimes, your lips make contact with cartilage and his skin sparks with heat. "I did things for them. Bad things. Illegal things."

"You kill people?" he whispers back.

"You know the answer to that." With every word, you creep closer, until your hands are on his thighs now. "They forced me to retire when Hawks took over. No more need for girls with bloody hands."

It's the truth. Your voice is painfully sincere for once, a strange change from your usual composed self. You're just giving him what he wants, but it's working. It's working. He almost puts his hand around your waist.

If Izuku is a rabbit, he's a fox, and you've lured him out of his fucking burrow. At this point, he'd welcome your teeth in his neck.

"What else should I tell you? My favorite color's red, I love the beach. You're not allowed to pull my hair, I never sleep over after sex," you continue. "I have a scar on my chest. So, you're not surprised when you see it later."

"Stop assuming that I'm going to fuck you."

"Oh, you're going to." You slink back over to your seat. Hands folded over your lap- a snake ready to strike. "I'm going to flirt with Izuku until you break-"

You turn your attention away from him, waving towards the approaching Izuku. "And then you're gonna fuck my brains out, Kacchan."

There's no time to respond before Izuku teeters back, blaming three drinks with a little difficulty. He hands then out, then sits back down-

So close to you that his thigh brushes yours.

"Thank you, little rabbit," you tease, eyes flicking back to Bakugo with a knowing, smug smile.

Fuck, Bakugo thinks. Fuck.

[supernatural-bias]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: billy butcher, hughie campbell, frenchie, mothers milk, kimiko, and soldier boy

↳ warnings: canon type violence and happenstances. hinted to take place during season three at some points.

↳ notes: sorry butcher is in here so much. he's the kind of guy that can't shut the fuck up, so i feel like he's always getting in everyone business no matter what

↳ song: rock me like a hurricane—scorpions

masterlist | commissions | carrd

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

• He has mixed feelings about you

• On one hand, you’re a great team player. Always making sure the job gets done, willing to put yourself on the line for the team, one of the most willing to kill a supe in a snap—second only to him—and always managing to make shit up on the fly whenever something inevitably goes wrong on a mission. Butcher has seen you fend off an entire team of armed Vought men before with nothing but a well timed lie and piece of pipe. That’s not something to scoff at, even if he does anyways

• But on the other hand, he has a feeling that you were just as much as an annoying shit as he acted sometimes

• “Sorry to say this guys—“ You said one night through the food in your mouth as Chinese takeout sat on a dirty table in front of you, curtesy of M.M and his pocketbook, “—but I think I’d betray you all for a fortune cookie. I’d betray my country for a fortune cookie.”

• "You say that like we ain’t already betrayin’ the cunts, sunshine.” Butcher eyed you from across the room as you nicked Frenchies own cookie from him while he was staring off at Kimiko for the tenth time that night

• “Too right, Butch.” You grinned like a shark at your idiotic nickname for him, and he ignored you as you did so; like he always did

• He definitely appreciates your enthusiasm behind his plans. Unlike Hughie or M.M, who despite working in the business of taking down supes seem to be hesitant about doing too much shit, you don’t seem to have a very strong moral code. That’s not necessarily a good thing in anyone’s eyes except for Butcher’s, who knows that he can always count on you to have his back in whatever situation he manages to squeeze himself into

• “Thanks for comin’.” He grunted at you while vomiting into a toilet, green bile spewing from his mouth. Butcher’s eyes burned with the urge to let out a laser beam, and he did so for a moment, splitting the porcelain throne we was leaning over in two

• “Want me to hold your hair back for you, honey?” You didn’t even miss a beat to start making fun of his situation, which made Butcher growl at you even from his current position. Despite your sarcastic demeanor in the moment, and the way he had just scorched an unexpected hole through the shitty bathroom, Butcher knew you’d help, no questions asked. And that’s exactly what you did, grabbing whatever he asked you to as he gave you a run down on the latest solo mission he had been attempting to get by with on his own

• “Jesus, poor Gunpowder huh?” You mused as you crossed your arms and leaned on the sink above him. For a moment Butcher thought you were granting the dead supe a bit of sympathy before he saw the glint in your eyes. “If the last thing I saw before I kicked it was your mug, I’d probably wanna get it over with yeah?”

• “Do me a favor. Go grab the toaster in the other room an’ take a nice bath with it, would ya?”

