#never have i ever properly drawn a car

[paimt]

#1 car to avoid on the freeway

[ddejavvu]

Reader commenting on Spencer’s hands being cold, and he starts excitedly rambling about the best ways to heat them up, like putting them under armpits. Only to get completely thrown back when she stuffs his hands in her under boob to keep them nice and warm and strong :) <3

Your eyes are drawn to Spencer's hands when he starts curling them into fists, rapidly clenching and unclenching them in the chilly Chicago air. You're sitting cross-legged on the stoop of a witness's home, waiting for JJ to return from questioning her. She'd been uneasy with such a heavy government presence in her home, and you don't blame her for it, so you'd elected to stay outside with Reid.

"Cold, Spence?" You ask, and he nods sheepishly, his curls flying.

"I'm trying to get circulation back to my fingers," He explains, shaking his hands out for a brief second before curling them again, "Moving your fingers gets your blood flowing, but there's only so warm I can get in 30-degree weather."

You smile sympathetically at him, watching as his nails dig into his palms once more with a curl of his fingers, "Maybe we can bribe JJ to get us coffee on the way back to the precinct."

"They never give me the sugar I ask for," Spencer laments, shaking out his fingers once more, "I think they think I'm trying to steal their supply, but I really just like having eight packets in one cup."

The snort that you let out releases a puff of visible breath into the cold morning air. As it dissipates Spencer tries breathing into his hands, but his skin is still pale, nail beds dangerously close to turning purple, and you sigh resignedly.

"Come here, Spence," You hold your hands out, and he looks curiously up at you. His head tilts just barely to the side, and you're reminded of a confused puppy.

"Give me your hands," You urge, emphasizing the way that you're holding yours out. He does so without question, but you can tell that you've certainly improved circulation to his face, because his cheeks are blazing hot with a rosy blush when he obeys.

"Body heat really helps," You promise, unzipping the fabric of your FBI windbreaker. You hold both of Spencer's hands in your free hand now, but when your jacket is properly unzipped you lead his hands straight to your torso. They're posed on your ribcage, and Spencer stills, watching the way that they touch you with wide eyes.

"Under- there," You slip his hands up an inch, letting them slip into the space beneath your bra, your skin flushed with natural heat that soaks into Spencer's veins like sunlight to a wilting plant. Contrary to the body heat now flooding his limbs he's frozen, eyes wide and jaw slack as you stuff his hands beneath your chest.

"That better?" You ask, shimmying slightly in place and jostling his hands. Your bra slips further over the backs of his hands and only makes them warmer, enveloping him in even more of your body heat. He gulps, you actually see his throat bob, and nods silently, still leaned forwards to take in more of your warmth.

"Thanks," He breathes, trying very hard, and failing very miserably, to pretend like he's not about to combust.

You're almost certain that his hands are barely thawed at all when JJ steps abruptly out of the front doors of the building, and her boots skid to a stop in front of you and Spencer. You glance up at her with a warm smile, but Spencer yanks his hands away, wringing them out in his lap with wide eyes.

"Uh, she was- we were just... my hands-" Spencer babbles, and the more he struggles, the more her smirk grows over her face.

"His hands were cold," You explain, reaching out to grab them once more and squeezing the barely-tepid skin, "Let's hurry and get into the car, we can turn the heat on full blast."

You've seen Spencer exhibit a mild jog while chasing unsubs, his gun held at his side like it's a bag of bricks, but he skitters to the SUV faster than you've ever seen him move, leaving you and JJ behind on the steps of the apartment building.

"So, did he put his hands there, or did you?" JJ asks, and you don't need to see her face; you know from the mirth in her voice that she's still smirking as you stand up.

"I did," You grunt, trying very hard, and failing very miserably, to pretend like you're not about to combust, "He was shivering, JJ. What was I supposed to do, let him freeze to death?"

"No, no," She raises her hands in a gesture of surrender but her voice still contains that sadistic amusement, "You're right. A word of advice, though: next time, stick his hands between your thighs. It's a lot warmer down there."

[probably-writing-x]

All The Firsts

Summary: Heyyyy! So, could you write something about the reader being in her first relationship with spider (hbh) and her being worried about how she’s new at this? Or just something fluff about spider? Idk if this makes sense

Warnings: Mentions of sex / sexual acts, mentions of low self esteem / self depreciating thoughts, cursing

Word Count: 6.5k

Author’s Note: Okay I loved writing this so much I’m sorry it ended up so long !! But plz let me know if you want a part 2 because I’ve got SO many ideas about reader navigating relationships etc. !!!!

Spider had a reputation. It was practically notorious. He was one of the Hartley boys that you were certain would never settle down. He made crude comments and bitter insults and there was no way he’d ever want a relationship. In fact, you were certain he’d never been with the same girl more than twice. That was just a rumour though. He’d spoken to girls for months, did all of that relationship stuff with them without it being a full relationship. Then he’d dated Missy. And that lasted a good few months, he even held her hand around school. He introduced her as his girlfriend, he cancelled plans to be with her. It was a proper relationship. But it ended after those few months. You were told that she ended it, but then Ant told you Spider had ended it, and Spider told you it was mutual. You didn’t ask again.

You and Spencer had been friends since the two of you were kids. Maybe friends was a stretch. You know that kid you’re just friends with because your Mums were inseparable? That kid you only saw because you could see his bedroom window from your own? He’d lived next to you since you’d been born and so you’d spent your baby years sharing baths and crawling around on the same baby mats, and then your toddler years stumbling around in the yard, learning to swim in the lake, learning to ride your bikes on the same street. Once you were both old enough to make your own decisions, that friendship had shifted. You two went into school together, but you didn’t interact much at school, and then you’d come back together too. He was in the popular group and you were far from it. You just didn’t have much in common anymore. Once he started driving, he’d drive you in every morning and make sure he got you home too. He never invited you to the popular people parties, and you never really saw him at weekends or anything, but he was always nice to you when you did see him. He’d smile at you if he passed you in the corridor but never say hi. In fact, you weren’t even sure if his friends knew your name, let alone that you’d seen Spider wet the bed when he’d had a sleepover at your house when the two of you were toddlers.

The older you grew up, the more you realised how different you and Spencer were. In fact, the more you realised how different you were to almost everyone else in your year at school. When that incest map got revealed, you were one of the names that wasn’t so much as mentioned. You’d looked at it too, searched for your name, even though you knew you wouldn’t find anything. Spider had a few lines drawn from his name then, but you knew it would be more if it was re-done now. And if they accounted for all the other people outside of school, there’d be even more.

“Spec? Are you good to go?”

Spencer cuts through your thoughts, snapping back to the reality of you being sat in the passenger seat of his car. He has one hand on the steering wheel and the other arm behind your seat ready to reverse from the parking space.

He never stopped calling you Spec. When you were younger you couldn’t say his name properly so ‘Spencer’ had morphed into ‘Spec’. And for some reason, a young Spencer had thought everyone had the same name. So you’d been Spec too. And it was still what both of you went by to each other now.

“I-“ You clear your throat, “Yeah.”

“Put your seatbelt on, your Mum would kill me,” He nods his head towards you, starting up the engine to reverse onto the street.

You oblige, clicking your seatbelt in and resting your head back against the chair, closing your eyes.

“Am I that unbearable?” He scoffs, indicating onto the road to the right.

“No, I’ve just got a headache,” You mumble, poking your eye open and glancing over at him, “You’re normally grumpy to be starting a school week again. What’s different?”

Spider shrugs, “I’m not at school yet, am I?”

“Fair point,” You hum, “How was your weekend?”

“I…” He stops to glance in the side mirror on your side of the car, indicating into the next lane, “I went to a party, got very pissed, and ended up arguing with Missy again.”

“About what this time?” You roll your eyes, drawing your knees up to your chest and resting your feet on the seat.

“She’s my ex, we’re always going to argue,” He shrugs, “I don’t even remember what started it this time, you know what it’s like.”

You scoff. Not exactly. But you wouldn’t say that. You assumed that Spider knew you never had a boyfriend or anything, mainly because it would be impossible for him to not know. But part of you thought he just assumed you’d at least been with guys - had people over, met people out, went on a few dates even. You didn’t exactly have the heart to admit that none of that had ever happened.

“Oi,” He cuts through your overthinking once again, “Get your feet off my seats.”

———

Your school day is relatively uneventful. Ant tried to start a food fight in the lunch hall and ended up just covered in food himself before getting sent to Woodsy’s office. Spider had started a rambling in your English class about how love is a stupid concept and Missy made a bitter comment about how it was because he was incapable of admitting how he felt. You never really asked him much about that whole relationship. She seemed like a nice girl and he seemed happy when he was with her. But maybe she was right, you couldn’t really imagine Spencer ever being able to talk properly about how he felt - and even if he did feel something, it seemed likely that he’d just try to suppress it.

He’s waiting by his car when you get out of your final class, swinging his keys around his index finger. His legs are crossed one over the other, his blonde locks falling in a shadow over either side of his forehead. He’s wearing a baggy green t-shirt over a long sleeved white top and cargo trousers that seem to swallow his form. Spider’s a handsome boy, and it irritates you that he knows it.

“Are you staring at me Spec?” He’s looking directly at you when you make eye contact with him, a smirk on his lips.

“Oh grow up,” You roll your eyes, dropping your bag down from your shoulder.

“God, you’re insatiable,” He wiggles his brows, taking your bag from you and tossing it into the back seats of the car.

“What ar-“

“Do you have plans?”

“No,” You respond, walking around to the other side of the car, a little apprehensive for what was coming next.

“Fancy a swim?”

You don’t say no, and not a single part of you wants to say no either. You liked this side of Spencer. You saw it more when the two of you were younger. He’d knock on your door with his bike and tell you that you were going on an adventure. The two of you would end up in the woods together for hours until you knew it was getting dark enough to mean that curfew was coming. Sometimes, he’d stop to go into the shop and buy you both snacks with the small allowance he had. It was always a can of soda and a bag of salt and vinegar chips. Always both to share.

Spider winds down the windows on both sides and hands you over the aux cable to put your playlist on. That was one thing he was always sure about. You were quieter than him, less popular, had less exciting stories to tell, didn’t really get into trouble like he did, but when it came to your music taste you would always one up him. His playlist was made up of at least 70% of songs that you’d recommended him - normally these little unknown local rock bands that you’d seen at a show, or a song you’d heard a snippet of and sent him as soon as it was released. Every so often it would be old songs that your Dad had brought you up on. And every single time, Spencer had to reluctantly admit that it was a good song, and days later you’d hear it blaring from the speakers in his room, travelling all the way across to your house. You’d text him to turn it down and he’d flip you off at the window and tell you this was your fault anyway. So, yes, the music was always your call.

Spider’s driving for a half hour before you get to the lake, and he parks up just by the trees. Both of you get out and he leads the way through, moving branches out of the way so they don’t hit you. Once you reach the clearing, the pair of you are overlooking the still water, stretching out for what seemed like miles in every direction. There’s a wooden pier on the close side that Spencer walks out onto.

“It’s probably freezing,” You point out, grimacing at the thought.

“I know,” Spencer laughs, tugging off his shoes and pulling down his trousers.

“You can’t be serious,” You feel your cheeks heat up, turning away from him.

“What? You’ve come all this way and you’re not going to get in?”

“I’ll sit on the edge,” You shrug, looking towards the tree line to avoid him as he stripped in front of you so nonchalantly, “I don’t even have a swimsuit.”

“I’m wearing my boxers, I don’t bring swim shorts everywhere with me,” He scoffs, evidently recognising your distaste towards the idea of wearing your underwear in front of him, “You can put my t-shirt on over you. I don’t mind.”

“I-“ You pause, “Well I…”

“I won’t look Spec, I’m not a perv.”

He steps forward and hangs the t-shirt over one of the wooden posts of the pier closer to you, stepping back. You glance over your shoulder to see him running towards the water, diving into the lake as if he had no fear at all. The splash sprays up far enough to reach you, specks of cold water dotting over your shoulders. Spencer lets out a noise somewhere between a yell and a yelp - shaking his head at the temperature of the water as he kicks back to get further in. He turns around to face away from you and raises his hands in some sort of gesture of peace as if reassuring you he wouldn’t look.

You shake your head, mainly at yourself. What was the big deal? You were going swimming. It wasn’t exactly a big thing. You take off your shoes, fold your trousers on top of them, fold your tank top over those, and hang your jacket up on one of the other wooden posts. Spencer’s clothes were sprawled over the pier without a care in the world. You tug his t-shirt over your body and let it hang over your thighs, the short sleeves dropping down to your elbows.

Spencer turns around in the water, his arms waving through the surface to keep him afloat, “Perfect fit,” He laughs, “Come on, no excuse now.”

“After how you screamed when you got in?” You roll your eyes, “Sounds so tempting.”

“Oh fuck off,” He shakes his head, swimming over to the edge of the pier as you sit down on the end, letting your legs dangle into the water.

He reaches his arms up towards you and you hold onto his forearms as his hands grip your waist. His eyes search for yours for approval before he helps lower you down, watching your face contort and grimace as the cold starts to hit you.

“Wait, wait, wait,” You shake your head as you fully hit the water, kicking your legs wildly beneath you as the water splashes over your shoulders.

Spencer laughs, his hands still on your waist, yours still gripping his arms tightly.

Your breath is shaky and you’re working a million miles a minute to catch up with it, looking into his laughing eyes as you get used to the temperature.

“Fucking hell, this was a stupid idea,” You grumble, finally seeming to relax.

“You’ll live,” Spencer rolls his eyes, swimming away from you and dunking his head under, curtains stuck flat against his temples when he comes back up.

You ease yourself into it, swimming a little further out to follow him.

Everything that Spider did, he just seemed to do so fearlessly. When he started his rants at school, when he said things nobody else did, he didn’t think about what the response would be, he just did it. When he started playing basketball, he was the worst one on the team and he still showed up every week. Now he was easily one of their best. Whenever you’d heard stories about him asking girls out, it was always him approaching them, asking the question and not being scared of the rejection. Though you weren’t sure anyone had ever outright rejected him yet. Maybe Amerie did, once, but you’d never asked him about that.

“So I heard something interesting at school today,” Spencer begins, turning around to face you.

“Go on.”

“You know that guy Malcolm?” He continues, a smirk tugging at his lips, “He did butt stuff with Suzie Cho.”

“Oh god, Spec, is there anything else you could’ve said to describe him?” You grimace, “Like literally anything else.”

“He did butt stuff with one of the Sarahs?” Spider shrugs, “Is that better?”

“Okay, okay, just carry on.”

“Well, apparently, Malcolm has a bit of a crush on you,” Spencer grins widely, “He was asking Ant who the chick is that I drive to school every morning.”

“Wh-“ You shake your head, “That’s probably not… I mean, he probably doesn’t like me, he might just want to know why you’re with me all the time.”

“Please, he wouldn’t be asking if he wasn’t interested,” Spider shakes his head, dots of water spraying from his hair, “So, do you want me to give him your number?”

“No!” You’re quick to respond, probably a bit too quick, “I mean, I don’t know, I barely know Malcolm.”

“What else is there to know? He likes butt stuff, he… okay yeah that’s pretty much all I know about him too, but he seems like an alright guy,” Spencer continues, “Why not give it a go? What’s stopping you?”

“I-“

Despite the cold, you can feel your cheeks heating up. Like you’re under pressure. And you’re not sure if your heart is racing in the cold or just because it’s trying to help your brain think of any response.

“Is there another guy?”

“No.”

“Are you batting for the other side?”

“Spec.”

“Valid question, no judgement here,” He raises his hands, “What then? You’ve not done butt stuff? Because seriously, there’s a first time for everything and I’m sure Malcolm’s into other stuff too or-“

“Spencer.”

He stops then.

“I haven’t…” You shake your head, “I don’t have any experience like that.”

He frowns, “What are you talking about?”

“Exactly what I said. I don’t have any experience. No relationships, no dates, I’ve never slept with a guy, I’ve not even fucking kissed a guy.”

“Wha-“ Spencer half-laughs, “Are you serious?”

“And this is why I didn’t tell you,” You roll your eyes, kicking your feet to swim away from him.

“No, wait, (Y/n)!”

You push yourself out of the water and back onto the pier, hurrying over to grab your things together. Your whole body is shivering now, the material of Spencer’s top clinging to you all over and itching at your cold skin.

“(Y/n) stop come on!” Spencer clambers out of the water behind you.

“Can we just go home, please? I shouldn’t have said anything and we should be getting back anyway and-“

“(Y/n), please,” His hand reaches out and grabs your forearm, “Just stop for a second.”

Spencer turns you around to face him, sighing as you finally seem to accept a bit of defeat.

“I didn’t mean to laugh,” He says softly, sincerely, so much so that you believe him, “I just… Im surprised, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well,” You shrug, looking down at the wet patches on the floor to avoid his eyes, “That’s why I don’t talk about it. It’s weird. I’m seventeen and I’ve never done anything romantic with a guy, haven’t had any guy be interested, not even slightly. I’ve never,” You laugh nervously over your words, “I’ve never even had to reject a guy because they’ve not even been interested in me in the first place. So yeah, I guess you have every right to be surprised.”

“No, not like that,” Spencer shakes his head, ducking just slightly to try and meet your eyes, “I just mean… I don’t know what I mean.”

You look up to him, drawing your arms around yourself as if aiming to avoid the embarrassment as much as possible. Maybe if you did it for long enough you’d just disappear in front of him, he’d forget it ever happened.

“You’re not…” He stops himself, “There’s nothing wrong with you, (Y/n)… before you start thinking that, I mean. There’s nothing wrong with you not doing anything like that, you know.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t always feel that way.”

“Look at you, (Y/n). Any guy would be lucky.”

You roll your eyes, “Being nice doesn’t suit you, Spec.”

He outwardly laughs, “And she’s back.”

You smile at him faintly and a small fraction of the worry in him seems to ease. He just needed to see that at least a bit of you was back. He hated the idea of you hurting, and hated even more the idea of him being the one to hurt you. He’d meant what he said. Any guy would be lucky. And the thought of you not knowing that seemed to just repeat in his head. He’d known you since the two of you knew anything, and he’d grown up with you since then. Even when he was a cunt, when he was the most hated person in school, you were always there - waiting to go home with him, eventually waiting at his car for him to drive you home. He woke up in the mornings and looked for your bedroom curtains to be open just so he could see you. He’d wave or flip you off or try to mouth something you couldn’t understand. He even found himself checking late at night sometimes that your light had gone off so that he knew you weren’t staying up late worrying yourself over something. How would any guy not want a girl like you? Spencer hadn’t given it much thought until now. He’d just assumed other people saw what he saw - he’d never considered that they hadn’t been seeing you at all.

“Can we go home?”

Spencer nods, “Yeah, let’s go.”

You both change, damply, back into your clothes, and walk back to his car. Spencer takes back his t-shirt and rings it out, throwing it into the trunk with his gym bag. You sit into the passenger seat and put your jacket beneath you to not make his seats wet. He climbs into the driver’s seat and starts going without a word. You don’t play any music this time, your mind already felt loud enough.

Within the hour, he’s parked back in front of his house and you unclip your seatbelt.

“Um,” You clear your throat, “You can give Malcolm my number… if he wants it I mean.”

Spencer looks at you and raises his brows, “Yeah, yeah, okay, if you want me to.”

“I just… I’ve never… I wouldn’t really know what…”

“Then I’ll help you,” He shrugs, “What are friends for, right? I can help you get ready for a date with him, at least.”

“Thanks Spec,” You nod, “Good night.”

“Night, (Y/n),” He says softly, watching as you get out of the car and walk the few steps towards your own house.

He sits there for a moment longer, letting you disappear before he makes any other movements. And, when he walks into his house, he smiles at the sight of the light on behind the curtains in your room, smiles even wider when he turns up his speakers to play a song you’d sent him last week. His phone pings with a text from you only moments later.

———

Malcolm asks you on a date for that Friday. You’d been speaking to him all week, like you’d actually been able to keep the conversation going for that entire week. He was funny, he was charming, he asked you questions about yourself, he was sweet. Spider had been asking you about how it was going every day, he tried to get more information out of you - what had Malcolm said? what had you responded? were you any good at flirting? had he been weird yet?

“Okay, so, it’s Friday, what’s the date plan?”

“I don’t know, Malcolm said he’d plan it,” You shrug, scrolling down your playlist to find a song.

“What?” Spencer exclaims, “You don’t know?”

“Yeah, is that weird? He just said he’d plan it.”

“No, no, it’s not weird,” He assures you, “I’m just surprised you’re so chill about not knowing what’s going on, normally you’d be stressed about things.”

“Well I’ve never been on a date before so there is no normally.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, “You know what I mean Spec, you just get worried about things quickly and I thought this would be the same. But I’m glad you’re not. So, what are you going to wear for your hot date?”

“Ew I’m not talking about that with you.”

“Oh come on,” He laughs, the corners of his eyes creasing the way they always seems to do around you, “We’ve shared a bath together (Y/n), there’s no boundaries anymore.”

“For the last time we were like two when that happened! Stop bringing it up!”

———

Spencer drives you home that night and wishes you luck at least five times before you get out of the car. He tells you to text him as soon as you’re home.

You shower, get changed at least four times, do your makeup and then wipe some of it off when you think it looks like too much. And you’re sat on your bed ready a full ten minutes before he said he’d pick you up. You hadn’t heard from Malcolm for an hour or so, but you didn’t think much of it. Maybe he was getting ready too. You notice he’d read your last message, though, and think that texting him wouldn’t cause much harm, right? What’s the policy on these things? Should you let him know that you’re ready or would that be too eager? Should you maybe double check the time, or just make sure that he definitely knows your address?

Ugh.

Maybe dating was stressful.

You spend a full ten minutes debating over whether it’s a good idea to text. Nothing wrong with a text. And then you spend another ten minutes wondering what exactly you should write, only then realising this now meant that Malcolm was late and you still hadn’t heard from him. Now should you be worried.

Okay, fuck it, just send the text.

Hey, are you on your way?

He reads it almost instantly. Can’t be on his way then.

Sorry, (Y/n), I can’t do tonight. It’s complicated, sorry again.

You feel a lump form in your throat, a twisting in your stomach, a sickness that only came from this sort of gut wrenching moment. He’d cancelled on you. Did it even count as cancelling if you had to ask him first? He didn’t even give an explanation. Was he just hoping you wouldn’t ask? Was he hoping he could just pretend like he’d never asked you out in the first place?

You feel tears bubble in your eyes and instantly hate the idea of you being sensitive about this. Was it dramatic to be upset? No, you were upset. Not just because he’d cancelled, not just because he’d been shitty about it, not just because you were actually looking forward to your first date. But because it confirmed every worry you’d implanted in yourself about this whole thing. It confirmed every time you’d been nervous and panicked and stressed that these good things would never happened to you. It reminded you of every time one of your friends got asked out and you got swiftly ignored. It reminded you of every party you’d been told about where it sounded like everyone had got with someone there. And yet you were sat at home while it had happened, telling yourself that you didn’t like parties anyway.

And so you let yourself cry, the kind of cry that shakes your shoulders and lets mascara run down your cheeks. The cry that releases the tension in your chest and untwists the knot in your stomach.

—

Spencer didn’t want to text you whilst you were in your date. He’d told you to have a good time, he’d told you to text him if you needed anything. He should leave you to it. But your bedroom light was still on. You always turned it off before you left, it was ritual. In fact, you’d even hurry back inside to make sure it was off.

He hadn’t heard a car outside, either. Had Malcolm not picked you up?

He felt the worry spiral inside of him. Maybe he should just text. It would be easy, right? Just a quick text to make sure the date was going okay.

How’s the hot date going?

He stands at his window as if hoping to see no signs of movement on the other side. Please, God, tell me he hasn’t cancelled, he thought.

Does it count as a hot date if he doesn’t show up?

He feels his stomach drop, a pit forming at the thought of anyone thinking it would be a good idea to cancel on you. What was wrong with this boy?

Without a second thought, he’s running out of his room and practically tripping over his own feet to get down to the front door as soon as he can. He opens it at the same moment that you open yours, both of you stood across the driveway from each other. You’re still dressed in your outfit for the date, a blue sundress with tiny yellow flowers. Your makeup has been stripped off and it seems a million tears have ran down your cheeks and yet you still try to force yourself to smile at him when you see him.

“(Y/n),” Spencer practically sighs over the word, like he can’t think of anything right to say in the moment.

He crosses over the few metres between you and wraps his arms around you, holding you against his chest.

“He’s a fucking cunt, okay?” He mumbles into you, one hand holding your head and smoothing over your hair, “He’s a fucking asshole, this isn’t you, okay?”

You step away from him and wipe under your eyes, “I’m being stupid, I know. It was only a first date, I don’t know why I thought-“

“No, no, you’re not doing that,” Spider shakes his head, “This isn’t your fault. And you’re allowed to be upset. He’s a cunt. Do you understand me?”

You laugh a little, “Thanks, Spec.”

“I-“ He scans you as if he wants to check you’re okay, looking for signs that he’d made anything better, “Come on, come round and watch a film at mine. We can order food. I don’t want you to be on your own.”

“No, come on Spider, you don’t have to do that-“

“I don’t have to do it,” He interrupts, resting a hand on your back, “Come on.”

His hand remains there as the two of you walk over, barefoot on the concrete between the two houses. His Mum is downstairs when you walk in, watching something on the TV in the lounge.

“Spencer?” She looks over the back of the couch when he walks in, “What are you- Oh! (Y/n)! What are you doing here?”

“We’re just going to watch a film, Mum,” Spencer speaks through a clenched jaw.

“Oh I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages!” She hops up from the sofa and hurries over, “You look pretty! I love this dress!”

“Oh, yeah, thank you,” You smile politely, glancing over to Spencer as if you’re not sure what to say.

“I’ll order us some pizza,” Spencer nods, his thumb brushing over the skin of your back before he lets his hand drop.

“Yeah, okay, yeah, I’ll have a-“

“I know.”

He smiles as he walks away, leaving you in the company of his mother. You’d known her all your life but that wasn’t to say you were her biggest fan. She’d always treated you like the daughter she never had. In fact, sometimes it seemed like she cared more about you than she did her own son. She repeatedly told your own Mum that she wished she’d had a daughter. You knew her and Spencer didn’t have the best relationship but he never spoke about it much. Whenever you’d seen him with her, he was always polite but you knew he’d argue with her at home. Sometimes you could hear them yelling from across the way and then you’d hear him return to his room and slam the door.

“I didn’t know you two were… hanging out,” She says suggestively, “Is there something me and your Mum should know?”

“Oh, no,” You half-laugh, shaking your head, “I just… No, I mean we’ve always been friends.”

“Oh of course you have, but I think you were half this height when you last came round to the house like this,” She chuckles, “Just be careful with him, you know what boys can be like.”

You’re thankful when Spencer rounds the corner back into the hallway.

“Pizza’s on the way,” He says, “Want to go upstairs?”

“Yeah,” You let out a sigh of relief through the word, “It was nice to see you Cait, I’m sure Mum will have you over soon.”

You follow Spencer’s steps up the stairs and into his room, where you’d once played games of Prince and Princess, or ones where you pretended to be soldiers or spies or superheroes. Where you’d once brought round your toys and swapped them with his. You can see your own window from the view through his just before he closes the curtains and it somehow eases a bit of the anxiety in your chest. He’d always been here.

———

The pizza arrives twenty minutes after and Spencer goes down to get it, leaving you sat on the edge of his bed in your dress. You felt overdressed and uncomfortable and it felt too tight on your skin when you thought about it too much.

“And dinner is served!” He smiles as he comes back into the room, “What’s wrong?”

“Um,” You look up and return his smile, “Any chance I could… I mean, do you have a… Can I borrow a top to wear?”

He laughs, “Yeah get pizza sauce down one of my tops instead of your dress,” He jokes, “Take whichever one, I won’t look.”

You flick through a few in his closet and then reach for one of the white ones, a graphic flower print on the back. A man of his word, Spencer faces the wall as you change, the dress pooling on the floor by your feet as you fit his t-shirt over your matching underwear set.

“Okay, done.”

He turns back around.

There was something about it. You in his clothes. Spencer felt like the blood had just rushed out of his head. Like his heart had forgotten to take a beat.

“Alright, I’ll find us a film to watch.”

He puts on Superbad and you both chat the whole way through it. He quotes it every so often because you were certain he’d seen this film more times than he could count. You both eat your pizza and he steals a slice of yours. He gets tomato sauce on his cheek and you laugh at him until he tells you to wipe it off. He tells you that he used to be scared of seeing a monster in his closet when he was a kid and he’d once tried to pull the doors off to stop them from being able to hide. You tell him you already knew that. You tell him that you wanted to be a vet when you were a kid and he reminds you that you once tried to do surgery on one of his teddy bears and ended up ripping the ear off. He still had that bear.

Eventually, the two of you are laying back on his bed watching the second film of the night. Your choice this time. 10 things I hate about you.

Somewhere in the progress of the night, Spencer found it impossible to take his eyes off of you. You were laying on the pillow next to him with your hand resting on your stomach with the other one down at the side beside him, your head angled towards him to see the screen. You laugh at something that one of them had said and he realises he hasn’t been paying attention to the entire thing. His hand falls down by his side and he feels it involuntarily inching just slightly closer to you. He felt like a kid again. His childhood crush in bed beside him and he felt like he had no idea of what move to make next.

And then it’s there. His fingertips brush against one of your hands. You flinch just slightly but you don’t pull away. And he laces his fingers with yours quickly before he overthinks it enough to regret it. You don’t pull away. You don’t want to. The contact seems to shoot a bolt of electricity through you, glancing to him to see him looking right back at you. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. His lips curl up into a small smile and he watches as you shuffle closer to him, his hand slipping out of yours to instead wrap around your back as your head rests on his chest, hair splaying. His heart is pounding underneath your head but neither of you say a word, both turning your focus back to the screen. He could feel the blood coursing through him, trying to relax into your touch despite how nervous he felt.

Had he always felt like this? Had he always been waiting on you? He couldn’t think. You’d just always been there. He looked forward to the mornings when he’d see you again. He looked forward to the end of the day when he’d go back to you. He looked to make you laugh, to make you smile, to make you feel better, to keep you safe. And you’d always felt like you were something that nobody else could ruin. You were in his life from the moment he could remember and he couldn’t imagine being at a point in his life where you weren’t there.

When he looks back down to you, your breathing has steadied and your eyes have fluttered closed against him, fast asleep against the rise and fall of his chest.

He brings a hand up and brushes your hair away from your face, fingers delicate to not disturb you.

Oh god, was he in love?

———

You wake up early the following morning, Spencer asleep beneath you, your head still on his chest. The sunlight is spilling through from the slight gap between his curtains.

“Wh-“ You mumble to nobody but yourself, propping yourself up onto your elbow as if you’re trying to assess the situation.

Spencer groans and his arm tightens around you as if he instinctively wants to check that you’re still there.

“What time is it?” Spencer mumbles through tired lips, his eyes still shut.

“I-“ You clear your throat, “I don’t know. I should probably get back.”

You scramble to get off of the bed, looking around the room for your shoes and your dress as if this was a one night stand you wanted to escape.

“Woah, woah, woah,” He groans as he’s forcing himself to wake up, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry about last night, I shouldn’t have… and we shouldn’t… I don’t expect…”

“What are you talking about?” He half laughs, propping himself up on his elbows, blinking away from the sleep from his eyes to let you come into focus.

“I just… I don’t want you to think that I thought anything of last night,” You breathe out, “I totally get it, I was upset and you were being a good friend and-“

“(Y/n),” Spencer gets up from the bed and steps forward so that he’s standing directly in front of you, “I don’t think that.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, looking up at him like he wasn’t the boy you’d always known.

“What I do think…” He takes a breath this time as if he’s trying to suppress his own nerves, “Is that we had our first date last night.”

“First date?” You half laugh, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks and that same bolt of electricity as his hand reaches out to lock with yours.

“Well, there was food, and a movie… two movies actually,” He points out, lifting up his other hand to brush your hair away from your face, “You even stayed the night. That sounds like almost a full date to me.”

“Almost?” You half-whisper, like you’re worried something’s going to ruin the moment, “What’s missing?”

“This.”

He shifts his hand to cup your cheek, his thumb shaping around your jaw to bring your lips to his, soft and yet somehow so certain of themselves. This was the first time anyone’s lips had been on yours, the first time you knew what it felt like to be kissed. And your heart seemed to soar at the idea of Spencer being the one to show you.

When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours like he is desperate to hold onto some contact, like he can’t imagine being apart from you.

“I-“ You swallow the lump in your throat, “You…”

Spencer’s lips curl into a soft smile, “I’d say that’s a pretty good first date.”

———————

(Any of y’all want part 2????)

[konigofmyheart]

kiss and tell 🎀

könig x reader fluffy drabble <3

warnings: none, unless embarrassment counts

it’s a tiny bit sad in the middle but then we get silly again :)

horangi makes an appearance too!

word count: ~1,400

turns out your husband, könig, isn’t that good at keeping you a secret…

you used to be a night owl, until you met könig. he kinda got you used to his soldier sleep schedule (up at 5 am, in bed by 10pm, when he wasn’t out in the field and forced to go days without sleeping). you were cursing your well adjusted sleep habits now, though, tugging your blanket around your shoulders as you see könig off at the door. it’s near 12 am, your neighborhood is quiet and still, but könig is as alert as ever.

you’d been out having a drawn out, romantic dinner when he’d been called on, but it was an urgent matter, so you two immediately went home so he could shower and pack. he always gets all focused and serious in times like these. he’s going on about the usual safety reminders-

“lock the door at all times, liebes” “don’t go out too late. invite your friends here instead.” “turn your scented candles off before you leave… on second thought, maybe just don’t use them at all? you’re a little forgetful sometimes”

-and you just smile sleepily at him, watching him adjust his bulletproof vest. of course to fully get into könig mindset, he’d gear up before leaving. your neighbors always turned in early, so he wasn’t worried about them seeing some scary soldier exiting your house, leaving them to wonder if that guy was friends with your tall as a tree, yet gentle husband. you’d already changed out of your favorite (and könig’s too) red dress, but you still hadn’t removed your makeup, opting to fuss over könig’s packing instead.

just as he taught you about bettering your sleep cycle, you taught him of accepting commodities and being cared for. now his pack has his usual stuff, plus on the go hygiene products, non perishable snacks (he has a weakness for these dark chocolate granola bars), and little mementos that are his guiding light through these trying missions. <3

now, huddled together at the doorway, you can’t help but tug him down by his vest for a kiss, pressing your lips over his through his mask. he makes a little noise of surprise, having been cut off mid safety rant, but he instead lifts his mask to kiss you “i’ll always come back to you, even if i have to crawl” (never “bye”) properly. the space between you warms as you kiss each other with all the love you have, damn near creating your own dimension where just the two of you exist. you know it only makes it harder for him to leave though, so you act as the rock, gently pulling back before wiping your lipgloss from his lips. “you’re gonna be late, love”, you whisper, discretely blinking away a tear when he glances at the clock on the entry table. “right as ever, königin”, he smiles as he straightens his mask picking up his duffel and helmet in one hand.

“redo of our date night?”, he asks, turning the door knob with his free hand and stepping over the threshold. you cross your arms over your chest, tugging your makeshift robe closed as the night chill from the open door sweeps in. “next weekend”, you declare confidently, full faith in your husband, secure in the knowledge that he’ll always make it back to you. the rest of his departure goes by in a blur, from the kiss he blows you before climbing in his car, to you locking the door after waving til his car turned the corner. a successful send off, you sigh as you head to shower and do your skincare before passing out for the night.

unfortunately, there was one little detail you both forgot…

könig strides into the base, heading straight to his office to grab some files needed for the mission briefing. he’d meant to get those documents signed and sent up the next rung of the kortac ladder, but no one had anticipated the turn of events that kickstarted this urgent mission. other soldiers were coming and going through the halls, some glancing (no one dared stare) at him in awe… or fear. either worked, in his opinion. könig couldn’t help but let it stroke his ego. he remembered how it felt to be a fresh faced rookie, only hoping to someday become one of the higher ups. he chuckled quietly to himself, even slowing his purposeful pace a little to give the newbies a nice colonel könig sighting.

when you got it, you got it, no?

he sauntered to his office, noting horangi was waiting outside his door. he also noted the way his friend’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he took in his appearance. könig returned horangi’s strange look with a confused look himself. he’d checked he got everything right before leaving your house. his vest, the gear strapped to his vest, his mask, he even made sure to put his helmet on before entering the base… so why was horangi staring at him like he’d sprouted wings?

“you old dog!”, horangi gave könig an easy push on his shoulder. “you got a girl and you didn’t tell me?”

what???

könig had done all he could to keep you safe and untarnished by his work… obviously you knew what he did, but he’d never delve into details, and he sure as hell didn’t tell anyone at work about you. what purpose would they have knowing? he didn’t need them trying to cajole you into coming to stay here just to have könig be available on base full time! his engel didn’t have to step a single foot in this place. how on earth did horangi find out?

kortac did have their own…creative…ways to find out information, and it would be much easier looking into one of your own compared to an enemy. könig was racking his brain for any instance where he might have noticed surveillance being run on him, or any of his non agency issued electronics acting odd from possible hacking. the mailman had been acting a little shifty… (no, he hadn’t) and his personal phone had been displaying that odd pop up every time he opened his photos app! (again, false alarm. it was a “storage full notice”. he’d filled up his storage with pictures of you and your adventures together.)

horangi, meanwhile, crossed his arms, thinking könig was trying to think up a convincing lie against the obvious evidence.

aha! what if horangi was just making a wild guess, trying to catch könig off guard? könig wasn’t a fool. he’d been in the business long enough to not fall for such a elementary level interrogation technique. he just had to keep his cool. horangi definitely had nothing on him. könig allowed himself a casual, light scoff before setting his duffel on the floor and facing his office door, wanting horangi’s weak interrogation over with already. “where is this coming from? now’s not the time for jokes”, he huffed dismissively.

“you can’t be serious. you must have a girl…unless you’re going for a ‘confuse the enemy’ method now?”

okay, now könig was annoyed, which is saying a lot, because horangi was the one colleague he most liked. “cut to the chase, kim” könig fished his keys out from his duffel, flicking through them to find the one to his office

“könig, there’s a glittery lip print on your mask… right where your mouth would be”

shit

the only sound in the hall was könig’s keys clinking as he dropped them in shock.

how could he forget you’d kissed him through his mask, while you were still wearing your cursed (it was actually quite lovely, it tastes like strawberries to könig, he’s just mortified right now) shimmering lipgloss?

that’s why all the soldiers he passed in the hall looked at him funny. it wasn’t awe, it was confusion! basically all of kortac witnessed him making a fool of himself! of course könig is losing his mind, horangi’s cackling laugh serving as the background music, but rest assured, könig’s reputation is safe. those five (5, fünf, cinco) soldiers he passed didn’t get a long enough look as to notice the glittering spot on his mask. only horangi was brave enough-and dare i say lucky enough- to actually look at the revered and feared colonel. könig’s thanking all the forces of the universe when he remembers he always packs backup masks.

for what’s it’s worth, your husband sure learned his lesson. that’s how the only restriction regarding your kisses came to be

new rule: no kissing over the mask

. . . . . . . . . . . .

sorry, i just love making könig be silly 🫶🏼

[yayll]

heyyy! I just read ur rockstar!Dazai fic and it honestly reminded me of this idea I had!!! (loved the fic btw!) Are you able to write an actor!dazai x fem!actor reader and they r fake dating while secretly being rivals ?? (I’d like 2 be known as 🦎-anon!)

hiiii 🦎 anon hehe

i'm sorry this was quite the wait, i LOVED your idea and i wanted to write it properly and i kind of took some liberties so i hope you enjoy it regardless? thank you for trusting me w your fic idea actor!dazai now haunts me actually dazai in any like, imagine just fucks my shit up that man is a menace in any story i put him in and i'm so glad others agree. i love u baby mwah u get so many ivy kisses

~ a little something about you and actor!Dazai keeping up appearances ~

"You're choking meee!"