• “You first, Butcher.”

𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥

• The two of you are like peas in a pod. Two very weird, very cautious peas in a pod

• Even if Butcher is beside himself with annoyance at having another, as he put it, “soft cunt with a morality complex,” join the team, Hughie couldn’t be happier that someone seems to share his values on supes, on Vought; on the world, really

• In the first season or so, the two of you would probably spend a lot of time in between working with everyone else in the field to come up with a way to take Vought down the right way. Eventually,as we all know, that later falls apart, but it exhilarates Hughie to know that there’s people out there like him that want to try and put in the effort for things like that

• “Yeah, so if we can get one more witness about the Termite incident to come forward and testify—“ You bit your pen between your teeth and nodded as Hughie waved his hands over a stack of papers and talked at a million miles an hour, somehow understanding each and every word.

• “—then we could finally take a supe down legally. And that would make way for a whole round of others; Hughie you’re a genius.” You finished his sentence for him, slapping a hand down on the table with a grin as Hughie smiled. Somewhere in the distance someone snorted wryly, no doubt having heard the entire conversation. You had no doubt it was Butcher, but that didn’t matter to the either of you with how happy you were at the revelation. No matter how temporary it would turn out to be

• Hughie finds himself trusting you quite a bit. He can get attached pretty easily, so he finds himself willing to do anything to back you up—within reason of course. He still has some semblance of sanity left

• Listens to Billy Joel with you! Doesn’t matter if you all are coming back from a mission covered in blood—once it was whale guts—he will stick one earbud in and leave the other out for you as he presses play on a mix. More than once the others have found both of you passed out and snoring as the faint sound of Billy Joel plays through the headphones

• “Think we should wake them up, mon amie?” Frenchie tilts his head as he looks down on the both of you. Hughie chest rises and falls with a softness he couldn’t afford on the regular. You were positioned far away from him to have your back to him, somehow keeping your end of the earbud in as you drooled

• “Nah, let em sleep. God knows they need it.” M.M shook his head with crossed arms, the sight reminding him of better times

• “Oi! Stop ogling at the knackered sods and come help me with this, would ya?”

• “Fuck you, Butcher.” M.M said with a sigh, leaving the room to go and help anyway

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞

• He fucks with you so hard

• I mean, come on, someone that’s as excited about making bombs as he is? Someone that is willing to understand French? To shit talk everyone else to their face—especially Butcher?? He might have to marry you on the spot

• Please learn French. He will literally beg you to start. Conjugates, vocabulary, even a simple ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. Anything at all. Will absolutely not judge you for your horrific accent or pronunciation if you have any

• Bomb lessons on the side, too. If you already know the basics, or are a pro, it’ll be a lot more breezy, but he’s willing to start from scratch. It’ll be nice to have a partner to help him with his creations on the team for once, and even better since he likes you

• The two of you, and Kimiko obviously, are practically joined at the hip. What I said about the shit talking earlier was real, too. All of you use different languages or sign to voice whatever you’re thinking. It’s nice to be able to speak your mind freely, and there’s the added bonus of not having M.M give you that sharp look of his, or Butcher calling you names. Anymore than usual, that is

• “What do you reckon the three of ‘em are always on about?” Butcher took a swig from his drink. He was sitting next to Hughie with a beer on one of their down days as the younger man typed away on a computer. He was watching you Frenchie and Kimiko from across the room as you all signed at each other with giant smiles on your face. Frenchie would speak occasionally, but all that came out was his mother tongue, and your face would pause for a moment as you let your brain process what he was saying. Then all of you would break out into another round of grins, something that Butcher had to deadpan at

• “Probably planning a coup.” Hughie answered Butcher without even looking up from his screen. He knew who he was talking about anyways. It wasn’t hard to guess thanks, to the occasional loud exclamation from Frenchie as you signed something particularly risqué or funny

• Butcher flitted his eyes away in annoyance from you all after he recognized the word ‘cunt’ in the passing conversation, along with a sign that was clearly supposed to represent him

• “I think at this poin’ I’d prefer tha’.” He grumbled into his cup, and all of you laughed

• “Cheer up, Butcher. At least Frenchie isn’t teaching them how to make homemade cherry bombs again.”

• “Shut up.”

𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐤

• Finally. Someone other than him can be the voice of reason in the group

• It’s tiring being the one to hold everyone together all of the time. It might help if Butcher wasn’t so much of an ass, or if Hughie didn’t feel the need to derail every plan with thoughts of his own, but M.M knew that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. So he’d take any help he could get with reigning everyone in

• Definitely bonds with you over your shared habit of wearing band t-shirts to meetups or hideouts. I’d like to imagine that at one point the both of you show up wearing the exact same one, and it goes exactly how one would expect

• “Same shirt.” M.M notices one morning, pointing at your torso with the initials N.W.A written over it. He’s smiling, and so are you as what he’s wearing in turn dawns on you

• “Same shirt!! Hell yeah.”

• Fist bumps. Fist bumps galore, man. The two of you fist bump a lot. To punctuate sentences, drive a point home, agree on stuff—anything. It’s your own way of communicating with each other without having to bat an eye

• It’ll take M.M a while, but eventually he’ll start to really open up about missing his family to you. Beyond just showing you pictures of his daughter at soccer practice, I mean. If he trusts you enough to have his back in a shoot out, then he trusts you with this

• At one point, it goes farther than his (regrettably ex) wife and daughter, and eventually branches out into what he’s willing to tell about his dad and brothers. You feel like you know all of them by the time he’s done, and that only makes the typewriter story hit harder when he finally decides to reveal it

• Let’s just say you were pretty willing to jump Soldier Boy on M.M’s half the first time you were left in a room with them

• “Just one swing I swear—“

• “He will literally beat you into a pulp.” M.M deadpanned, doing his best to avoid looking at the other imposing figure in the room as he clasped two hands on either of your shoulders

• “Listen to your friend, sweetheart. Would hate to have to scrub my hands clean of any of your blood. Getting under the fingernails is always hard.”

• “See what I mean, just one punch that’s all—“

• “No.”

𝐊𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐨

• It’s honestly great for her to be able to hang around someone that feels the same way that she does. Maybe it’s how silent you are that really draws her attention at first, but Kimiko really grows to appreciate you as a member of the team

• Probably gets a lot of joy from having a friend like you. She constantly asks to do things like have you watch movies with her or to do ‘sleepovers,’ which are really just the two of you crashing on the main room couch together

• She never got a chance at a normal childhood or friends, so you and Frenchie are the closest she gets to a peace of mind

• Not even a question about it, she’s making you learn her sign language

• Will stare at you for days on end, saying nothing but everything at the same time until you agree to learn. Once you do, it’s all over. She gets the biggest most happiest look anyone ever seen, and there’s no turning back from that

• “Kimiko, what are you doing. It’s two in the morning.” You groan at her from under the thin covers of your bed, doing your best to ignore her hands as they fly about. It’s the childish equivalent of ‘if I can’t see you, you can’t see me’

• ‘No time to sleep. We have to go over stuff before the mission tomorrow. It will help us communicate.’ She was unnerved by your lack of enthusiasm. If anything it only spurred her on more, shaking your bed and pulling at your covers as you groaned. Even with the progress you had been making with signing over the past few weeks, your knowledge was still a bit shaky, and being half asleep didn’t help, so you only caught a few words. Enough to know what she wanted, however

• “Go away, Kimiko.” You whined. The shaking stopped, and for a moment you thought your request had worked. You were more than happy to fall back into whatever dream you had been having beforehand

• Then you heard the rushing of feet and a large weight slammed onto your legs

• “Goddamnit!—“

• Frenchie found the both of you the next morning; Kimiko looking bright eyed and bushy-tailed while you were practically falling asleep from where you sat. It was a teasing point for you over the next two weeks

• Between you, there’s moments like that where, despite Kimiko’s silence and your habit to keep your thoughts to yourself, nothing ever goes unseen or unsaid. The two of you know each other like the back of your hands, and sometimes you wonder if you’d even need her sign to communicate

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐲

• If the saying ‘this town ain't big enough for the both of us’ could apply here, it absolutely would

• It’s almost ironic how bad Soldier Boy handles another version of himself. You’ve got just as much snark and anger as him, and it pisses him the hell off. Constantly.