"I'm just fixing your tie, Osamu-"

"It's babe, actually."

"It's whatever I want if you want me to keep holding your hand in public, jerk."

He pouts at this. What a cute little meanie you were! Always scolding him and spewing empty threats as if you were hot shit. You were hot shit, and that was only the beginning of his problems... The biggest one right now being backstage with you while attending the hottest awards show of the year.

Just before he can respond, the curtains are drawn and it's a stagehand whisking you two away to present the next award infront of thousands of fans. You're walking side by side, your heels clicking with each step when Dazai leans in to whisper something.

"You should stand on my left, my right side is more attractive."

"We're both facing forward, does it matter?"

He raises a brow and huffs dramatically in typical Dazai fashion. You two had been 'dating' for a year now, everyone was invested in this blooming romance ever since you both started in that drama together, now it's nothing but red hearts for you two.

It wasn't planned, it just kind of happened... It also wasn't completely awful, but it was the goddamn ego on Dazai that really made you want to strangle him sometimes. He knew he was pretty and desired, and what a threat you were with such an iconic streak in all of your latest projects. No wonder you two had to be paired together, on your own you were both dynamite. An unstable formula that needed to be stabilized by combining it together. Thought could that make it worse?

You present the award holding hands the entire time, an act highly encouraged by the need to convince, and yet when it's you two doing it it never feels as forced as you'd like it to be. There is a comfortability in the role of this relationship, you've come to realize yet supress. You'll hold hands for so long you begin to get clammy, and it's certainly not because he dotes on you almost every time he speaks! Which he hates doing... It's just a script, after all. Duh.

You're both making your way out of the venue towards the car that awaits to drive you to the after party when you're ambushed by interviewers and hundreds of flashes that yell out speed questions.

"Does the beautiful couple have time to stop and answer a few things for us tonight!"

Dazai loves that shit. Of course he has the time, he doesn't care if you don't. He has to sell it, obviously, since you don't put in the effort according to him. He flashes the interviewer that sardonic little smirk you hate and speaks innocently.

"Why, us? Sure! Right, honey?"

He turns to you and the crowd loves it. You hold back how badly you want to roll your eyes and simply smile, holding yourself high with grace and a ton of media training.

"We'd love to."

The interviewer is overjoyed as she looks between you and Dazai, taking in that affection that radiates from your false words. She grins as she goes along to ask her question.

"So, I think a lot of the fans are wondering..."

You and Dazai perk up, not even realizing that you're clutching the bottom of your dress so tighty that your knuckles are white. The interviewer looks directly at you.

"The two of you have been the most stunning couple the industry has seen in a while. Any plans for the future?"

You freeze. Ugh, not this again. You shake your head, smirking to yourself at the absurdity of the concept alone.

"Thank you, but honestly we're just taking things day by day. There's no rush between us, we have all we need right here and now."

The journalist smiles again and nods, seemingly impressed by your laid back attitude. Dazai snorts and suddenly interjects, clearly having a cheeky response to give to the crowd of journalists.

"We'll have tons of kids in the future, actually~"

Your panic is so instant that you literally laugh out loud, yet recover quickly by turning your shock into a playful glance at your lover. You manage a more sweet giggle and smack him on the chest a little harder than people would guess.

"Ooh, he's joking, of course."

The journalist rejoices, finding your banter and your overall interaction as a couple cute. The ideal power couple! Dazai grins and turns to you again, leaning in to tease you, his narrowed Hazelnut eyes piercing into you like a promise.

"Not joking. One day we're going to have a massive pack of little kids running around. And it's going to be your fault for being sooo cute~"

And with that, he leans in all the way into a million dollar kiss on your confused and parted lips. You're taken so offguard you almost fall back and of course grab onto him a little tighter... and run your fingers through his disheveled hair you forgot to nag him to cut... As the cameras go off like crazy, you wonder if it's worth ruining your public image for a while just so you can slap him harder than you ever have before.

Everyone's cooing and you're fuming, so you settle for a quick thank you and goodbye as you drag Dazai off the red carpet and into the car. He's giggling the entire time, of course. As soon as the door shuts out the screaming fans watching you drive off, you turn to Dazai and whisper ardently.

"What was that all about?! We didn't discuss this prior to-"

"... You liked it."

"Huh?"

"You liked it when I kissed you."

You scoff, though it sounds like you're choking.

"I did not. I just did what I had-"

"... And you want to have my babies. That's adorable, how devoted of you!"

You smack him on the arm but he's smiling like a cat who's had too much catnip, too far gone into his delusions to care about the repercussions. Love is love, after all...

"I think we should break up, like officially. You're nuts. The press won't let that go, Osamu."

He perks up, snapping out of his stasis and crinkles his nose in disapproval. He shakes his head, his hand on his chin as if in deep thought. Dazai mutters, barely above a whisper.

"... We won't actually break up, though."

"And why not?"

"Because in about 60 seconds we're going to kiss again and you'll be clinging onto me the entire night."

You snort into a laugh, tilting your head in disbelief. The car slowly comes to a halt as you arrive at the after party where a familiar roar of the crowd awaits to greet you once more. You begin your futile argument yet again.

"I don't see why I would do that."

At such a silly reply, Dazai softens his voice, looking at you like he first did when you both met on set a year ago. A lifetime ago. You're so cute when you're playing dumb. He shrugs, carefree.

"Neither do I, which is why I want to know too. I want to know what you're thinking about, if it's me."

You hate the way he sounds so sincere, like a real boyfriend would if he were trying to convince you you're just as into him as he is into you. Mind games is what it is, or at least you hope so. You really hope so.

You sigh, suddenly over the conversation as you open the car door to begin climbing out. Dazai follows suit and the roar of the crowd makes your chest feel tight as overstimulation takes over. You want to be anywhere but here and you wonder if you're having some sort of panic attack, but it just doesn't feel describable.

You turn wildly, disoriented by the camera flashes and instant fuss of the press, only to be faced by your one and only savior: the omnipotent Osamu Dazai. You don't know what it is about him in that moment, you just glide into his arms and complete the prophecy as you hook your arm with his, taking deep breaths as you finally ground yourself. It feels like the right kind of wrong, and you don't care to question it.

You feel a squeeze and a soft velvety voice whisper to you once again, you don't even have to look at him to know he's as smug as ever. But amongst the teasing, there's affection there too...

"So, am I?"

"Are you what, Osamu?"

"On your mind."

"At this point you're practically a permanent resident."

You hear him hum, a smile still present on his lips, the world simply frozen for him to continue his private conversation with you in public.

"Hmm, remind me to have you repeat that to me later."

This causes you to squeeze his arm back and murmur in genuine curiosity, finally daring to face him. He's already looking right at you, so devilish and angelic at the same time that you can't even look away.

"Why?"

"Because your time's up. 60 seconds, remember? Now come and kiss me already, the camera's are waiting~"

The photos of you two that night were the envy of couples everywhere. If only they knew how the ride back to the hotel went, it would be a scandal! Or simply the next step in your future?

[sunnie-angel]

Part 8: The New Normal

part 7 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x fem!reader

summary: both you and jason struggle with defining your new normal in the wake of your changed friendship

tags: angst, mentions of offscreen violence

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 2.2k

a/n: with this chapter we officially cross 20k words (whoops). i dropped quite a few hints about future developments in this chapter, i wonder if you'll find them all.

Jason’s never felt so bitter about successfully achieving something. The taste of it curdles in his mouth, sour and heavy. He’d known that amputating his heart would hurt but this? This was worse. It was bloodless and toothless and the worst thing he’s ever done to himself. To you. You’re friends now. Friends! No lasting repercussions to having what he wanted. Shockingly, no lasting repercussions for fucking up his secret identity either. He’s gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he? 

He’d known, in that half-abstract kind of way that Talia had taught him, that if he had been earnest enough and insistent enough on the idea of friendship he’d be able to end the conversation there. No questions about why he had kissed you a second time. No scathing comments about how desperate he had been to know what you tasted like. He wouldn’t have to explain himself, or all of his messy inconvenient feelings, to you. Friends. Easy as that. 

Or at least that’s what he tells himself, walking in to face you. He’d know your footsteps anywhere and the just sound of them sets his senses on edge. All of his focus narrows down to you, hyperawareness kicking in. Jason doesn’t take any notes in class, can barely hear the sound of the professor speaking over you fidgeting next to him. To think his biggest worry a few months back had been if he would pass his courses. He can’t shake this fog, but he’s terrified of letting on just how gone he already is. Leaves a respectful three inches of space between the two of you through lunch that he obsessively maintains through Will telling some story about actually getting hit by a car over the weekend that Jason could care less about. He doesn’t breathe fully until the two of you are walking out of your last joined class of the day, cold air burning with every breath. He can do this.

“Can I– may I walk you home?” he asks uncertainly.

“Oh so you finally ask permission, huh?” you tease, and it’s the first thing he’s heard properly all day. Maybe it comes out sharper edged than he’s used to you directing at him, but it’s so close to resembling the easy camaraderie of the early days that he will take it.

“I was actually listening to your lecture on privacy,” Jason somehow finds the strength to sass back. 

“You can take the bus with me and walk me to my building door but that’s it. I already talked to the super about changing the door code.” Jason knows. He watched the super change it yesterday. 

“Just to the building. Scouts honour,” he says, drawing an x over his heart. 

When it comes to normal, Jason Todd sucks at pretending to be it. Or maybe you’ve just learned to read him too well. A space – not just literal but physical – exists between you now. He doesn’t sit right anymore, shoulders tensing up when you sit down next to him an only relaxing when you make no move to lean into him. He walks a full foot away now, no more arms accidentally brushing. He still keeps you fed – let it never be said that a friend of Jason’s goes hungry – but your fingers never brush as he hands containers over. Messages dwindle, text threads drying up. You can bear all of that, you can. It’s almost like the distant but friendly relationship you have with Will or half of your fellow interns. No, it’s the part where almost a week later, Jason still won’t look you in the eye. 

It would be so easy to dismiss everything else as growing pains, the both of you testing and reassessing where the new lines have been drawn. This isn’t that. Jason has drawn a line and it’s one that feels like a cut every time you brush up against it. These days there’s a tension in your jaw that you didn’t carry  before. Magically it appears whenever Jason chooses a particularly interesting patch of paint on the wall behind you to stare at instead of meeting your gaze. You think you hide the way your hands clench in your lap pretty well. You laugh and joke, exclaiming over Lina’s one liners, asking Rei about his next swim meet, and gasping in all the right places over Will’s sprained wrist. Keeping up the appearance of normalcy is tiring in a way that it hadn’t been before.  So your smiles are a little more forced than they were before, so what? The two of you are still friends and no one else is any wiser. 

There’s a Rogue attack, close enough to campus that it goes into lock down for the first time this semester. One second you’re following Jason’s broad back cutting a swathe through the frightened crowd of students to the muster location and then suddenly he’s gone. It doesn’t matter how quickly you crank your head to the side, he’s just vanished. Again. You spend the whole two hours huddled up in the auditorium glued to your phone as you watch the Red Hood fight Black Mask over a shitty news helicopter live stream. You’ve lived in Gotham your whole life, have practically become numb to the sirens and the drills for the worst that the city has to offer, but not today. Today your heart is in your mouth as you watch Jason take a blow to the head and go reeling across your phone screen. Breathing shakily, you realize that if he were to die – now – you’d never get to tell him just how fully he’s made a home for himself in your life, in your chest.

Obligingly, Jason doesn’t die today. Instead he pops up in the auditorium just as the all clear to evacuate has been sounded, ruefully explaining the mark on his cheek to your friends as the result of a panicking freshman’s fist. He’s a good liar you notice, through the hazy adrenaline rush of he’s alive, he’s alive pounding through your skull. 

Later that night lying in bed, you stretch your hand up, observing the way the light from passing cars cuts across your palm. You should probably do something about the shutters that don’t close right onto the fire escape but there’s always a thousand other things clamouring for attention. Besides, on nights like this when your thoughts turn in on themselves and sleep is a distant memory, the glow of the world outside provides a kind of comfort to you. No matter how bad things seem, life rumbles ever onwards. So what if every time you struggle with the keys to the front door it’s because you get lost in the memory of the one bright moment when it seemed like you could finally keep Jason? He’s not here now. The sheets have been washed – twice – but sometimes in that hazy place between sleeping and waking you swear you can still smell him. You think about the last time Jason had smiled at you, real and true and so sweetly uncomplicated. Your hand balls up into a fist and you cradle it to your chest. Maybe you suck at pretending everything is normal too.  

You must, because two weeks later, Danika corners you at one of your Wednesday study sessions. The student union is busy, tables full of students finally starting to realize exams are fast approaching with all the unwavering care of a freight train. 

“Hey can I talk to you for a sec?” she asks, just as you’re getting up.

“D’you mind if we talk and walk? I’m dying for caffeine and my stamp card says the next cup is free at The Grind,” you reply distractedly, digging your wallet out of your bag. 

“Oh you know I’m always down for a little snack,” she says, but there’s a note to her intonation that you can’t parse. 

The line for the coffee shop is long, but moving fast. You don’t notice anything off until you look up from struggling to extricate your membership card from your wallet, soft card stock folding under you nails. Danika is tugging at her hair as she stands next to you, twirling the strands tight around her finger until the circulation cuts off, the way she only does when she’s nervous and building up to something. 

She takes a deep breath and asks, “Are you and Jason, like, okay?” ripping the bandaid off.  

“I– why would you ask me that?” you deflect, scrambling to figure out where, exactly, your performance had faltered. The line surges forward, carrying the two of you along with it.

“Just, the last week or so something’s been off between you two. You know how you’re so obviously his favourite and he forgets the meaning of ‘personal space’ but only around you and he’s always–”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you struggle to cut her off. “It can’t be that bad, he’s good friends with all of us.”

“I’m pretty sure that whenever you start speaking the rest of us turn invisible or something,” Danika says wryly. “But the last week or so the vibes have just been off. He’s even less talkative than usual and I have been this–” she pinches her fingers together, pink nails catching the light “–close to recommending you a better concealer. So did you guys fight or something? Because you can tell me, you know.” She looks at you with wide, earnest eyes. “Because it doesn’t matter what it’s about, I’m on your side. If you wanna drop him as a friend, we’ll all do it no questions asked.”

“No, we uh, we didn’t fight but hold that thought okay?” you reassure her, before hurrying through your order as quickly as you can. Danika’s already standing by the pickup counter, finger still twisting in her hair.

“Or like, if you need a body buried the two of us could definitely take him,” she offers.

“We didn’t fight, okay? I’m serious. And while I’m happy that you’d hide a body for me, it’s really, honestly, not necessary. Me and Jason are fine,” you reassure her. The high neck of your sweater feels too tight.

“Alright so we don’t go all Gone Girl on him but whatever happened hurt you and I don’t like it when my best friend is hurting. Whatever it is I’m not gonna tell anyone, not if you don’t want me to,” she says, suddenly turning earnest again. 

“Jesus, it was nothing okay? It’s just, do you remember that night we all went out after Thanksgiving?” you offer up.

“The night where we were all taking bets on if Jason would make a move before or after the club?” she chimes in. 

“You were what?!” you hiss, heart stuttering and palms suddenly damp. 

“I’m kidding! Kidding!” she says with a laugh. “Sorry, you were just getting so wound up, I wanted to bring the mood up a bit. We didn’t actually bet on it. We did talk about though, before you both got there.”

You bite your lips, weigh up how much truth you want to tell. The barista calls out your order and you’re thankful for the extra moment to gather yourself.

“I was drunk and I tried to kiss him, okay?” She gasps. “And then he shut that shit down. He made it really, really clear that we were only ever gonna be friends,” you finish, gulping down your tea to cover for your embarrassment and immediately burning your tongue. It’s not the whole truth, but it’s close enough without having to debride the festering wound you still haven’t made peace with. 

“Wait you’re sure that’s what he said? Absolutely no chance of anything?” Danika seems stunned. “I could swear there’s no way whatever you two have going on is platonic.” 

“Kinda hard to misinterpret the whole ‘that was a bad idea let’s just stay friends speech’. I wasn’t drunk enough to forget that.” You study your drink with false interest. 

“Oh. Oh I’m sorry,” she says, the kind of soft that she almost never is. “He’s an idiot if he doesn’t realising exactly what he’s missing out on.” Danika reaches out and rubs your shoulder. “We’ll find you someone else that’s way, way hotter and makes better life choices. Until then, he’s on thin fucking ice.”

“This is all my shit, yeah? Leave him be, we’ll figure it out and this’ll all blow over,” you warn her. There’s a certainty to your words that you definitely don’t feel. But Jason shouldn’t be punished for the crime of not returning your affection and so you’ll just have to learn how to fake normalcy better. “Plenty of more fish in the sea or whatever. I’ll get over him.”

“Fine, but I’m gonna trust you to tell me if you don’t,” she says, linking your arm through hers. The two of you head back to the group, weaving your way through outstretched legs and scattered bags littering the space between tables. There’s a kind of comfort in having your charade seen through by someone that cares enough to ask. It won’t do in the long run, but this stutter step with Jason won’t last forever. 

“Hey you’re still living in the Alley right?” Danika asks offhandedly, sliding back into the booth.

“Haven’t moved since first year, Dani.”

“Just be careful, then, okay? I saw on the news that there’s been more muggings in that area.” 

You almost choke on your tea. “Yeah okay, I’ll avoid any muggers,” you croak. Jason’s eyes burn a hole into the side of your head.

part 9

[loveanddeepspice]

𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖

✞ synopsis:  you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.

✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader

✞ rating:  18+ (minors do not engage)

✞ cw:  religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), mentions of other drug use, drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)

✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.

✞ chapter:  6 / ?

✞ co-authors:  redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)

✞ ao3 link:  here

✞ chapter synopsis: "the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it." - oscar wilde

✞ index: chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5| chapter 6

Please comment on this post if you want to be added to the tag list for updates!

Despite what happened, you would have done anything to face Father Sylus again. 

He was the type of person who radiated energy from within, dedication unlike anyone you had ever met - which could be a good or a bad thing. The thoughts became an obsession, all that seemed to fill your brain. The recollection of his touch made you sweat. It was the last thing you thought about before drifting off to sleep, the first thing you thought about when you woke, and the next few days stretched.  One thing was sure: you longed to see him again, if only for the courage to apologize.  But did you even have to apologize? He was the one who had kissed you first, right?  It was so unbelievably confusing. You’d talk yourself through circles; for once, no amount of sleeping seemed to help.  You weren’t even given the option to sleep it all off anyway or mellow properly in your self-pity. Upon learning of your ‘arrest’ from Talia, your father forced you out of the house that Sunday to go to church with him.  “What’s going on with you, Y/N?” Dad raised his eyebrows and frowned as he gripped the steering wheel, and you could tell he was trying hard not to get angry or frustrated. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, hon. You came back, and you’re acting weird.  Can you just tell me what’s wrong?”  Shaking your head, you shrugged, trying your hardest to maintain eye contact on the door handle, ignoring your dad’s question and wishing he’d just leave you alone.  “You went from being happy to totally distraught since you moved out. What am I supposed to think here, huh?”  ‘Maybe everything went to total fucking shit,’ was what you wanted to say, and tried not to roll your eyes. Dad tried so hard to not act like the authoritarian or pushy father, especially after your mother had died. He was never like that. And it was because of that you figured it was time to be at least a little truthful.  “I quit my job. I don’t know what I’m going to do from here, but -” you said, “I just…needed some time to think things through.”  Your dad parked the car and turned to offer you a subtle smile. You were convincing enough, obviously. “Okay, fine. Work in the store until you figure it out. It’ll be like old times.” One hand gripped the steering wheel as he looked at you, almost seeming to peer into your brain as his eyes flicked ever so slightly. “So, uh, is this about your mom? I didn’t know you were still upset about that. I should’ve tried to talk to you more.”  You bit down your reply, feeling a bitter taste in the back of your throat, and willing it away.  “No, it isn’t. Just forget about it.”  A long sigh filled the small space as your father pressed his lips together. “Christ, I can’t be mad at you right now. I’ve always let you do what you want.”  This was strange, a particular ache settling inside and spreading to your limbs like an infection. Maybe it wouldn’t stop now that it had started. And the first instinct was to get away and run. Run and run and just get away.  “Hon, Y/N,” Your Dad’s voice was pleading, and you nearly missed it. “We can go talk to -”  “No!” You blurted, immediately regretting it, mortified at just the thought. How did you speak so fast? “No, it’s fine. Let’s just go inside. We’re gonna be late.”

You didn’t feel any better inside the church, but you weren’t expecting much to begin with. All you could do was suck it up and seat yourself beside your dad. It wasn’t crowded, but there were a few unfamiliar faces, so maybe not everyone would notice your fucked up mood. 

Everything felt surreal. You were sitting there in church with the sun streaming through the stained glass windows, and your gaze landed on the one depicting the Virgin Mary.

The word ethereal came to mind. 

Everything seemed like it would evaporate into thin air. Like if you moved too quickly, you’d wake up from one of those dreams that just turned out to be inside of another dream. 

And when a hush fell over the congregation, you had no choice but to look forward. No matter how your brain fizzes or your fingers tingle. You were forced to look at that handsome face in front of the church and feel the emotion well inside you. Something that felt different than embarrassment or frustration. 

Even from this distance, Father Sylus exudes that particular aura, daring to fill the whole church with its strength. You are once again reminded of how inescapable his presence is—not through belief or goodness, but something, someone who felt unearthly, even celestial, as absurd as it felt. 

Ethereal. Once again, with that pretty word. How could you even begin to explain it? It was so easy to feel some sort of bitterness, perhaps even selfishness. Who could blame you? Everything always seemed too simple when you looked at it from a distance. 

“Good morning,” He began, his voice taking on that strangely powerful, lilting cadence. He paused, hands clasping, and his posture was different. Shoulders broad, spine straight, chin lifted slightly. “I want to take a moment before we begin to discuss why we’re here.” 

You were drawn to his words, which had formed an invisible link to you. Maybe if you closed your eyes like you did at night, you could picture that night in the car. It felt foolish because you were certain your own thoughts were desperate. How stupid did it make you seem, trying to replay the sensation? A stupid crush. That is all you wanted it to amount to, even if looking into his fiery gaze had made you feel like you were melting.

“We’re here, in the house of the Lord. Why is this?” 

If a month’s insistence on chasing after a flame could be compared to anything -

 “Free will.” His tone picked up. “Through our actions, we make conscious decisions. As far as humankind is concerned, free will also makes us human.” 

Your breathing stilled. Something terrible seized your gut, a cramping feeling causing you to grit your teeth. 

“This is a sanctified place,” he continued, voice rich and filled with energy. “Within these walls, you should experience peace. Not conflict or anger. All are free here because it is with our actions that we build ourselves.”

How the hell did he manage this? The words continued spilling from his mouth, something pulling you further. And after a pause, his gaze filtered over the room again - and landed on you. 

Time was beginning to stand still, and you swore your face began to heat up. But, thankfully, the look didn’t linger on you, moving on as he cleared his throat. 

Well, fuck. 

There was only a tiny shift in expression, and perhaps you were the only one to notice how his pause seemed more lengthy than those before it. 

"We - uh.” Father Sylus made a show of glancing down at the notes before him and shuffling a few pages. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat again, a little louder this time. “What I mean to say is, with free will, we struggle against our urges and temptations. Sin beckons - uh,” another loud cough. He looked nervous. Vulnerable. In more ways than one. 

Father Sylus hastily pushed aside the pages, shoulders lifting in a deep breath before looking again at the people gathered. He straightened a little, and his powerful tone returned as he folded his hands neatly. “So, how do we resist? It can be hard to…admit one’s faults.” He let out a little huff of air, glancing down again. Then, he stepped away from the podium, stepping along the carpeted dais, hands clasped behind his back and thumbs tapping against each other. 

The congregation started shifting. A glance here and there, unable to guess what he would say next. Probably wondering why their priest was acting so…off. If you weren’t glued to your seat in, well, any number of the emotions you were feeling now - you would have high-tailed it out of there already. But instead, you were frozen in place, feeling like an outsider, feeling the shift in the air more than the others around you. 

“Take those feelings and multiply them by ten.” He stated, looking towards the back of the church at nothing in particular. It was as if he was somewhere only his mind knew. 

“Opportunity is often just an invitation to sin, yes. Free will is a man’s greatest power but also his biggest weakness. With that power comes responsibility. Satan doesn’t come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns in the middle of the night.” 

Oh God.

 There was a tense pause and stillness, and you wonder how you managed to sit here and listen. Those crimson eyes trailed around the room, but for another second, a brief and terrifying second, they burned into you.

“Satan comes as everything you’ve ever wished for.” He laughed, bitter and slightly hoarse. Then his eyes snapped forward again, unabashed. 

He coughed, cleared his throat again, and gestured with a finger above his head. “We all - well, we all think we can overcome any challenge. Big or small. Big and small.” Father Sylus let out a shaky exhale. “Um, the point is...The point is that the devil is ready to collect when you can’t. So, the point is that - uh,” His tone shifted to something smaller that made your insides tremble agonizingly. A breathless, tight sort of anxiousness that stole through your lungs and caused your heart rate to increase. It was impossible to deny that despite the words coming out of his mouth, you actually wanted to hear him continue. “Um, sometimes I think the hardest thing is that we are human, and we are weak.” 

Before he could even continue, his voice cracked. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed, grimacing, an anguish that you recognized. “Excuse me.” He looked like he might break, the wavering tension almost stifling the room, his expression almost tormented. 

“I’m sorry. Excuse me.” And with that, he disappeared into the back, leaving everyone shocked. 

Everyone except for you. 

“And that’s why I’m never going to church again.” You rolled your eyes as you leaned against one of the shelves in your dad’s store, looking over at Rafayel, who was leaning against the counter, making it his personal mission to get every last drop out of an iced coffee. “You should have seen the look on his face. What a fuck up.” 

Rafayel wrinkled his nose, looked around the otherwise empty store, and then glanced at his phone. “Yikes. Poor guy.” He sighed and tapped his foot on the floor. “Talia came home and said he had a migraine - but it’s even more hilarious that a near-public breakdown was because of you.” 

“My God, you are awful.” You frowned and stepped forward to lightly punch his arm, reaching out and catching his elbow with a grimace as he pretended to almost fall over. “That’s a horrible thing to say! You were the one who was practically encouraging me!” 

“I would never,” Rafayel huffed, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “Anyway, it’s been almost a week now. You’re gonna have to suck it up and face him sooner or later.” With a firm nod, he shook off your hold and dusted his hand on the faded denim of his jeans, turning his attention back to his phone and shaking the ice in the cup he held. 

“How would I do that?” You asked. 

As if oblivious, Rafayel arched a brow and smiled tightly, peering at you over the edge of his phone. His tone was less-than-reassuring, sounding almost pitying. “No fucking idea.” 

You opened your mouth to argue but thought better of it as the shop door opened, just in time for the chilly afternoon to bring in your dad and Xavier. You took a deep breath at the sound of the bell and forced yourself to calm down.

As if on cue, Rafayel pushed himself away from the counter and looked in your direction. “Well, Y/N.” He said, tossing a wink in your direction that made you want to reach out and knock the silly grin off his face. “Good luck.” With that, he turned and walked out of the store with a shake of his head. 

Your dad mumbled something under his breath before tossing a wave a little too late and heading into the back of the small building. 

Unease had settled in your stomach at your friend's departure. You felt as if you had more to say, ask, or get a general idea of as you stared at the shop's door. You ran a hand over your tired face and sighed. 

“Hi,” Xavier gave you a careful, controlled smile as you turned toward his voice. “Need help with anything?” 

You tried your best not to fidget or bite your lip. “No, but it’s nice of you to offer.” You shrugged and glanced away briefly. “Why? Got nothing else to do?” 

“Uh, I work here?” He blinked as he stepped forward. You could take in his softening facial features now that he was closer. His smile didn’t quite fade as he looked around the quiet shop. “Anyway - I um. I tried to call you last night? About dinner?” 

Tilting your head in confusion, you froze. Then, you processed the sentence. 

Dinner. Shit. 

“Oh! My phone went missing. I’m sure it’ll turn up soon or something. Wasn’t the nicest phone anyways,” you brushed some hair behind your ear. “I still can’t figure out how it disappeared!” You forced a laugh at your lie and shifted uncomfortably.

You’d completely forgotten about agreeing to go out with him. How fucking stupid were you? So caught up in the idea of -

“Well, uh, I didn’t plan much. So it’s okay, we can just do something another night. Right?” Xavier suggested, and you couldn’t tell if he had let it go so quickly or was suspicious about your behavior. 

Either way, you smiled, rationalizing with yourself for what felt like the millionth time that spending time with him would be a good thing. Any way to keep your mind distracted. Clearly, he still wanted to go out with you, and you certainly wouldn’t say no. After all, who could blame you for latching on anyone who showed the slightest interest? 

This would be a step in the right direction, right? Things would get better. They had to. No matter how weird it felt for you to think so. 

“That’s fine. Sorry, my head’s all over the place.” 

The worst part of it all was the sudden weight in your stomach, the ache in your chest that was becoming all too tiring. Something pushed you in the complete opposite direction of the young man in front of you, towards what you really wanted, and had no explanation for why you did. 

“Y/N?” Xavier spoke again and stepped closer, watching your expression with careful scrutiny, his hand reaching out to touch yours, giving you a new feeling of unease. “Hey, um, - you alright?” 

Your heart wrenched a little at the worry, and you wondered exactly how pathetic you appeared. “I think so. Can you take over? I gotta step out for a while.”

It grew colder as you walked along the sidewalk, sticking your hands inside your jacket pockets. Clouds gathered in the distance, inching their way towards the suburb. The air smelled fresher, as if it might snow lightly sometime at night. A breeze swept over the street, stirring pieces of your hair from its confines, and you briefly thought you should have remembered your scarf. 

Then, you came to a stop in front of the church. 

You looked down at your outfit, the jeans and the oversized blue sweater you had found in your mom's closet, when you couldn’t be bothered to do your own laundry. Perhaps she would give you strength, or at least enough willpower from wherever she was to give you the courage to turn right the fuck around and go back home.  She was always straightforward in that way, even without the drinking. If only you had taken after her in that aspect. 

For a moment, you almost turned to leave, giving yourself the opportunity to simply walk away and go home. However, after a few seconds of mental debate, you stepped along the worn walkway and up the steps, slipping your hand out of your pocket to place it on the worn wooden door. 

Somewhere in your mind was a glimmer of hope, the possibility of resolve.

Now that you had gathered whatever courage you had left, you took one last, bracing breath before pushing the door open. A jolt of energy speared up your arms, a buzzing sensation against your fingertips. Once you were inside, everything felt eerily silent. Almost too silent. But as the familiar warmth enveloped you, your body relaxed slightly as you shrugged off your jacket. 

The last light from the day was casting through the windows, and the interior was a muted, golden glow and soft orange. It felt warm in more ways than one. Despite the hushed nature of the building, energy thrummed within you. The atmosphere was inviting, but for some reason, you couldn’t quite muster the ability to step forward any further, feet stuck to the floor beneath you. It was ironic, yet in a way, expected; you felt like crying or throwing something, but maybe punching Father Sylus would give you the most satisfaction. 

The chapel seemed alien to you as you made your way further inside. 

Loneliness was all-consuming, a fear ever present and threatening in the back of your mind. You wondered why it hurt so much. And, you considered whether you have ever experienced a real connection in your life. You zeroed in on the cross beyond the rows of pews as if you could use it for answers. It glinted a little in the evening light that filtered through the stained glass. Your eyes felt dry as they fixed upon the illuminated wood, searching, listening, walking towards the front of the church like a mouse. 

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” You asked your question out loud. The silence of the building taunted you in return, and something constricted within your chest. The rush of it all was consuming, filling your every thought with hope and expectation. A breath sucked in, and you shook your head, blinking. Everything felt off, and you had no idea what your body was supposed to do with itself. “This is so fucked. You know, this is all…just so messed up,” you choked out the whisper and, with a small gasp, swallowed. The emotions swelled. Heavy and pounding and suddenly overwhelming. 

Who gave a shit? Nothing would change. 

But, maybe - 

Would God be willing? Could He lift the spell put on you that would continue to grow? 

“Mom is dead, and she’s not coming back.” The words spilled and dropped like shattered glass. “And, uh, it’s just like, that’s fucked up. Isn’t it? Please, it’s - well, I wish I knew, God damn it. Motherfucker!” You swore louder than you should have, not recognizing your own voice. A feeling that had no name gripped your heart. This was it. You were giving up. “Totally fucked up. And you go and make me do stupid shit? What kind of test is that?” 

Only silence answered. You wondered how you should feel. As angry as you were, it felt strange to voice it. Finally, saying the words brought unusual comfort, and it was too easy to admit everything now. “Yeah, yeah. You should really apologize, God. Lord. Jesus. Whatever.” 

“I’m sorry.” The voice that spoke back did not belong to you. Echoing off the walls and the stained glass, it sent a jolt up your spine, causing you to spin in its direction. Leaning against a doorframe was Father Sylus, looking down at the floor, that shameful expression resurfacing on his face. You witnessed the repentant facade as he lifted his head and looked at you. 

It felt like a flood rushed through you, coursing, washing away the anger, seeping into every cell, and filling you with something new. Warm and soft, somehow breaking you apart as it passed. Something indecipherable but true. 

Something almost wonderful and exhilarating. 

He looked like something you could draw. That raw, exposed sort of aura. 

That same warmth enveloped your heart, the comfort expanding across your chest. There was something profound and affectionate within his gaze and the sense that you had underestimated what was truly meant by the phrase ‘care and concern.’

It could have been a few seconds. Or minutes passed as you stood rooted to the spot. The beating of your heart seemed to echo in your ears. Blood pulsed through your veins, the silence around you growing louder. 

“For what?” You were almost afraid to speak up. 

“For whatever you’re feeling,” Father Sylus stated plainly. Then he straightened, and his look shifted, and for a split second, he stepped forward, only to pause with his fingers twitching at his sides. Maybe there was confusion flickering in his gaze. Or longing. But he still didn’t move from where he stood, as if unable to break the tension he had with himself. After a time, he studied your face and added, “For everything and for nothing.” 

After a moment of thought, you shook your head. “That’s vague.” 

“It’s all I’ve got.” Father Sylus ran a hand behind his neck, almost nervously, eyes shifting and gaze searching. Another pause lingered between you, and you blinked a few times. He opened and closed his mouth, finally settling on placing both his hands on his hips, inclining his head to look at the stained glass windows. “That…and guilt.” 

His admission seemed weighted, and his voice was heavy. You watched him take a step forward, then hesitate. 

In that second, there was a great leap in understanding. You understood that he would not look directly at you because it would break this sacred reverence between you and whatever else was going on within his mind. 

Maybe it’d always been a game, and perhaps you knew deep down that this would be his next move. The inevitable, silent communication. Slowly, you folded your shaky arms over your chest. The look that flashed in his eyes made you shudder. With a new boldness, you swallowed and whispered: “Why are you telling me this?” 

Exhaling hard, you weren’t sure whether to scream, laugh, or cry as you awaited your answer.

He swallowed, his dark gaze teeming like a fire in the low light, the red burning. His lip curled. “Because I feel like you can understand it. Why I feel this way.” 

A sick urge, sharp and needy, had you crossing the space between you, the air shaking and trembling as he finally took another stride forward. Your eyes traced over his face. Deep and pained and beautiful. His chest heaved. A strange, bittersweet satisfaction filled you. 

“I - I can’t stop thinking about -” you broke off, words quivering as you spoke. “Us. The other night - it keeps going through my head, what I said, and -” your voice was breaking again, the achy, miserable desperation settling in. 

You could tell he was holding his breath, hands now clenched into fists, gaze searching and uncertain. “I didn’t mean to deceive you.” The words hung heavy as he stepped closer, finally closing the distance between you, tilting your chin, and forcing you to look at him. The grip held you firmly, though his eyes remained gentle and pleading. “I want nothing more than to pray - beg for your forgiveness. Try and restore whatever trust I’ve betrayed - but in all truth, God, I -” 

Another thick swallow, and he paused, the corner of his mouth twisting. He squeezed your chin lightly as if in search of some answer. Then his hand fell to his side, his head turning to look at the cross behind the altar. Something burned beneath your ribs. 

“What is it?” You whispered, trembling with the effort of not spilling all your unresolved thoughts. “Tell me - tell me something, anything, or - or -” You stopped yourself, feeling a little pathetic at not being able to formulate the proper words. 

“My path was never exactly clear, but,” Father Sylus swallowed thickly, sounding more scared than ever. “Someone I loved when I was younger - she -” A long sigh escaped his lips. “We were each other's firsts and…We loved each other very much.” He exhaled again. His face creased into sadness, reminiscent and haunting. A sharp pain, almost. One that lingered from emotions held within. The truth was there, plain as day, naked, heartbroken, and fragile. “She died when she was eighteen.” 

Pain squeezed at you mercilessly, tight and almost bone-crunching. You stepped closer, your brain slowly putting it all together, realization hitting. Then your bottom lip trembles as you reach out, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it. “I’m sorry,” you manage to say after a moment, “that must have been -” Another pause, trying to settle your lungs into a steadier breathing pattern. 

He squeezed your hand, looking at you, catching your gaze and holding it, unwavering. “I went to her funeral in a church far bigger than this one with twice the congregation. And later that day, when they put her down into the ground, I listened to the Monsignor pray over her soul.” He looked away again, this time up at the beams in the ceiling. “And I really listened to what he was saying for the first time. And I don’t know why, I just suddenly felt…” He trailed off, and you moved your hand further up his arm, willing him to continue by pressing your fingertips gently into his forearm. 

He smiled at the ceiling, faint and apologetic. “I felt at peace. Everything clicked into place. As stupid as that sounds. It was like something I couldn’t understand but needed. And, well,” he shrugged. 

“At last, it finally made sense to me,” he muttered. “The power God holds over us was always right there.” Then he turned to face you, his fingers reaching and resting on your cheek, tracing the soft skin of your jaw. “And now, I stand before you - finding these feelings again, the first true connection I’ve felt in years. I don’t mean to doubt anything…but I don’t know how to...” 

He let his voice drift off before tucking your hair behind your ear, movements tender. You wondered what he could see in your expression. 

“How did she die?” You asked quietly as if the question would destroy something in the air, but you needed to ask it anyway. 

The corners of his mouth trembled as he stroked his thumb along your jawline, offering you a small, grim smile. “She was mad at something, drank herself sick. Decided a joy ride on a motorcycle might be a good idea,” he turned his gaze to the ceiling again, and it finally hit you that he kept doing that as a trick to keep himself from crying. “She lost control and swerved, hit a wall head-on. Died on impact. Stupid girl with the dumbest ideas. She used to talk about seeing if the world curved or if the stars continued forever. She was funny and smart - but not as smart as she should have been. Her blood alcohol level came back three times the legal limit.” 

“That’s horrible,” you breathed. The puzzle pieces were assembled together. A crash. Drunk. How similar it was to your mother. Only your mother hadn’t met death head-on. It was still one of those things that made you wonder; which would have been worse? The chance was so similar yet unique. Still, as Father Sylus spoke about it, you swore you felt the faint sorrow he must still carry within himself.

“Sylus, I’m -” 

“Don’t be sorry.” He said, finally regaining a certain poise about his face, somehow managing to look warm even at this moment, smiling very softly. 

At his words, you realized you were breathing harder than before, and it didn’t go unnoticed as he scanned your face. You didn’t know what was wrong with you; you felt an emotion you could no longer explain. He had experienced loss, same as you, just not in the same way. 