• Maybe it’s because you didn’t fan boy over him as soon as he flashed a few cheesy lines that keeps his disdain for you boiling, or that you didn’t keep your distance when he threatened to eradicate your entire bloodline if you didn’t stop running your mouth at him

• “Need help with that?” He cocks a brow at you one day, watching with poorly hidden annoyance as you struggle to tie a knot in your shoes for the fifth time in a minute. The offer isn’t serious, and even if it was, he has no doubt you wouldn’t hesitate to kick him in the face if he bent down to tie your shoe for you

• “Need help taking my dick down your throat?” You parroted back at him while raising your voice in a false-happy tone. Finally you get the shoestrings to cooperate, completely missing the way Soldier Boy glows in a harsh warning at your attitude

• “Ladies, ladies, you’re both pretty.” Butcher calls from the room over, no doubt tired of the bickering between the two of you that had been nonstop for the past few days. “Let’s get a move on before one of you decides to claw the others bloody eyes out, yeah?”

• The fact that you’re not even a supe just ticks him off more. Only a few people have ever pushed his buttons like this, most of them being supes, and they always ended up being nothing but red paste in the next few minutes

• You make sure to point it out to him several times that you’re just acting like he always does, making sure to don a shit eating grin when he clenches his fist at your comment

• Please for the love of everything that’s holy tone it the fuck down. Some people may say that Soldier Boy has no self-control, but it sure is taking a whole lot of it not to kick you in the crotch as hard as possible

• “The feelings mutual.” You deadpan at him when he eventually shares that fantasy out loud. He knew full well that if you even so much as tried that, you’d end up with a broken ankle and your front pinned to the closest brick wall, but he had no doubts that you would go for it anyway

• Seriously. How has he not murdered you in your sleep yet

[satoruan]

ONE LAST TIME — GETO SUGURU & GOJO SATORU

✧ ˒ — you’ve been invited to your old fuck buddy's wedding and the best man feels that the three of you have unfinished business.  

( TW ) Fem!reader. explicit content. porn with some feelings (not rlly but also rlly). reader is a slut. cheating. mentions of reader sleeping with other people. MFM. spit roasting. blow job. P -> V. unprotected sex. cream pie. face riding. fingering. squirting.  

word count - > 2.2k  

author note. the last time I’ll re upload this fic 😔 tumblr hates it for some reason!!

Satoru had been sending you winks and sly smirks throughout the night. He finally has the balls to text during the middle of the feast.  

Satoru: Enjoying the wedding?

you: Yep! Best wedding I’ve been to.

Satoru: So, you aren’t the slightest bit jealous?

you: Jealous? And why would I be? The only one jealous here is you because ‘Sugu is getting married before you’.

Satoru: Pchss I don’t want to be held down and forced to fuck one person for the rest of my life, wouldn’t you agree y/n?

you: Shut up, that was so long ago, you’re the only one who remembers or cares about that.

Satoru: I doubt that.

you: Doubt all you want Toru. Suguru and I are over It so let go. It’s been years.

Satoru: So, if I told you ‘Sugu invited you because he wanted one last night with you?

you: Shut up Toru, he’s married.

You cross your legs and look up, automatically spotting Satoru sitting at one of the tables up front, absorbed in his phone. You quickly look away and scan the room, where you find Geto. Your face heats up as you notice him staring at you intently, clearly ignoring his wife, who is trying to get his attention. Feeling flustered, you hurriedly lower your gaze back to your phone.

Satoru: I’m not lying! He even told me at his bachelor party that he misses the old days...

The old days when you spent your college years filled with their cum. You had a cock stuffed inside of you almost every day. The boys weren’t always available, so you had to get creative.   

Satoru: Meet me in the bathroom?’

you: Nope, I told you I’ve changed.

Satoru: Stop lying y/n.

you: I’m not!

Satoru: Then what were you doing with Nanami and his friends?  

You choke on your spit, how did he—you were going to kill Nanami the next time you saw him. You didn’t think anyone else had seen you leave the office that night. Fuck. Fuck. You were absolutely going to kill him. You glance back up and make eye contact with Satoru, who tilts his head and licks his lips. His white hair falls into his face. He looks so utterly fuckable.   

Satoru: You want me to beg? Tell you how much I missed your tight pussy and pouty lips?

‘Keep talking…’ You text. Fuck it. You missed Satoru too, it’s been years, and it wasn’t as if you parted on bad terms—you wouldn’t mind fucking him one more time. One last time, as a goodbye.  