Father Sylus let out a dry snort. “It’s not a happy memory, but something good comes from pain. Distrust to trust. Fear to courage. Hatred to love. To an extent, those things make you understand and appreciate everything.” 

You nodded, unable to stop yourself from wrapping your arms around his middle, convincing yourself you would forget how to breathe if you didn’t. You embraced him because it felt like the right thing to do, the smoothness of his shirt beneath your fingertips. His hand ran up along your side until it rested on your neck's base, soft, gentle, and warm. He exhaled a little before resting his chin on the top of your head. 

As he held you, you realized that this was what you had wanted. This was what you had really been aching for. Everything shifted again, changing, rushing with a tangle of nerves and dizziness. Nothing else would settle more easily than being cradled right there, where you could breathe him in. 

“Hey, do you -” He leaned back, both hands cupping your face, tilting it to meet his own. It took him a moment to formulate his question. “I shouldn’t ask, but - do you still want me?” 

Of course you did. More than anything. 

But even then, you should have stepped away. Should have walked out without another word, back to whatever fucking regular life you thought you had. But with whatever strength you had left, you pushed everything aside and quietly said, “Yes.” 

He had pressed you against the wooden door of the office, pinning you in place after dragging you in there and shutting the door. Not that you really had any intention of going anywhere. Not with his lips moving against yours, the desperation sending sparks along your skin.  His tongue darted out, parting your lips and moving into your mouth. Hungry and forceful and tasting every inch.

“You know,” he said as he pulled back, taking a second to breathe, “It’s so hard to be good when you’re so…” He trailed off, leaving you to only imagine what he would say. 

No, you had no words or any logical thoughts, really. Perhaps this was the closest thing to heaven you’d ever feel, surely. And Father Sylus ran his hands down your sides, slow and possessive, grabbing fistfuls of your sweater and bunching it up. Heat began spreading throughout your body as his fingertips crept underneath and stoked along the sensitive skin. 

“Will you let me in?” He mumbled, his lips now on the underside of your jaw as his palms spanned across your stomach as if trying to map out every inch of exposed skin. The blood pounded in your veins, pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat.

“If this is what it feels like to be tempted,” you mused, gasping as he sucked on the skin above your collarbone, gripping the front of his shirt. “I have already failed. Miserably.” 

Letting out a hot breath that sounded an awful lot like laughter, he pulled away, a smile stretching across his lips, amused. “I suppose you really have,” he chuckled. His hands gripped your hips and spun you around so you were against his desk. Then he ducked down to press more kisses along your throat. The shivers returned as he lifted your sweater over your head, tossing it aside with another wicked grin. And for the first time, you noticed the hint of a dimple in the corner of his mouth. 

After a moment, Father Sylus fumbled with the buttons of his shirt until that, too, was discarded, skin suddenly bare. The sight made you stop, observing for a moment. For the first time, your fingers reached out and touched the skin of his chest, moving over the muscles and across his stomach. You marveled at the way he flinched slightly, inhaling sharply at your touch. 

Everything felt…hot, heavy, and inappropriate in the best way. 

And before you knew it, his hands were running up along the bare skin of your stomach, a barely-there brush that made your breath hitch. Then his hands were behind your back, unhooking your bra as his lips found yours again, rough and fervent. As it was removed, there was not a second of delay before his hands cupped both of your breasts, squeezing and drawing his thumbs over your nipples. 

“You’re so beautiful,” his hands shifted, fingers resting along the waistband of your jeans. 

It was like every little action was becoming overwhelming, sending pulsing waves through every nerve, vein, and muscle. When he popped the button, slid the zipper, and slowly eased the jeans down, the pulsing only got stronger—dizzying with its intensity. It was challenging to focus on anything else that would make more sense. Your mind was clouded. 

“Wait,” you breathed, sitting on the desk, pulling the clip from your hair and tossing it to the floor, the waves tumbling out. His hands never left you, still roaming over every little centimeter of you they could get access to, “I -” 

It didn’t need to be said, whatever it was. Because a grin broke out across his lips. A bright, glorious grin as Father Sylus pressed another harsh kiss to your lips like he could swallow the words down.

Stepping closer, he maneuvered you onto your back, your legs dangling over the edge of the desk. The smooth, cool wood pressed against the length of your spine and shoulders as you heard something that sounded like a book fall somewhere behind you. He gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, blunt nails digging in. Breath hitching, your heart thumped at the roughness and passion of his movements. Something animalistic and unrestrained lay just beneath the surface, waiting, ready. 

“Let me,” he urged quietly, fingers winding over the lace underwear, dragging them down the length of your legs. Fingers stroked up again, curling and caressing your inner thighs, one hand finally reaching the place where you were already desperate, soaking wet, and aching to be touched. Without hesitation, a digit dipped, sliding along your slick folds and slipping in easily. The motion made you bite down on your tongue as his other hand ran along the underside of your knee, urging your leg up and apart. 

You felt the pad of his thumb gliding over the little bundle of nerves, back and forth in a way that made you groan. 

“You are,” his voice was low, almost a growl, and his teasing continued. “So gorgeous, laying there. I can’t stop looking at you.” One finger became two. Slick and hot as they moved into you, each stroke moving deeper. All too suddenly, his lips were crashing down against yours, kissing you hard and desperately as if set on devouring you whole. 

The only thing keeping you stable was grabbing his shoulder and his upper arm. The sudden rise of pressure rushed around you. His thumb slipped, pressing down a bit more on your clit, drawing another gasp from you, a sound that filled the room. Then he pulled his hand away, an invisible weight settling when the digits were gone, leaving you empty and still aching for more. 

“I’m on birth control,” you managed, eyes blinking rapidly as you processed that this, in fact, was actually about to happen. The fullness beneath your belly was spooling tighter, coiling. 

It was only a few seconds; that’s all it took for him to undo his belt buckle, his length freed. Straining, leaking, begging to be inside you. The size of it makes you swallow a certain anxious lump in your throat. 

“Please.” The word spilled out before you could stop it. The coil inside you grew more and more tense and throbbing. You needed it now; the consequences didn’t matter, nor did the guilt or shame. “Please.”

His breathing hitched as if a long controlled flame within had been ignited. One of his hands rested on your hip, the other hooking under your opposite knee, parting you further and steadying himself. The tip of his cock pressed at your center. You didn’t have any time to prepare because, at that very moment, he was pushing further, sliding into you inch by inch. 

The heat and fullness and pleasure coursed, trembling through you. 

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, face buried in the crook of your neck, but you could hear the grin in his tone, the soft desperation in his voice. “You, you -” but his breath choked off as he pushed all the way inside, the moan that ripped through him cracked and hoarse. 

It took you a moment to feel him fully, gasping for air and dazed beyond what was really necessary. Holding tight, you wrapped an arm around his neck, exhaling hard. The room became a haze around the two of you, the entire moment almost suspended, paused, put on hold. 

When he moved his hips again, you whimpered as he hit somewhere deep, and your pleasure spiked. 

“Fuck,” he whispered against your skin, raising himself just enough to look at you, eyes glinting with a certain fervor. A little dark, a little feral, something wildly possessive and hungry and yearning all at once. “Oh, fuck,” he hissed, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. Another jolt shot through you. Another strong thrust, this one harder than the last, followed by another. And another. It took a minute for him to set a rhythm, but when he did - you were sure the air was being pushed from your lungs each time. 

You couldn’t do anything but hang on. His mouth met yours in a sloppy, forceful kiss. Gasping and shuddering, you tried not to shout at the next jolt. The constant grind fills you every time. Deeper and sharper. The steady, thrumming pleasure. Intense and focused, as if Father Sylus were on a mission. Searching for something. Finding each sweet spot with whatever desperate greed drove him. Like now that he’d had the taste of something forbidden, he wanted the best of it - anything you could offer. 

He shifted slightly, and before you knew it, he hooked your leg over his shoulder, the deep angle making you arch from the desk. 

One hand tangled in his hair, the other on his shoulder, gripping hard and pulling him closer, trying to keep him buried deep inside of you. The friction built, the pace driving forward and drawing the pressure up, leaving you malleable and aching for release. But somehow, wanting it to last as long as possible. 

When the pleasure spooled tighter and tighter, every breath came short, coming fast and shorter. Until finally with one long, breathy whimper of an exhale, release washed over you, crashing like a wave. His name slipped out of your mouth, some deep, instinctual part of your brain keeping you present enough to utter it, still pulsing around him, shaking. 

And that brought him there, a little broken sound falling from his lips. Hips snapping, driving just the slightest bit further until he groaned into the side of your neck, spilling inside you. After a moment, the stillness settled between the two of you, heavy and thick. There was no actual sound other than ragged breathing. 

You stared at the ceiling, trembling and a bit boneless, wholly dumbfounded and satisfied. Then, with every ounce of energy left, you sat up, placing a hand on his chest.

“You okay?” 

A rush flooded through you at his question, and you struggled to make sense - to be logical and reasonable. 

“Yeah,” you said quickly, “I just. I…” What was the right wording? You trailed off, eyes focused somewhere beyond him. Struggling, you kept your eyes away. How could you possibly articulate the warmth that had settled over you, the lift in your confusion that had been gnawing at you until this moment? How could you explain feelings that make no real sense? 

“I feel at peace.” A near whisper because your words made it tangible, whatever it was. And really, you did feel lighter. It was as if something weighing on your shoulders had lifted in a way that wasn’t just because of the act that had been performed. 

“Really?” A sharp inhale of his breath. 

You nodded, reaching out to hold his face and running your thumbs along his cheekbones. Father Sylus slowly returned the nod, a tentative but wonderful, hopeful smile quirking up his lips—something bright and genuine, untouched by bitterness or remorse.

Serenity had sunken in with a comforting familiarity. Settling inside, like the feeling of returning home. Like the truth had opened its door. Acceptance and serenity. Understanding. Clarity, even. The knowledge you weren’t as broken or faulty as you thought. 

A moment passed, no words spoken. Then, still breathless and maybe a bit disbelieving, Father Sylus reached out and traced a cross on your brow with his thumb. 

“Did you just -” You blinked, a bit indignant as you huffed. “Did you just…bless me?”

He looked a bit sheepish, hands resting on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing gentle circles along your collarbone. “Guess I did.” With a slight chuckle, he leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. 

Tag list: @celestialforce, @readerxyourbabe, @babyx91

[barracks-bunni]

Sunday Snoozes {S.G.R.}

Franchise: Call of Duty (MW II & III)

Character: Simon Riley x Reader

Genre: Fluff

A/N: Hey! So I am suuuperrr nervous to be posting this. I haven’t actually written properly in about 4 years, and I very suddenly got the urge to write this while sitting in my garden this morning. I’m very sorry if it sucks, I’m super duper rusty ): It’s just a soft little drabble, hope you guys enjoy! (: ((oh, p.s. hi, my name’s Bunni 🩷))

~^*^~

It’s 9:42am precisely on a late August morning. The curtains are half drawn in your shared bedroom, the warm morning sun pooling through the gaps and leaving puddles of ecru on the carpet below.

As autumn steadily approaches, the heat of summer had begun to die off and you’re back in skimpy pyjamas as opposed to the weeks of sleeping in your birthday suit. Simon was not overly-joyed the first night you slipped into bed in some teeny tiny shorts and a vest top. But, despite the cooling temperatures, the window remained open through the night to allow the fresh air in.

With it being a Sunday, the roads are a little quieter than usual. Your house is situated just a row in from the main road of the village, meaning you’d still hear the cars, lorries and other vehicles coming through at all hours. The row of trees lining the main road rustle in the warm breeze and the sound carries through to you. With the warmer weather also comes bikers and as the morning kicks into gear, there are a few revs of engines and whines of throttles as people go for morning joyrides.

The duvet around you is warm - tugged up to your shoulder with one of your legs hanging out and your ankle hanging off the edge of the bed. Behind you, a steady wall of scarred muscle and a strong arm snaked around the dip of your waist. Simon’s breathing is steady behind you. His gentle exhales hit the nape of your neck through your hair and send a shiver down your spine with every one. He is just in a pair of pyjama bottoms, chest exposed as he often gets a little too hot in the bed anyways. Sleeping alone in a tiny military bunk for years will really have you needing to reacclimatise to what should be normalities.

You are both awake; that much you are certain of. But neither had mumbled a good morning or anything of the such. It is too nice to just lay quietly listening to the rustle of the leaves and the moving traffic outside. Sometimes the road goes quiet for a little time. In those moments, it’s easier to focus on Simon behind you and his breaths.

Finally, the position gets the better of you and you have to stretch - arching your back and twisting your torso until you feel the vertebrae click and crack. The movement brings a soft little grunt, eyes fluttering shut once more for a moment. Simon says nothing, but as you settle back into the mattress, he presses a gentle kiss to your exposed shoulder. You exhale contently at the feeling. Your body practically melts into him.

“There she is.” His voice is gruff, hears from being his first words of the day. You feel the words rumble through his chest and into your back.

Maybe he hadn’t realised you were awake after all.

“Hi.” Your voice is soft and quiet, a true juxtaposition to the Lieutenant

“Hi, baby.” He presses another kiss to your shoulder before tugging you ever closer.

His chest is so warm, and you can feel the scars and burn marks that run all the way down his right-hand side. They’d never bothered you. Not really, anyway. He’d always be Simon under all the physical reminders of his hardships. When you’d first started dating, he made a habit of covering them up as much as possible. You’d been patient with him, and slowly but surely, he started wearing less and less until he was comfortable roaming the house shirtless. Win-win.

The birds are chirping, an orchestra of mostly pigeons, magpies, blackbirds and sparrows. The soundtrack of the countryside. From the gap in the curtains, you can make out the vibrant blue of the morning sky. There’s a cloud or two sometimes breezing past, but it’s almost completely aquamarine.

In the distance, the sound of church bells begin to ring out. The church is situated on the other side of the village, but it’s a small village so the bells are loud and clear.

Simon hums quietly behind you, snuggling into the crook of your neck.

Your hands move to gently grasp his forearm and you exhale softly again. Being in his arms always feels so good. Especially on lazy mornings like this.

“Someone’s tying the knot early.” Simon grunts.

“Isn’t it just for mass?” Your voice shoots back the question quietly. Simon hums at it.

“Maybe.”

He presses yet another kiss to your skin, this time on your neck where his head is buried and you shiver at the contact. He likes the response, kissing softly again.

“Be us one day,” Simon says quietly, “up an’ early.”

You feel a soft smile break onto your lips and do nothing to hide it. He’s so warm and comfortable behind you. It would be so easy to melt into him forever and ever.

The birds chirp with the bells and somewhere in the distance, a lawnmower kicks into action. You know you should probably get up, maybe make some breakfast. But you don’t want to leave Simon’s arms. And he has no intention of letting you leave either, as he pulls you ever closer.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, piss off the whole village with the bells while we tie the knot at soon as the church opens.”

[cieloclercs]

𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐞 | chapter one

pairings: charles leclerc x senna!oc part: 1/? warnings: google translate portuguese, angsty word count: 5.7k

SAUDADE. in which childhood rivals turned best friends realise they were always meant to be something more

01. what’s past is past

author’s note. chapter 1 ✅ please let me know what you guys think! all your feedback is greatly appreciated <3

read it on wattpad!

next ➜ chapter 2

17 December 2020 Aston Martin Headquarters Silverstone, United Kingdom

THE SOUND OF her car engine roaring is one of the most beautiful things in the world. That is what Noêmia Senna Borges believes. The rush of adrenaline it sends coursing through her veins just to hear it purr as she presses on the accelerator is like nothing she has ever experienced – and ever will experience again. Children often cry at loud noises, but infant Noa had delighted in the roar of her father's Formula 1 car when he took her, perched on his shoulder as he walked around the paddock, to his final races before he retired. So it isn't an overstatement to say – she was born to drive.

It's a car of emerald green, not red as she had always hoped, that flies around the legendary Silverstone track on her final lap of the day. Noa likes to think that a Ferrari would feel like home beneath her hands – like an extension of herself. The Aston Martin she brings back into the garage isn't quite there yet, though, hearing her lap times replayed through the radio, it doesn't sound a long way off. Engineers and strategists bustle all around her as she steps through the garage, pulling her balaclava over her head, and letting her now unruly curls fall down around her shoulders. A few compliment her on her drive, but most stick to appreciative smiles or nods. Noa is perfectly content with that. She's been raised to accept praise when given, but never to seek it. She drives for herself, not for validation.

Her time on the track is over for the day, so Noa stays behind in the garage to watch Sebastian's test laps. She settles in her own little corner, far enough away from the hustle and bustle of his engineering team to be at peace, but equally, close enough that she can pick up on snippets of their data feedback. With her water bottle in her hand and her balaclava drawn up to her nose to ward off the cold (though she keeps having to pull it down to take sips from the straw) Noa goes almost unnoticed. That is, until her PR manager, Raffaella Di Angelo, appears to remind her of their scheduled afternoon meeting. She assures her she won't be late, and sends the Italian woman on her way again gladly, as her focus switches back to the emerald green car hurtling around the track. Raffaella shakes her head when she leaves. She's worked with a few Formula 1 drivers in her time, but they are all the same – hooked on the need for speed.

Sebastian's lap times are only marginally better than hers. This in itself seems to give her a spurt of hope, and she leaves the garage positively beaming. He tells her afterwards that she is one of the best rookies he's ever come across – Noa knows, of course, the other name that resides on Sebastian Vettel's prestigious list, but she chooses to ignore that for the moment. Nothing, not even him, can ruin this for her.

"You know, if you wanted to, we could compare our notes sometime." He says as they come to a halt in the lobby, and she turns to look him in the eye properly, "I often find it useful just to talk everything through with someone else."

"I'll definitely take you up on that offer." Noa smiles up at him, "I've – uh – got a meeting with Raffaella right now, though. And then I'm going to see a... friend in London. Could we take a rain check?"

"Yeah, no problem." Sebastian says with a dismissive wave of his hand, "Just come find me whenever you want. My door's always open."

Noa laughs, "Ok. I'll hold you to that."

He leaves her with a wave as he speeds off into the car park, where his Suzuki GT 750 is parked (because of course he drives a motorcycle to work). She watches until he is no more than a dot on the horizon, before turning back inside.

The marketing and media team's headquarters is normally bustling with activity, but today, it seems uncharacteristically quiet. Noa figures it must be because testing for the month is coming to an end – Christmas is approaching, after all, and people have families to spend time with. Though, of course, Raffaella stays. It only seems right, even if she hasn't known her for all that long, the PR manager is the most diligent, hardworking person she's ever met. There aren't many people in Formula 1 as young as her already so high up in the ranks, but Noa understands perfectly why she is the exception. Even now, when the rest of her team have headed home for the holidays, she sits in her pristine office, sorting through her perfectly arranged files as if there is nowhere else in the world she would rather be. Noa refuses to believe that's true, but she is grateful for it anyway.

"Hey." The driver says as she pushes open the door to Raffaella's office. Her PR manager looks up, "Taking the late shift today?" she teases.

"You know I'm always on the late shift." Raffaella rolls her eyes playfully, "I like it better when it's quiet – I can actually hear myself think."

Noa laughs. She takes her seat at the desk, opposite the Italian, who takes a moment to glance over the papers in front of her once more. Then she looks up, a smile gracing her face. The gold-rimmed glasses she always wears slip down her nose slightly, but she doesn't push them back up.

"So, just to recap everything from the last few meetings." She beams, "Your public image is skyrocketing, just as we predicted. Of course, your family name does have something to do with that, but it's mostly you."

I should hope so, Noa thinks, fighting off the urge to raise an eyebrow.

Contrary to popular belief, it isn't all bad being the only woman on the grid – or at least, not for her. Of course, she knows her family name has a significant part to play in that, but she genuinely believes it's not just her status as Gabriel Borges' daughter, or Ayrton Senna's niece that has earned her such worldwide recognition as she's getting now. The female audience in Formula 1 is growing massively; more than it has ever grown before, and that audience needs a role model to look towards. Many people have named her as this role model, this heiress to the throne of growth in women's motorsport.

"You're the perfect example." Raffaella had said to her the last time they met, "You've got everything: confidence, a pretty face, the right family name, and – more importantly – bucketloads of talent. There's a reason the fans are betting on you to become F1's next wonderkid. You quite literally have everything going for you."

From a media perspective it's true – Noa is gold dust. The product of two of the sport's greats; a generational talent, fighting against the stereotypes, strongarming her way to a Formula 1 seat like it's predestined that she should sit there. It's so simple really. Every big name nowadays is looking to support the minority (for the right reasons or not still remains to be seen). Fans have been concerned about the lack of female presence in motorsports for decades, and that concern is now beginning to escalate. In a society where women are re-gaining their deserved power, it would be, frankly, nothing short of a death wish to shun one of the movement's most influential and powerful figureheads.

Noa can't help but think sometimes, despite the difficulties she's faced actually getting to this point, perhaps being the only woman on the grid might even play into her hands. No one, no matter how good she is, ever truly expects her to be able to beat these men at their own game. Therefore she has absolutely nothing to lose. And if she does well – which she fully intends to do, and more – then her legacy on the sport will be just as lasting as either her father's or her uncle's. The first female World Champion; immortalised in the history books.

Make no mistake, Noa adores her family. Her idols. Gabriel and Ayrton have both played such a huge role in getting her to where she is today, and she'll forever be grateful for that. But sometimes, all she wants is to finally step out of their great, looming shadows – perhaps cast her own for a change. Make a name for herself. Noa doesn't want to be known as Gabriel Borges' daughter or Ayrton Senna's niece for the rest of her life. She wants her own piece of Formula 1 history, that will be remembered years later, just as they are.

"I can turn you into the biggest star this sport has seen in decades." Raffaella says earnestly, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement, "All you have to do is drive like I already know you can. Let me handle the rest."

Noa grins widely. This is the beginning of a new chapter in her life; she can feel it. A chapter where she finally gets to see all her dreams — which not so long ago, she had feared were unattainable — finally accomplished. The setbacks of the past year will be nothing but a distant, unpleasant memory. All she has to do now is keep looking forward.

"We've actually received a new contract proposition from a potential sponsor." Raffaella goes on, waiting just a moment to properly let her words sink in, "It's a big one."

Noa sits up straighter. A thrill of something like electricity shoots down her spine.

"Well don't keep me waiting!" she huffs when Raffaella keeps quiet for a few seconds, dragging out the suspense too much for her liking. She's never been a patient person — least of all with something like this. The Italian woman giggles.

"Dio, I can't believe I'm even saying this." she begins. Her own excitement is building up so much now that it leaves her a little short of breath, "You're gonna lose my mind when I tell you —"

"Just say it, caralho!" Noa cuts her off shrilly. Raffaella fights off the urge to burst out laughing again.

"Ok, ok!" she concedes, holding her hands up in surrender when the driver makes half a move as if to dive across the table and shake the withheld information out of her, "Chanel wants you to be the new face of No. 5!"

Noa's jaw all but drops open.

Holy shit.

"You're joking?" she laughs. It's disbelieving, and her hands fly automatically to cover her mouth, "Me? They want me?"

"Yes, you." Raffaella chuckles.

"...But why?"

Of all the people in the world who have been offered this opportunity in the past, Noa never for one second believed she would be asked to join them. Nicole Kidman. Brad Pitt. Even Marilyn Monroe herself. What put her, a promising but unproven rookie up with the likes of them?

"Why do you think?" Raffaella scoffs, as if her simply asking the question is ridiculous, "You're the daughter and niece of two of the greatest Formula 1 drivers ever. Let's not forget, you look like a model — the perfect poster girl. That's what brands like this look for: someone who everyone wants to either be or be with. Besides that, the world is crying out for more female role models like you. Chanel is just giving the people what they want. By sponsoring you, investing in you, they're also investing in one of the biggest industries in the world, with one of the richest fanbases! It's a no-brainer!"

Noa sits dumbfounded, listening to her PR manager with an expression of half-formed joy mixed with confusion, and utter shock. She opens her mouth to say something — although what, she isn't exactly sure of — but Raffaella is speaking again before the words have chance to form on her lips.

"You don't have to make a decision about it now, so don't worry." she assures her with a gentle smile, "If you want to sign the contract, you'll have to do it in London by no later than March of next year."

It takes Noa a moment to come to her senses, but as soon as the word contract is mentioned, she is brought back to reality with a jolt. Why does she even need to think about an offer like this? It's every girl's dream, is it not? To be the face of a brand that legendary. Surely she would be stupid not the drive into London right now and sign that contract on the spot.

So then why does Raffaella suddenly look so nervous?

"The reason I'm giving you time to think about this is that — well, there's a catch." the Italian woman sighs, her furrowed eyebrows softening in sympathy, "The deal has two parts: two partners, if you will. The first being you, and the second..." she trails off, wincing, "...the second being Charles Leclerc."

And just like that, every ounce of elation that had filled Noa's body at Raffaella's initial announcement dissipates into the open air. Of course it has to be him. Despite everything, he's the one person she doesn't seem to be able to forget about. It's like the universe is trying to torture her.

"Obviously Chanel is aware of your friendship." Raffaella continues hastily, deciding to take her silence as an opportunity to get a word in edgeways before the arguing starts, "Or, former friendship, that is..."

"They clearly didn't get the memo about that part." Noa grumbles under her breath.

"You wouldn't have to see him much." the PR manager reasons, "The contracts are separate for the most part, but there are a couple of overlaps, since you're representing the same brand. Photoshoots, a few interviews — nothing too invasive, though, I'll make that clear — maybe a public appearance at a gala or two later on in the season..." she trails off again. The frequent silences are beginning to make Noa's skin crawl, for the simple fact that it gives her too much time to think about the situation; to think about him.

"Like I said, you don't have to make any decisions right now—"

"It's ok." she cuts Raffaella off quickly, a weak smile appearing on her face that has the PR manager sighing with relief, "You'll have to give me a couple of weeks to, uh...weigh up my options." she looks away, biting down on her lower lip anxiously — a bad habit from her childhood, "I know what you're thinking. I'd be mad to turn it down."

Noa knows she would be. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and she's sure that if she doesn't take it, Chanel will have plenty of other people lined up who will.

"I just need to work out a couple of things with him first."

That's the sticking point. Given the way her friendship with Charles ended (and the unpleasant fallout following it) Noa doesn't even know if she's ready to see him again without punching him in the face. She doesn't have that much restraint, but especially not around him. Though once it had been one of her favourite things about him, it's now the thing that could potentially land her a lawsuit — her emotions are always dialled up to eleven whenever Charles Leclerc is around.

Raffaella pauses, a frown slowly pinching at her skin, drawing her perfectly arched eyebrows together, "Have you not spoken to him? At all?"

Noa's face falls. Almost in an instant, she begins to backtrack.

"Sorry, I know it's a sensitive subject —"

"It's ok." the driver repeats with a humourless laugh, "I haven't spoken to him since 2018. Not for lack of trying..." she trails off with a shake of her head, not wanting to dig up old graves when she should have well and truly buried them long ago, "But I'll figure something out. I promise."

Slowly, Raffaella nods. She seems to be trying to read Noa's face for a moment, her eyes squinting from behind her glasses. All she sees is that her words are truth. A small smile graces her lips — almost proud. If only she knew, Noa doesn't have any intention of figuring it out any time soon.

They move on from the topic of Charles before it can dampen the mood anymore. She's still curious about this sudden contract offer. It's so out of the blue, Noa doesn't know quite what to make of it. She half expects the day to turn out to be one of those dreams that seem so realistic at the time, that when you wake up, you miss the fantasy world like you have actually lived it. Noa waits and waits for reality to kick in — but it never does.

"Is it not a bit of a risky move?" she asks, biting down on her lower lip once again, "I mean, I haven't even made my full debut yet. What if I turn out to be a complete failure?" half-joking, she laughs. The sound is hollow.

"Oh, come on." Raffaella scoffs, "Let's be real here. You're a Senna Borges. You couldn't be a failure even if you tried."

The words are supposed to console her — they should console her. But Noa merely feels the old yet familiar sensation of doubt, like someone's bony fingers inching up her spine. She banishes it just as quickly. It's not the time to re-open that wound.

Soon enough, her hours at the factory are up. As it turns out, Raffaella is even more of a workaholic than she'd first thought, merely brushing away her offers of a lift back to her hotel when she laughed about how her old Kia Picanto is stuck in the garage for repairs, so she'll have to travel back by taxi — if she can even get one all the way out here. But no matter how much Noa insists, Raffaella's answer is always the same.

She leaves the stubborn Italian still working in her office with a disbelieving shake of her head, already making a mental note to get her to let loose a little bit when the season starts — she'll have Raffaella partying like a Brazilian before the end of the year, she swears it. Besides, there's really no better environment to do it in than at a Formula 1 after party; with the pick of the best clubs, the strongest alcohol, and the most glamorous company. Never mind Raffaella, Noa can't wait to get back to her old party lifestyle. God knows, she needs a pick-me-up after the year she's had.

The drive into London doesn't take too long; no more than an hour and a half, and her brand new Aston Martin DB11 makes light work of the journey. She types the address of the café where they arranged to meet into the car's built-in sat nav. It's low profile, out of the centre of London where the only people they're likely to bump into will most likely not even bat an eyelid at their presence. Noa is glad of that.

She climbs out of her car, locking it behind her, when the little café finally comes into view. There are a few people inside she can see, but no sign of him yet — she assumes he must be sat somewhere out of her eye-line, as he texted her not even a few minutes ago to let her know he was inside. The bell at the top of the door jingles as she pushes it open, smiling at the woman at the counter who greets her. Noa's eyes wander briefly around the room. It takes her a few moments to spot him, sat placidly in a booth in the corner of the room, but when she does, her face lights up.

As if he can sense her eyes on him, Arthur Leclerc is looking her way in the next instant. He shoots up from his seat, striding over to meet her halfway. He looks nervous, Noa notices. His mouth opens and closes as if he's searching within himself for something to say, but can't quite find the words.

In truth, Arthur is nervous. This is the first time he's seen his best friend, his sister in over two years. Sure, they've kept in touch a little, sending messages here and there for birthdays and family holidays, but it isn't the same. He misses the days that Noa and her family would be round at his house between every race, and the summer breaks they would spend lounging by the beach in Rio de Janeiro. Though they're long gone now, they live in his memory as clearly as if they happened yesterday. Arthur knows, of course, the reason why they can never happen again — thanks to his idiot of a brother — but that never stops him from wishing he could go back in time and stop everything from playing out in the way that it has. Charles often forgets, whenever Noa is brought up in conversation, that the rest of his family loved her too. He isn't the only one who lost his best friend.

Despite the overwhelming urge Arthur has to both cry and apologise profusely at the same time when he sees her walk towards him, he ends up not having to do either of those things — Noa makes the decision for him, as she jumps into his arms without hesitation. It feels so natural to rest his head on her shoulder, as she presses a tender kiss to the side of his head. It's just like how things used to be.

"I missed you, 'Thur." she whispers.

Arthur echoes the words back to her. He can't help but hold on that little bit tighter, desperate to savour this moment for as long as he can. After all, there's no guarantee that, after everything, they will be able to do this again once the season starts.

The other café-goers are beginning to stare, so they soon take their seats opposite each other in the booth. There's no time to talk further, as a waiter soon wanders over to take their orders. It comes as a surprise to Noa that Arthur's coffee order hasn't changed, even after two years — a nutella mocha with chocolate flakes sprinkled on top. Pretty much the sweetest coffee he ever could have picked. She can't help but tease him about his infamous sweet tooth, which she remembers got him into trouble frequently when they were younger. Arthur rolls his eyes fondly, before she orders a simple black coffee.

He starts off the conversation nervously again. It's been so long since they last properly talked in person, and he knows she's changed a lot in those two years. Even if he didn't know all the reasons why, he would have been able to tell anyway. Something in Noa's eyes has changed dramatically. They're duller than Arthur remembers — that bright, mischievous spark has faded. He's familiar with it, of course, because he watched the same thing happen to his own brother's eyes after their father's death; but it's so drastic in Noa. She had always been able to light up a room with her eyes and smile, almost like she was the sun. Now it's as if someone has turned down a dimmer on her glow. She's just a shadow of what she used to be, and that worries Arthur.

"I'm good, everyone's good." she says in reply to his question: How are you and your family? It feels too formal, but it's all he can think to say. Besides, the words that come out of Noa's mouth are a lie, and he knows it, "Pai's still fixing up those old cars — remember the garage he opened that one summer? Yeah that's still going strong."

But as much as Arthur wants to call her out, to ask her how she's really feeling, he can't bring himself to. So he merely lets her talk.

"We got a puppy for mãe's birthday to keep her company at home when we're away." Noa continues with a small smile, "A German Shepherd called Paco. He's adorable."

She shows him a picture on her phone, and they both spend a few minutes cooing over videos of the tiny puppy tripping over things on his still slightly wobbly legs. Noa makes some throwaway comment about taking him to meet Paco, but Arthur doesn't hold her to the words. He knows how unlikely she is to stick to them.

"Oh! Did I tell you Luiz has got a girlfriend now?" Noa says with a sudden gasp. She knew there was something she needed to tell him, but for someone reason, the memory had completely escaped her until now. Arthur's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, and he slaps a hand over his mouth dramatically.

"You're joking! No way he beat me to it." the Monégasque says with a small, defeated sigh, making Noa giggle loudly. It almost takes Arthur off guard — he hasn't heard her laugh in so long.

"It's as much of a shock to me as it is to you." she muses, shaking her head in disbelief, "She's really nice, as well — his girlfriend. Her name's Eloísa. She's a painter."

Noa met her little brother Luiz's girlfriend in the summer, about a month after they first started dating. At first, she'd thought they might be moving a bit quick, considering this was their first proper relationship for the both of them, but as soon as she caught sight of Eloísa dos Santos Alves, Noa somehow knew she was perfect for her brother. And sure enough, almost six months later, they're still going strong.

Eloísa is the chalk to Luiz's cheese, in the best way possible. She's the only person Noa has ever met who can balance out his excitable, erratic nature, with her calm, soothing presence and soft voice. Equally, Luiz helps to bring her out of her shell a little, making her feel more comfortable being outspoken in front of unfamiliar people in a way she never would be otherwise. Noa has watched them communicate with no more than looks in their eyes across the dining room table. The level of trust they've managed to build in their relationship already is like nothing she's ever seen, except for in her parents. Sometimes, Noa quietly wonders to herself if she will ever experience something like that — but she never lets her mind linger on it for too long. She'll only end up upsetting herself.

“Tell him the next time we see each other he’s got to give up his secrets.” Arthur says, only half-joking, “There’s no way he’s managed to pull this girl without some level of coercion, right?”

Noa snorts in a distinctly unrefined manner at that, earning her more than a few strange looks.

“Aww, I’m sure you’ll find a girl stupid enough to put up with you at some point, ‘Thur.” she tells him in a voice of mock-sympathy, reaching forwards to pinch his cheek. He slaps her hand away.

“Or I’ll be single forever.” He retorts glumly. Noa can’t help but shake her head at his dramatics. It’s something in the Leclerc genes, she thinks.

“Well, then we can both be single forever together.” she offers brightly, a smile lighting up her face, but once again not quite reaching his eyes. Arthur tilts his head to one side curiously.

“So no boyfriend?” he asks.

Noa’s cheeks turn ever so slightly pink, “That’s a conversation for another time.” she mutters. For the moment, Arthur lets it slide. She’s right, they have more important things to talk about, and he thinks that now is as good a time as any to broach the topic he’s been trying to avoid this whole time.

Though, surprisingly, Noa beats him to it.

“There’s actually something else I need to tell you.” she sighs quietly, internally readying herself for a difficult conversation. Arthur’s ears almost prick up, sensing the newfound seriousness in her voice, and sits up straighter in his seat, “It involves Charles, so I thought you should know.”

He doesn’t miss the way Noa winces at the mere mention of his name. It’s the saddest thing of all, he thinks. Once, not so long ago, he’d watched her face radiate happiness and adoration whenever Charles was brought up in conversation. Now it’s as if just thinking about it him pains her. Though intrigued by this surprise announcement, Arthur can’t help the terror that runs up his spine as he waits with bated breath for her to keep talking. He’s reminded awfully of their last conversation, where Noa could barely even string a sentence together between her sobs of pure rage. Incidentally, that was the last time either she or Charles spoke of each other to him. It’s been radio silence ever since.

“I’ve been offered a sponsorship deal to become the new face of Chanel No.5.” Noa blurts out suddenly, all in one breath. Arthur freezes for a split second. His brain seems to lag behind as it tries to process the words that have just come out of her mouth. Now, he may not know a lot about fashion or brands, but he does know Chanel, and he does have a rough idea of the kind of celebrities who have represented them before. It takes him a moment to shake himself out of his stupor, but as soon as he does, pure joy fills his body and creeps onto his face in the form of a smile so wide it makes his cheeks ache.

“Noa! Merde, that’s incredible!” he cries. The briefest of smiles passes across her face, but it does not last nearly as long as he would have thought, and its soon replaced by anxiety. Arthur’s own grin begins to fall off his face, “Why am I sensing there’s a but in here somewhere…”

The corners of Noa’s mouth twitch up ruefully, “Charles has been offered the same contract.” She explains, “Which means that we'll have to — well, we'll be doing a lot of promotional stuff together...photoshoots and interviews, that kind of thing."

Arthur winces.

“So you see why I have a bit of a problem?” Noa laughs humourlessly, “This is…an incredible opportunity, but – I don’t know if I can do it with him there. Not yet, anyway.” She sighs wearily, running a hand through her unruly curls. Her balaclava has knotted it even more than usual, and her fingers snag more than a few tangles before they can brush through the ends, “And that’s not even considering how he’s going to react to all this.” her teeth sink into her lower lip, hard enough that she knows she’s in danger of drawing blood, “Has he said anything?” she asks, her voice filled with anxiety.

“No.” Arthur shakes his head slowly, “He doesn’t really tell us much now, to be honest. But Noa…” he trails off with a quiet sigh, pausing for just a moment to contemplate his next words, “…Surely it’s not worth giving this up just because of a feud.”

For a split second, she feels annoyance flare up in her chest. It’s a flash of white hot flame running from the base of her spine upwards, lingering over her heart. But just as soon as she feels it, she pushes the sensation down. Arthur means well, she knows that – and if she’s being honest, he’s right.

“I know, I know.” She concedes, “It still hurts, though. I don’t –“ Noa’s voice catches in the lump forming in her throat. She bites back her emotions quickly, sadness and grief quickly replaced by that all-too-familiar rage. She hates that it still affects her so much – that she still regrets every single word spoken that night. Noa wishes, more than anything on earth, that she could simply forget it ever happened; forget him. “– I don’t know if I’m ready to see him again, to be honest.”

“Not to sound harsh,” Arthur says, his eyebrows raising up towards his hairline, “But you’re gonna have to be ready pretty soon. Once the season starts, you won’t really have much of a choice in the matter.” he murmurs anxiously. Noa watches his eyes slip out of focus slightly, as he seems to be consumed in his thoughts. She nods once again, knowing he’s right. Then, he seems to come to life again, sitting bolt upright in his seat so quickly she almost jumps back in shock, “And, if you think about it, maybe this could be a good thing!” he grins so widely and brightly at the prospect, she can’t bring herself to cut him off, “Maybe this will help you both start to make amends for what happened. You could be friends again!”

Noa lets out a shaky breath. No matter how hard she tries to smile back at him, to match his seemingly boundless optimism, she simply can’t do it. It’s not as if she hasn’t tried – for the first six months of the year, she spent hours sat staring at her phone, waiting, hoping that Charles might call. Despite everything, despite all the hurtful words they both said that night, Noa always had faith that he would come through. For six months, she fully believed that she would get her best friend back. She believed he would reach out to her, because if he didn’t then, in the time she needed him most, then she figured he never would.