Satoru: Miss your cute little moans and your tight ass and how your pretty little hands looked wrapped around my cock. I miss the cuddles after it. I miss everything, pretty girl.

you: One more time Satoru. This is the last time! 

Satoru: meet me at the family bathroom in 5 ;) 

—  

“Fuckin’ missed you.” Satoru groans into your mouth, throwing you onto the counter. You wrap your legs around his wide hips as he grabs your hair. “Toru, don’t fucking mess up my hair, what do you think they’ll say when I come out with a bird’s nest instead of my fancy wedding hair.”  

“Sorry, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your lips, moving his hands to your waist. You pull him closer to you. The familiarity of his hands and mouth on you makes you melt.

Satoru breaks away and sinks to his knees. He pushes your sheer lilac dress up above your ass and rolls his eyes back into his head.  

“Missed this pussy.” He inhales. Thumbing your clit above your white lace panties. You grab onto his hair and moan.   

“Toru—”  

“Shh—let me show you how much I’ve missed this pussy sweet girl,” He leans in to lick your damp panties. “Show me.”  

Desperate for an orgasm you obey, sliding the flimsy lace to the side and parting your slick pussy with two fingers. Satoru leans in immediately to lick you entirely.   

“Satoru!” You cry, the grip his hair tightening as he eats you like a starved man. You fall back onto the mirror and hump his face as he sucks your clit.  

“Gonna cum Toru! Don’t stop, please, please, don’t stop!” You slur, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he stuffs three thick fingers into your achy cunt. He curls them to hit your g-spot, the spot that he discovered existed long ago.   

“M’cumming!” You moan removing your hand from your pussy to grip the edges of the counter. Your pussy convulses around Satoru's fingers.  

“Not gonna stop ‘till you squirt for me,” He mumbles against your clit. “You can do it—good girl.” He goes back to sucking your clit. It doesn’t take long until you're squirting all over his face. Eyes squeezed shut and ears ringing, you don’t notice that someone walks into the large restroom because the man between your legs never locked the door.  

“Was I not invited to the party?” Suguru shoots the two of you.   

You pull yourself up, your legs swinging around Satoru's head.

“Sugu!” You squeak.  

Satoru tries to say something, but he’s trapped between your thighs.

“No, Sugu, we were just getting started. Isn’t that right, pretty?” He coughs, standing up with a soaked shirt and a glistening face. He grins at his Suguru.

He pulls his gaze away from his best friends and looks at you. You're staring at him with wide eyes, your legs tightly closed as if he’s never seen what’s between them before. He steps closer to you. “Is that right, y/n?” You suck in a breath and nod.

“Y-yes.”   

“Then why are you hiding that slutty pussy from me.”   

“You’re a taken man now ‘Sugu–”   

“And that's gonna stop you?”  

“Why don’t you go fuck your wife?” You snap, crossing your arms over your chest and returning your attention to Satoru. “Are we gonna finish this or what?”   

“Don’t look away from me, y/n,” Suguru says, crossing the space between you and grasping your chin. “She’s nothing like you—too traditional and stuck up. She doesn’t hold a candle to you.”  

“Yeah?” You blink up at him through wet lashes, your heart fluttering. You uncross your legs and slowly lift them to Suguru's thick hips.

“Nothing—no one compares,” he says as he draws your face closer to his.

“Do you promise?” you whisper shyly, your lips brushing against his.

“Promise,” he teases before catching your swollen lips. Your back arches, legs clinging to his suit-clad waist. His lips taste like watermelon-scented Chapstick—it must be his wife's. You bite his bottom lip and giggle at the thought.

“How long you got before your wifey comes lookin’ for you?” Satoru asks.  

“Not long, about ten minutes at most.” Suguru rolls his eyes, catching your lips again.   

“You gonna take me in the mouth and let ‘Sugu fuck your cunt, angel? Think you can get us off in ten minutes?”   

“Sith time to spare.” You smirk up at Satoru who smiles and starts to unbuckle his pants. His heavy cock jumps out, tip leaking precum.  

“Come here then, sweetheart.” Suguru pulls you off the counter and flips you towards Satoru. He pushes you down until you are folded at the waist. You grab onto Satoru’s thick thighs, his cock jumping on the side on your face. You look up at him and smile before turning slightly to peck his shaft.  