That’s why Noa has so little faith now. Charles never contacted her. Even when she called him, even when she texted, there was never any reply. He abandoned her. She’d been there for him when he needed her the most, but he couldn’t even be bothered to pick up the phone when their roles were reversed. So Arthur may be able to say the sun hasn’t set on their friendship; he may be able to hope that they could patch things up, go back to the way things used to be – but Noa isn’t stupid. She won’t get her hopes up again; she simply can’t. If Charles lets her down a second time, she doesn’t think she’ll survive it.

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[dissociacrip]

this turned into a long adhd rant whoopsie

it really does suck how people seem to downplay autism and adhd now lol. autism has been reduced to people who can mask and have low support needs and adhd hasn't really changed from its status as a joke.

i don't talk about adhd much but it probably gets in the way of me being able to function just as much, if not more than autism does (in my personal situation) when it comes to mental disability. not showering enough. not cooking. not cleaning my living space properly. forgetting to brush my teeth. dishes sitting in the sink for so long they start getting moldy. only being able to maybe do 1-3 tasks a day maximum because my brain can't organize itself enough to do more than that. difficulty committing to things and being consistent in overarching ways. being late to things a lot. highly impaired verbal recall so i forget things people say to me, forget verbal instructions, etc. on top of the other acutely stressful situations that come with memory and regulating my attention span (e.g. locking my keys in my car or locking myself out of my house when i have a very limited support network to remediate those situations.)

my meds barely touch this stuff for me and i'm not especially inclined to increase the dosage after bordering on psychosis when i was taking 40mg of vyvanse. i've just become so accustomed to living the way that i do (because my case is pretty bad afaik) so i can't just will myself to be another way. any efforts i make to change or be more organized and routine and consistent end up getting dashed away because i just cannot do it lol. my shit just doesn't work. adhd is a massive barrier between me and being a functioning person or being able to take care of myself. i'm pretty sure would still be a "gross" and unpalatable disabled person even if my muscles worked and i didn't have POTS/etc. that also get in the way of my hygiene and the cleanliness of my living space.

that doesn't even go into how other people react to it. a good chunk of physical and verbal abuse i faced from my family as a child was related to my adhd symptoms. i was diagnosed at a young age but my parents "forgot" it happened and it was never addressed otherwise. i got constantly called disgusting for my hygiene problems and was threatened with violence over it (on top of the times where i was actually getting assaulted.) people take my impaired verbal recall and lack of impulse control irt accidentally cutting people off or interrupting them personally, accusing me of not caring enough when it's something that is extremely difficult to be aware of or manage when adhd is a condition that distinctly involves impaired awareness of your own behavior.

so when i see shit like "just set alarms" or anything else that amounts to "you're not trying hard enough" or adhd not very much being a disability, especially when it's coming from other people w/ adhd, it kinda makes me wanna stab things with knives.

sure, it's not the worst condition ever, but just like most other disabilities, the way it affects everyone who is it is different and some are gonna be able to manage it better than others. sure, there a lot of really fucking annoying people (usually able-bodied) w/ adhd on social media that have large platforms and who very often profit from or encourage liberal pop psych bullshit when it comes to adhd, but it's still very much a disability. it can affect hygiene. it can affect employment or otherwise means of earning an income. it can affect our social lives and whether we have a support system. it can affect whether someone can keep their house from getting infested with bugs or mold. it is very much something that causes dysfunction in ways that aren't nearly as cutesy as the little comics you might see on instagram are drawn.

just remember that.

[lostinlewis]

Acquainted ~ In Monaco

Rating: M

Words: 7200

The state between being fully asleep and fully awake was the state you always felt yourself at your most vulnerable. It was the moment you nuzzled in closer to the warm, sweet smelling body of the man who laid beside you, of the man who had been laying beside you every chance he got since he declared you his girl, for a sense of comfort that nothing else in life would offer you. 

From the first night you spent together, until now, there was not a night that went by without the both of you falling asleep together in some way. Hotels around the world had become your makeshift homes, and when life got in the way of you two spending the night in person together, whether it was because Lewis had work of a different kind or you did, you would fall asleep on FaceTime, using that as a comfort until you could be together in person once again.

No matter where you were, no matter what attempted to get in the way, neither one of you could sleep without the other present. It was as if the others' attention, and presence, was now a necessity for survival, something mutually agreed upon, but never spoken about.

Lewis preferred to be the big spoon to your little, but more often than not you got your own way. With a leg draped over his, your arm wrapped across his waist, you would fall into the most peaceful sleep with his scent engulfing your nostrils and the soothing sounds of his soft snores lulling you to sleep. 

“Good Morning sweetie.” 

Lewis’ morning voice was your favourite. Husky yet still kind, like a warm hug , it was so much more preferable to the sounds of any alarm. He always made the first move to wake you properly, already knowing you weren’t asleep; if it was down to you, neither one of you would leave the bed for hours, if at all.

“Morning, what time is it?” 

“9, we better get showered soon, the car will be here to pick us up for the airport in an hour.” 

You had avoided the conversation for as long as possible, spending the days leading up to the departure with Lewis but not being brave enough to mention it once, yet it hung heavy like the darkest cloud over your head the whole time; how could you tell Lewis that you were not going with him to Monaco?

The steam from the shower smothered the air of the bathroom, Lewis kept you under the warm water so you would never get cold, a sacrifice he always made in the shower with you. 

It was almost magic, the way that Lewis’ lips kept your mind free from any worry, or any thoughts at all really, as he kissed you. The moment they lifted, and began to dance down your neck, then your chest, you were reminded once again of exactly what hung over you, a confession that was now almost choking you as it built with anticipation of the worst kind. 

“I have so much planned for us over the next few days.” 

Lewis spoke between kisses akin to love making against every inch of your skin that he could reach as he moved down your body, drawn towards the tingle that grew stronger at your core, the closer he got to meeting it.

“I can’t wait to show you my world…”

“Lewis, I-“

You struggled to interrupt his excitement, knowing that you couldn’t keep up the facade any longer, knowing that the dark cloud of his disappointment that hung over you, had to burst now, otherwise the storm it produced would be fatal. 

“My home…my friends…I want to show you everything.” 

As if perfectly timed with the moment his kiss met your now throbbing nub of desire, you finally managed to blurt the words that you had been mingling over for days now. 

“I’m not going to Monaco!” 

He didn’t immediately jump up like you imagined, there was a pause as he took the words in, his breath was ever present against your sweet spot until he had fully registered exactly what you said. 

“Why not?” 

Lewis was calm, but you were certain that if the sounds of the water beating down on your bodies hadn’t muffled it, you would have heard his heart beating at a hundred miles per hour as the anger filled adrenaline soared through his body. 

“I thought I would take the weekend off…”

That wasn’t the reason of course, but the reason wasn’t something you ever wanted to share. Sometimes a little white lie is a lot kinder on a person, and whilst you could justify it by saying you were looking out for Lewis’ feelings in this situation, the truth was the lie was completely to protect yours. 

“And you chose the weekend we had been planning on making things official to the world to do that?” 

Lewis didn’t wait for your answer, he gave you a look of disappointment before he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, leaving you in the cold for the very first time. 

Never had you understood the phrase ‘the silence was deafening’ more than the minutes you spent getting ready whilst Lewis actively avoided you in what was now an uncomfortably small hotel room. You wanted him to scream at you, you needed him to shout, you would have taken any form of communication in that moment, anything was better than how loud the silence was. 

His phone rang to signify his car was waiting for him outside. You stood in the spot you had been in the whole time, watching him pick up his bags and his phone before he moved towards the door without so much as a glance back at you. 

“Are you…are you not even going to say goodbye?” 

Lewis stopped moving, but stayed facing the door for a few seconds, before turning to look at you with a look that said so much more than his lips would ever allow; the disappointment was written all over his face. 

“Goodbye.” 

“Lewis, please…can we talk?” 

“What’s there to say? You lied to me when you told me you wanted this relationship to be public but now that I know you don’t, well…goodbye.” 

Never did you imagine you would see Lewis leave you, but he did. Without hesitation, he walked out of the hotel room and almost certainly your life too; you were stunned by just how easy it was for him. A relationship that had brewed over countless months, in many different countries, finished within a few minutes, like it had meant nothing at all. 

You fell to the bed and sobbed harder than you had done since you were a child. The pain in your stomach was unbearable as the sense of loss crashed down on you , crushing you with the realisation that your insecurities had won yet again, and this time the price you paid was bigger than anything that had come before it. 

Living with a loss is always difficult, it was made a hundred times harder by trying to live with the loss of someone who’s fame transcended their sport and so was thrusted into your view even when you tried your hardest to actively avoid anything to do with Lewis; he was inevitable. 

You scrolled through your Instagram feed, that of the account you kept personal and separate to your career yet despite your best efforts, a suggested post was spotlighted just to make sure that there wasn’t even a remote chance of you being anything but completely devastated that night.

“Lewis cosies up to two girls at after party in Monaco” 

You had already known that the post race after party in Monaco was wild, you had been to a few yourself. It was a chance for the drivers to let loose, to enjoy themselves, in a country so private, and one the majority lived in, it was inevitable; what wasn’t inevitable, however, was you having to face that reality after free practice, of all things. Somehow, the insignificance of that particular scenario made the sting a little sharper.  

Against all of your better judgement you stared at the picture of him standing uncomfortably close to the women, both of them had the kind of smile on their faces that sickened you, Lewis’ charm was clearly in full swing, yet his smile was even worse; you had seen it yourself, many times before, you knew that it meant.

As selfish as you knew it was, you hated the fact that whilst you mourned the insurmountable loss of your relationship, he had done the exact opposite; found himself inside of the next woman, replacing you in a heartbeat, like nothing you shared had even mattered. 

Your grief lingered for only an hour or so more before it turned into a rage that burnt deep inside of you. That transition was helped by the fact that through your tear filled, pathetic eyes, you had tried to call Lewis, multiple times, and not only had he ignored your call, he had cut it off, cancelled your attempt at contact as fast as he had cancelled your relationship. 

The giggle you let out was uncontrollable, it was one built from grief but moulded by anger. Lewis could avoid you easily at the other end of a phone, but your job aligning perfectly with his, made it impossible for him to do that in person, even if he really wanted to. 

Qualifying had started by the time you made it to Monaco, but that was insignificant, never in your life had you cared less about anything to do with racing, your mind was fully focused on making it to track before it finished, and you pulled every string, used up any favours you had, to make it to the media pen just before the end of Q3, finally catching your breath as Lewis made his way out of the Mercedes garage and towards where he would be faced with the inevitability of an interview with the woman he had just left. 

As you interviewed Charles, the pole sitter, you watched Lewis move around the pen, from journalist to journalist, getting closer and closer to you, he just didn’t know it yet. You almost envied his ignorance to the moment, he was carefree whilst rage burnt inside of you, washed out a little by nerves.

“What…”

The shock was evident all over his face. You were the last person he expected to see today, but you didn’t let him linger in it for very long. You had a job to do after all; today's job was making his ability to shut you out impossible, a job you were currently excelling at. 

“Hi Lewis, can you tell us a little about how the car felt during qualifying.” 

He didn’t respond straight away, instead he was distracted by the questions he had in his head, yet couldn’t let out on live television. His eyes were searching for answers in yours, as he held your gaze until you broke first and looked away. 

“She was…she was difficult…” 

Lewis began with so few words, but even so, you knew he was going to give as good as he got in this interview; just as he once told you, you can always try and take control but his power was inescapable. 

“I tried my hardest…you know, she just didn’t want to play ball. It’s hard, when you see potential in something you have put so much time and effort into over the past few months, and no matter how hard you try, your efforts are not rewarded.” 

“Maybe your expectations of her…of the car, are too high for what she’s ready for?”

Lewis was known for his expression full face, one that told you exactly how he felt without a single word leaving his lips and this time was no different. His raise of one eyebrow was in complete contradiction to the conversation the viewers at home knew you to be having. If he wasn’t careful, the truth behind the analogies would be out in the world with very little control, and there would be nothing he could do about it. Even Lewis Hamilton didn’t have the kind of power to make people forget what they had witnessed.  

“Maybe…maybe I saw a potential in her that was never there in the first place. I just wish…actually, no let me not say that.”

He looked away from you as he fought back the words that he so desperately wanted to say. His eyes darted around behind you, as if he was searching for someone, and he was; anyone, anyone to focus on but you. 

“Go on Lewis, you’ve never been one to shy away from telling the world exactly what you think before, why start now?” 

The cattiness in your comment was not missed on him, his face turned into a scowl of which you had not seen directed at you before. It was very clear that the longer this interview went on, the longer he had to feign even the most pathetic attempt at pretending he was talking about his car, the more aggravated he would get.  

“I just wish that she hadn’t pretended to be something that she wasn’t…in Spain, I mean. There was a promise that weekend, a compromise between me and her, and ultimately she lied.” 

“Sometimes a lie can be misinterpreted by your own biases. You saw what you wanted to see, Lewis, maybe you should have tried asking her how she really felt?”

“Maybe after so many months, I shouldn’t have had to?” 

“Thank you for your time-“

“Finished so soon? But I have more to say.” 

Your heart sunk at the moment. You knew Lewis had this side of him, the side that was unabashed, free with his words, a side that ultimately had not been seen, in public at least, for many years now; yet here he was, staring back at you, like the naive driver you first met many years ago.

“Do you think that’s wise?”

You tried to warn him, you attempted to bring him back down to reality a little with your warning but he was clouded by a mist of pure emotion, there was nothing you could do to prevent what his next sentence would be.

“What are you so afraid of?”

“What?” 

You were not used to being the one faced with questions, you did the asking, Lewis did the answering, that was how your relationship had always gone and now he had flipped it a complete 180, you were unsure on how to react. 

“I said, what are you so afraid of?”

“I…I…everything.” 

“I guess I would have hoped that I would have made you feel comfortable enough with me that you didn’t feel like you ever needed to hide who you are, I’m sorry I couldn’t do that for you.” 

“Lewis, let’s not do this in public please…”

You wished more than anything he had just answered your phone call yesterday, the last thing you wanted to do was to confirm your relationship, one that had been so heavily speculated on for months now, in the form of a very public break up. 

“Sorry, I forgot our little pact to keep up the pretence of me just being another driver to you. I guess everyone knows now.” 

His sentence finished with a smile that told you he knew exactly what he had done with that comment. Lewis always told you he wanted the world to know about you, and up until now he was respectful of your wishes of privacy, up until he no longer had to respect your wishes at all.

“Okay I am done here.” 

Your cameraman knew his cue to stop filming, yet even a polite tug from Lewis’ PR person couldn’t snap him out of his inability to drop the conversation, nor did it stop him from walking around the barrier to join you. 

“Why are you so embarrassed by being associated with me?” 

It was as if something snapped inside you. The self pitying, the refusal to abide by your wishes to stop telling the world your business, it could have been any of them that caused it but that didn’t matter now, something had and now there was no holding back.

He was a few inches away from you now, having bypassed the barrier that surrounded the pen just to be closer to you, a hand that normally comforted you on your waist now irritated you no end and you brushed it off with aggression. 

“I’m sorry if I don’t want our sex life plastered all over Instagram, I’m sorry I’m nothing like the women you were with last night…that’s your usual type, isn’t it Lewis?” 

“That…that wasn’t what it looked like.” 

“Oh please, I’ve known you, I’ve known all of you drivers for longer than most people here. I know what you’re like, I know what you’re all like.”

“Baby, stop…it wasn’t-“

“Leave me alone, Lewis. You got your wish, everyone knows now and I’ll forever be known as the journalist that fucked Lewis Hamilton.” 

The thing about Monaco was that it didn’t matter how far you ran, and you ran far longer than you ever thought possible, you were never alone. The sea of people never lessened in its enormity, and being the woman they saw on TV every weekend, who was now running as fast as she could back to her hotel, all of them stopped to stare at you. You knew soon it wouldn’t be long until the stares were joined by whispers about the latest scandal of the paddock, and boy did this sport love a scandal, your legs could not get you out of there fast enough for your liking. 

Lewis tried to call you of course, many times, each time was more pointless than the last as you had absolutely no want inside of you to talk to him. He gave up eventually, and you found yourself crying yourself to sleep once more, that was until your phone woke you with a violent vibration, in the form of one singular text message. 

‘I have something to show you.’

You placed your phone back down on the bed and turned around, the anger boiling inside you once more. You were not going to entertain him with a conversation, but unfortunately you also had forgotten how determined Lewis was when he wanted something; you would always give up before he did, it was in his blood to win.

“Lewis, please…just leave me alone.”

“I will, I promise…but please, I need you to come downstairs and let me take you somewhere.” 

“This is ridiculous, it’s the middle of the night. Can it wait until morning?”

“It will be too late by morning, it has to be now.” 

You were in the state between sleep and fully awake as you spoke to him, the state you most enjoyed him under usual circumstances, and that was what you would blame for your inability to refuse his offer. Reluctantly, you dragged yourself out of bed, still in the oversized t-shirt you slept in, and made your way down to his car waiting at the entrance of the hotel. 

“Thank you for coming.” 

Lewis tried to kiss you on your cheek but you pulled even further away from him, almost hitting your head off of the passenger window in the process. 

The sigh that escaped his lips was as heavy as the tension that suffocated the air of Lewis’ car. You refused to look at him for the whole journey, you refused to speak to him, instead you let him drive you through the now practically empty, sparsely lit, streets of Monte Carlo and towards whatever it was that was so urgent that it couldn’t wait until morning.

“Why are we here?” 

You stood outside the entrance to the tall, sand coloured apartment block, looking up at the balconies that decorated the front of it. Large, glass barriers that shielded the elite from the rest of the mere mortals that roamed the streets of the city. That was one of the things that amused you about Monaco the most, the mere mortals here had a greater wealth than anywhere else, but still they were not wealthy enough to live in this particular building. 

“I told you, I need you to see something.”  

Lewis held his hand out for you to take it and for a second, as you looked down at the hand you had spent many a night with wrapped around your throat, you considered it; until the reality reminded you that nothing was as it once was, your hand no longer belonged in his. 

“Let’s just get this over with.” 

The elevator was bigger than your bedroom, the realisation made you giggle to yourself as you stood against one side of the mirrored wall; Lewis against the other. The elevator was a prime example of your worries, you didn’t belong here, and if you didn’t belong in an elevator of all things, you certainly didn’t belong in his world at all.

“You know, this wasn’t how I wanted to bring you home for the first time…”

Lewis filled the empty air between you, for the first time in forever the silence that was normally natural, now felt like it was trying to smother you of the many memories you shared with him; he felt like a stranger, even after a few hours of separation.

“You’re the one who invited me, Lewis. If you didn’t want me here, you have gone about it completely the wrong way.” 

The ding of the elevator signified your arrival at Lewis’ floor, level eight to be precise, and as if on instinct, he once more held his hand out for you to take it, you wondered how his hope hadn’t faltered since your previous rejection. You were still in no mood to oblige him, so instead you walked past him as if you knew where you were going, stopping just outside the elevator doors when you realised you didn’t. 

“I haven’t brought you here to fight some more, you can drop your defences now.” 

Lewis had only one neighbour on his floor, but you would never have known that unless he told you. His neighbour's existence was hidden behind a wall, their door covered in privacy, the only way you knew it was there was Lewis insistence on explaining the layout of the building as you walked through the hallway, towards his front door.

You had been surprisingly calm up until the moment you stood behind him, waiting for him to unlock the door. All at once you were overwhelmed with a sudden sense of nerves, anxiousness, as if you were about to enter a world you had so desperately tried to avoid up until now, the longer Lewis took to unlock the door, the worse you felt. 

He stood back, holding the door open for you to enter before him with an outstretched arm. You hesitated for a moment, your nerves suddenly very apparent to him, yet he was powerless to help you; a realisation that tormented him more than anything else. 

“We can stand outside if you really want to, although I promise inside is much nicer.” 