“Stop teasing—be a good girl and put it in your mouth before I mess up your ‘fancy weddin’ hair.’” He teases. You glare up at him—about tell him off, but as soon as you open your mouth Suguru shoves his thick cock into your wet pussy. You scream.  

“Shut her up ‘Toru!” Suguru spits out between groans. You clench so tight around him he tries not to cum prematurely.   

You move to take Satoru’s cock before he has a chance to fuck up your hair any more than he already has. His cock hits the back of your throat, and you thank the gods above you don’t have a gag reflex. You start to bob your head down his stiff cock, careful not to nick him with your teeth.  

Suguru starts to thrust in and out, hands gripping your hips so tight you know your hips will be bruised for the next week.  

“So fuckin’ tight,” Suguru grunts throwing his head back. “Tightest cunt I‘ve ever fucked.”  

You moan around Satoru’s cock.   “Missed this warm mouth.” Satoru moans, thrusting his hips into your face. Suguru follows his lead.

“You miss havin’ two cocks in you, oh wait, you still get fucked like this weekly by—fuck—by Nanami’s entire office floor.” Mouth full of cock, you don’t even attempt to defend yourself, it’s true anyways.  

“We’re still you're favorites or did you forget about us after college, hm? So many cocks you forgot about the first two.” Suguru slams you down the entire length of his cock, so hard Satoru’s cock falls out your mouth. Satoru grips your jaw, ignoring the spit and precum that falls onto his hands.  

“Is that true pretty, you forgot about the men who taught you how to take cock?”  

“N-no,” you moan out, Suguru's cock filling you up so good you hardly remember how to breath.   

“Never f-forget you guys, never ever.” You promise.  

“Then prove it, suck my cock just how I taught you.”

You shudder in pleasure before shamelessly grabbing ‘Toru’s cock and shoving it back in your mouth, determined to get him off. You bounce your head up and down his shaft, licking and sucking the tip, just like he taught you.   

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum.” ‘Toru grits out, forgoing the rule about touching your hair. He holds your head to his pelvis thrusting into your mouth so hard you start to get lightheaded, pair that with Suguru's thick cock pushing against your pelvis, and you’re surprised you haven't passed out.  

“M’cummin, f-fuck m’ gonna cum” Satoru groans shooting thick ropes into your throat. You swallow down every sip, eyes rolling to the back of your head when Suguru’s thrusts turn sloppy.

“C-Cum in my pussy ‘Sugu!” You cry against Satoru’s softening cock.  

“What was that Sweetheart?” Suguru pulls you put by the scruff of your neck. “What did you say?”  

“S-said cum in me, please!” You cry, your hands reaching for the hand around your neck.  

“M’gonna cum deep inside in you Sweetheart, gonna cum so deep you’ll e scooping it out for days,” Your pussy clenches at the thought. “You wan’ that, hm? You want my cum?”   

“Please, please, please!” You beg.  

“Take it then—” He slams into your ass, cumming deep inside your pussy causing you to orgasm at the feeling of being filled to the brim.  

“Fuck that felt amazing.” Suguru mumbles into your now fucked up hair. At that thought you open your eyes and glare at Satoru.  

“What?” He questions, stuffing himself back into his pants.  

“You messed up my hair.” You grumble. Suguru laughs behind you, gently slipping his now soft cock out of you. You clench your cum-filled pussy while Suguru situates your thong back in place, he pats your pussy. You’re suddenly hit with a pang of nostalgia and the old routine. Memories of the three of you coming to the forefront of your mind. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this. Somedays all you think about is how you wish you could just go back to the days when you fucked the boys like a bunny in heat. The days when you laid on Suguru’s chest after long days and thought about what your life would be like if you settled down with him. You’d give anything to go back.  

“Suguru, you in here?”  

“Shit!”  

—  

“Is she okay?” Suguru’s wife frowns, looking at you slumped over the toilet.  

“She's just drunk, she always acts like this around alcohol and can't help herself when it comes to taking as many shots as she can get her hands on.” Satoru smirks, and you roll your eyes beneath your arm

“Why’s your shirt wet?”   

“She let loose and threw up all over me, had to get creative.”   

“C'mon babe, let's get back to the party, Satoru will help clean her up.” Suguru puts his hand on his wife’s back gently guiding her out of the restroom.  

“Okay, be quick Satoru, we're about to do another round of speeches, the crowd loves you.”