It was. Everything about Lewis’ apartment at first glance, screamed the kind of luxury that was entirely foreign to you. You felt like a kid in the world's largest toy shop, the way you looked around you, taking in the sights of everything his apartment was. 

It was minimal, the furniture sparse but for the bare essentials. The door led into a hallway cladded with dark oak walls, graced with doors to match, each door holding the secrets of a new room behind it. You followed Lewis’ lead as he led you straight down the hallway and into the living room. 

“Your apartment, it’s…it’s huge.” 

Your voice was like a warm hug to Lewis, and as he laid his keys and phone down on the table, he smiled as he heard it, watching you move around the room sheepishly, taking in every little bit you could. 

“Would you like a tour?” 

You were so tempted to say yes that you had to halt the word as it hitched in your throat, instead choosing to answer in a way that was entirely more comfortable to lie in; with a head shake. 

“Why am I here Lewis?” 

For the third time in a very short period, Lewis held out his hands for yours, but this time he didn’t give you the option of rejecting him. Having learnt from his earlier mistakes, he instead took your hand in his, leaving you with no option but to fight off the overwhelming feeling of love that washed over you the moment you felt the tenderness of his skin against yours. 

“Please, let me show you around first…” 

“Fine, whatever.” 

Lewis smirked at your stubbornness as he held just one hand now, leading from the front as he directed you back to the hallway. 

“Let’s start with the kitchen, what do you think?”

Whitewashed walls, with black marble surfaces everywhere you looked, the kitchen was impeccably clean and so very Lewis; clean, polished and everything in its place, it reminded you more of a show kitchen than one that had anyone living in it. 

“I think it is obvious you don’t spend much time here.” 

You teased as you peeled back the protective plastic still covering one of his countertops. 

“Well maybe if I had someone to cook for here, I would…” 

Lewis laughed as you rolled your eyes, he could feel you warming to him, you could feel it too, so you fought back with a soft scowl as he led you to the bathroom next. 

You soon realised that the theme of most rooms was marble, the bathroom was decorated with the most expensive looking kind; washed greys with a sliver of gold running through the natural patterns. The shower was big enough for two people, with raindrop shower heads in the ceiling, double sinks and even double toilets. What caught your attention most though, the thing that quickly became your favourite part of his apartment, was the free standing bathtub in the middle of the room. In the same design as the marble on the walls, with gold taps to match, the bathtub was by far the prettiest, and largest, you had ever seen in your life. 

“And through here…is where the magic happens.” 

A sentence that often led to the entrance of a bedroom, instead revealed a makeshift music studio. The walls were decorated in obscure posters of Lewis’ favourite artists, the floor bare but for a table that sat against the wall, housing a laptop and four speakers surrounding it. 

“This room is still a work in progress, but I have big plans…” 

“I’m sure you do Lewis, you always do. Are we done with the tour now?”

Lewis could sense your patience fading fast, and with that, the last specks of your relationship leaving with it. His grip on your hand tightened in response, as if physical contact could halt the fact that your once solid, or so he thought, emotional connection, was washing away with every moment that passed by. 

“Almost, just a little more to see.” 

“Great, it’s a bedroom…” 

“What do you think of it?” 

Lewis’ ability to ignore all of your sarcasm, to block out any of your disdain as he showed you his home, was award worthy; you always knew he was determined, but even for him, this was something more. 

“It’s nice, but can I be honest?” 

“I’m going to regret saying this, aren’t I…but yes.” 

“Everything about your place is nice, but it’s all a bit soulless don’t you think?” 

There was silence for a moment, you instantly regretted how harsh that sounded, he was clearly so proud of his home and here you were, making sure he knew that it lacked any kind of personality.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry…I’m just so tired, after today.”

“No you’re right, it is.” 

Lewis’ face normally gave you a clue as to what he was thinking just by looking at it, always so honest with his emotions written all over it, but as you stared at him, you saw nothing that would help you predict what he was thinking or feeling. 

“There’s a reason for that though. You still have one more room left to view, go open that door over there, maybe you will like that room a little more.” 

“Does it have the same bathtub as your bathroom? Because I truly loved that.” 

Lewis smiled softly at you, freeing your hands for the first time since he took hold of them, urging you to do as he said. 

“That would be…weird, but noted. You love the bathtub.” 

It was interesting walking towards a room with little expectation, every other room in the house was accounted for, in the few short steps to the door you pondered it being an en suite, one that by judging Lewis’ reaction this was the most important room in the house to him; the reality of what it actually was took a little longer than he hoped it would once you opened the door. 

“Lewis…it’s…it’s…” 

“It’s yours, baby.” 

“But I don’t understand?” 

You stood in the middle of the room, much the same size as his bedroom, but this room had so much more personality. The walls painted a pastel version of your favourite colour, the carpet a soft deep pile of white. It was beautiful, it was something out of a fairytale, or better yet, it was a closet that Carrie Bradshaw would be envious of and on the back wall, a mural painted of a picture you two took together in San Francisco a few months ago. 

“It’s new, everything in this apartment is brand new, baby.” 

“But you’ve lived here for years?” 

Lewis found his place just behind you, holding onto your hips as he watched you scour through the endless racks of clothes, marvelling over the built-in shelving full of shoes, everything entirely more expensive than anything you had ever owned before. 

“Yes, this was a place that I stayed for years but things are different now. There’s a reason the place is so lifeless, babe, it has been waiting for you to bring it.” 

“Lewis, I am so confused.” 

“Come sit and I’ll explain.” 

Lewis sat down on the carpet, helping to lower you down to join him, this time it felt right holding his hands, like you needed the support to hear what he had to say next. 

“This weekend…well, it has been nothing at all like how I planned it in my head.” 

“I know, I’m sorry for not being honest with you from the get go. I should have told you what was bothering me, I should have explained to you why I couldn’t come to Monaco with you.”

“Yes, you should have. Can you tell me now?” 

You looked down at your folded legs in embarrassment as you mulled over the many different ways to explain your most insecure thoughts, to the man you revered more than anyone else. 

“I was scared, Lewis. Scared of you, scared of this, scared of everyone knowing about us.” 

“Fuck, so you’re actually ashamed of me?” 

“No, no…nothing like that. You need to understand that we both come from different worlds, Lewis. Your world is nothing like mine, at all. My apartment is the size of your living room, for starters.” 

“So?” 

“So, I don’t belong here and it’s obvious to everyone but you it seems. I am not ashamed of you, in fact I am probably the proudest person in the whole paddock every race weekend, you are incredible…but I am ashamed of me.” 

Lewis rubbed his thumb over the top of your hand, a small but significant detail to comfort you in what he could tell was your most vulnerable moment with him. 

“I never feel like I am enough for you, I feel like I am holding you back, stopping you from being with someone a lot younger, a lot prettier, someone you actually deserve.” 

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not. I hear what people say about me, before we have even confirmed it, they call me the woman who is only where she is because she is fucking Lewis Hamilton, they judge me because they too know that I am not good enough for you.” 

“Why do you care what people think so much?” 

“Because I worked so fucking hard to get to the position I am in, you should know that feeling more than most. I hate that forever my career will be defined by who I am sleeping with.” 

“I’m sorry that us being together has made you feel this way. I can’t change the way people speak about you, as much as I want to, but I can help you see yourself in a kinder light. Look around you, I did all of this for you.” 

“I don’t deserve it, Lewis. Honestly, as much as seeing you with those two women last night hurt me, it made sense to me…they were young, beautiful…they were everything I am not.” 

“You’re right, they were everything you’re not…and that’s because there is no one like you. You want to know what I actually did last night? I left the party not long after 10pm, I came home, straight to this room…your room…and I lay down right where you are sitting, staring at the thousands of pictures I have of you until I fell asleep. Even when you are not here baby, your face is the last thing I want to see before I fall asleep.” 

Love is such a difficult concept to explain. The complexities of such a raw emotion are many, layers upon layers of feelings that both contradict each other and make perfect sense. Love can have you so completely devastated with one breath, and it can have you falling into the arms, into the lips, of a person who was both the reason for your devastation and the cure to that too. 

Whilst your cheeks were soaked with tears that had only temporarily stopped falling over the past twenty four hours, you fell into Lewis’ lips and with that, into the most instinctive form of love making. 

Neither one of you spoke, neither one of you allowed your lips, or your hands, to lift from the other for any longer than a second. The moment he was inside of you was the moment you finally started to feel a familiar sense of peace, as he thrust lazily for both of your pleasures, you felt him fuck you into a paradise unmatched. 

The truth was, that no matter what was happening in your lives, no matter how angry, or annoyed, or utterly devastated by the other you were, sex was the one thing that brought you to an understanding, if only for a few minutes; it was the one thing that you both agreed on. 

“I love you so so much, baby.” 

Lewis was always vocal, but this time his words felt different. As he fought to bury himself as deep as possible inside of you, attempting to reach depths that were entirely impossible, his hands roamed your body, his lips exploring your neck. His actions were that of someone who was so desperately trying not to lose sight of the person below them, scared that you may disappear from him at any moment. 

It didn’t happen often, your orgasms hardly ever emerged at the same time, but tonight they were, a poetic meeting of an ecstasy that had built with very little effort, as if you both found your peaks through the sheer want of the other; it was entirely possible you did. 

You felt your eyes close the more overwhelmed you were, your orgasm washed through your body from your core right up to the very tip of your head, and built with intensity the further it rose. You heard nothing but the muffled moans of the man who was at the height of his own ecstasy on top of you, but you could feel so much. 

“You’re enough, baby. You are enough.” 

You could feel all of him, you could feel him finishing inside of you, you could feel how intense his heartbeat was against your chest, but most importantly, you could feel the ways in which this man loved you, and for the first time, in your most weakened state, you believed it. 

The state of undress you both found yourselves in as you laboured in the post orgasmic haze, Lewis sat back against the wall, you between his legs, resting against his chest as your fingers played with each other in the air, was almost comical. Neither one of you had the energy to dress properly, that was so very unimportant now. 

“I guess everyone has been talking about us since this afternoon?” 

“You mean you haven’t been online at all?” 

Lewis felt your body tense against his as you dreaded the memory of everyone witnessing your very public break up. 

“Is it bad?” 

“Well…it’s not great.” 

“Lewis, what are we going to do?” 

“Wait here, I have something for you.” 

Lewis slipped out from behind you with urgency, yet with so much care too. You buried your head in your arms folded over your knees as you wished for the memories of tens of thousands of people to be wiped clean and for everyone to forget what they had witnessed today. 

“Close your eyes, no peeking.” 

“Lewis, what are you doing? I’m too tired for a surprise.” 

“Just do as you are told for once, please?” 

You did. You kept your eyes shut tight as he kneeled back down to your level, but this time in front of you. 

“You can open them now.” 

The moment you did you almost passed out with shock. There he was, the man you loved more than anything and anyone else on this planet, knelt in front of you, holding a box with the prettiest diamond inside. 

“Why don’t we give them something to really talk about?” 

The smile on his face was one of such hope, a smile pure devilish in nature, you were frozen in shock, unable to answer him. 

“Baby, forget your doubts, forget your silly thoughts of not being enough for me, and look at the man who is kneeling in front of you asking you to do him the honour of allowing him to spend the rest of his life proving to you exactly why you are.” 

“Lewis, oh my god…I can’t…” 

“Marry me, please?” 

“Yes, yes, I’ll marry you…of course I'll marry you!” 

For an athlete at the peak of his prime, it was embarrassing how easily you made him fall back to the floor, just by jumping on him. It took a good hour for him to finally remember to place the ring on your finger, too lost in kissing like you were teenagers, and then it took a good hour more of you both staring at your finger for reality to even begin to settle in. 

“If we’re going to do this, I need you to promise me something please.” 

Lewis broke the harmonic silence with yet another conversation. It was now drawing close to four am, and despite your insistence that he finally sleep as he had a race tomorrow, he refused, stating he would start and finish P8, and with it being Monaco, he already knew he would be stuck behind someone the whole way. 

“Anything, Lewis.” 

“Let me see you.” 

“Okay, you're a delirious old man, let’s get you to bed.” 

You feigned getting up, to immediately be pulled back down into his arms. 

“I’m serious, babe. You’ve never been truly with me, there’s always been a little part of you trapped inside your head, afraid to come out, afraid for me to see all of you but it’s time. No more hiding, no more pretending, I want to see you, I need to see all of you.” 

It felt like you had only really been asleep for no more than an hour or so when the sunlight broke through the tiny gap in the curtains. Lewis stirred first, of course, some things never changed, but today you looked forward to what faced you, life was entirely more bearable knowing you were doing it with a fiance, knowing you were doing it with a man strong enough to hold you up when you fell, was priceless. 

“Are you nervous, baby?” 

“Not one bit.” 

The truth was you would have been scared to death in this situation with anyone else, but with Lewis in control of the motorbike he insisted on driving you both to track on, you had never felt safer in your life. As the streets of Monte Carlo passed you by in a blur, you clung tighter to his waist but not out of fear, you clung tighter to his waist because holding him was about the only thing you could do in this moment, and since he had proposed, you had been unable to do anything but cling to him. 

You were so used to being the one to report the gossip of the paddock, it felt very weird being the gossip, but walking through the paddock, past your many colleagues and friends, past the thousands of gaping mouths as if they didn’t all already know anyway, you felt powerful, you felt special, you felt loved. You squeezed Lewis’ hand that you held as if to thank him, and to remind him that as much as you had him to hold you up, he also had you. Forever. 

“So Lewis, how does it feel to be six races in and not a sign of a win in sight yet for you? Must be one of the worst starts to your career ever.” 

The usual bitchy questions from the journalists, desperate to get a raise out of the man who was calm at even the worst of times, had little to no effect on Lewis today. He stood listening intently, with a smile that hadn’t left his face since morning. 

“Honestly, it is one of the worst starts to my career, but you know what? This, this whole place, the circus that it is, is just that. My career. It’s insignificant in the grand scheme of things, and do you know what made me realise that?” 

Lewis paused his thoughts to beckon for you to join him in the media pen, your first and probably last experience of being on the other side of the barriers, standing next to the greatest driver of all time, as he held your hand up for the camera to see. 

“She did. The future Mrs Hamilton is far bigger of an achievement than whatever position I finish in a race.” 

[sassenach77yle]

"What are you doing?" he asked. His hands rested gently on my shoulders."Looking for that plant," I answered, sticking a finger between the pages to mind my place. "The one I saw in the stone circle. See…" I flipped the book open.

"It could be in the Campanulaceae, or the Gentianaceae, the Polemoniaceae, the Boraginaceae—that's most likely, I think, forget-me-nots—but it could even be a variant of this one, the Anemone patens."

I pointed out a full color illustration of a pasqueflower. "I don't think it was a gentian of any kind; the petals weren't really rounded, but—"

"Well, why not go back and get it?" he suggested. "Mr. Crook would lend you his old banger, perhaps, or—no, I've a better idea. Borrow Mrs. Baird's car, it's safer. It's a short walk from the road to the foot of the hill.""And then about a thousand yards, straight up," I said. "Why are you so interested in that plant?" I swiveled around to look up at him. The parlor lamp outlined his head with a thin gold line, like a medieval engraving of a saint."It's not the plant I care about. But if you're going up there anyway, I wish you'd have a quick look around the outside of the stone circle.""All right," I said obligingly.

"What for?""Traces of fire," he said. "In all the things I've been able to read about Beltane, fire is always mentioned in the rituals, yet the women we saw this morning weren't using any. I wondered if perhaps they'd set the Beltane fire the night before, then come back in the morning for the dance. Though historically it's the cow herds who were supposed to set the fire. There wasn't any trace of fire inside the circle," he added "But we left before I thought of checking the outside."

"All right," I said again, and yawned. Two early risings in two days were taking their toll. I shut the book and stood up. "Provided I don't have to get up before nine."It was in fact nearly eleven before I reached the stone circle. It was drizzling, and I was soaked through, not having thought to bring a mac. I made a cursory examination of the outside of the circle, but if there had ever been a fire there, someone had taken pains to remove its traces.

The plant was easier to find. It was where I remembered it, near the foot of the tallest stone. I took several clippings of the vine and stowed them temporarily in my handkerchief, meaning to deal with them properly when I got back to Mrs. Baird's tiny car, where I had left the heavy plant presses.The tallest stone of the circle was cleft, with a vertical split dividing the two massive pieces. Oddly, the pieces had been drawn apart by some means. Though you could see that the facing surfaces matched, they were separated by a gap of two or three feet.There was a deep humming noise coming from somewhere near at hand. I thought there might be a beehive lodged in some crevice of the rock, and placed a hand on the stone in order to lean into the cleft.The stone screamed.I backed away as fast as I could, moving so quickly that I tripped on the short turf and sat down hard. I stared at the stone, sweating.I had never heard such a sound from anything living. There is no way to describe it, except to say that it was the sort of scream you might expect from a stone. It was horrible.The other stones began to shout. There was a noise of battle, and the cries of dying men and shattered horses.I shook my head violently to clear it, but the noise went on. I stumbled to my feet and staggered toward the edge of the circle. The sounds were all around me, making my teeth ache and my head spin. My vision began to blur.I do not know now whether I went toward the cleft in the main stone, or whether it was accidental, a blind drifting through the fog of noise.Once, traveling at night, I fell asleep in the passenger seat of a moving car, lulled by the noise and motion into an illusion of serene weightlessness. The driver of the car took a bridge too fast and lost control, and I woke from my floating dream straight into the glare of headlights and the sickening sensation of falling at high speed. That abrupt transition is as close as I can come to describing the feeling I experienced, but it falls woefully short.I could say that my field of vision contracted to a single dark spot, then disappeared altogether, leaving not darkness, but a bright void. I could say that I felt as though I were spinning, or as though I were being pulled inside out. All these things are true, yet none of them conveys the sense I had of complete disruption, of being slammed very hard against something that wasn't there.The truth is that nothing moved, nothing changed, nothing whatever appeared to happen and yet I experienced a feeling of elemental terror so great that I lost all sense of who, or what, or where I was. I was in the heart of chaos, and no power of mind or body was of use against it.I cannot really say I lost consciousness, but I was certainly not aware of myself for some time. I "woke," if that's the word, when I stumbled on a rock near the bottom of the hill. I half slid the remaining few feet and fetched up on the thick tufted grass at the foot.I felt sick and dizzy. I crawled toward a stand of oak saplings and leaned against one to steady myself. There was a confused noise of shouting nearby, which reminded me of the sounds I had heard, and felt, in the stone circle. The ring of inhuman violence was lacking, though; this was the normal sound of human conflict, and I turned toward it.

Cap 2 Standing Stones~ Outlander

[ddejavvu]

Hi!!!

Imagine hotch x reader where the reader is pregnant and hotch isn’t there when she goes into labor but Derek is (she left her wallet at the bau or something while visiting Hotch and Derek came over to drop it off to her… or something like that)

I’m imagining the interaction between Derek and Hotch once he finally gets to the hospital 😭😭

You've watched Derek walk into active shootings, and run an unsub off the road by crashing his car into theirs, but you've never seen him quite as scared as he is now that your water has broken.

"Oh shit," His eyes widen and he presses his back flat to the wall of the kitchenette, eyeing the stain on your work pants, "Uh, that's- we have to go now, don't we?"

"Now," You plead, panic seizing you as well, no matter how much you try repressing it. You know a stressful labor won't be good for your daughter, but there's no way it's going to go smoothly now that Aaron isn't here.

"Okay. Okay, I gotcha," Derek promises, with more confidence than you're sure he truly possesses. He reaches out to help you from your chair, supporting most of your weight with a hand around your shoulders and the other cupped under your belly. Walking is more of an awkward shuffle than his typical long strides, but he helps you over to Hotch's office where your husband's hospital bag is kept. Derek slings the diaper bag over his shoulder and tries getting you back on your feet after you've reclined against the armrest of Aaron's couch, but you struggle to move properly.

"Okay, uh- okay. I'm gonna carry you, alright?" Derek looks into your eyes for permission, but you'd be doomed if you denied, "Okay, c'mere, just- yeah, wrap your arms around my neck, Y/N. That's it," You do as you're told, and Derek scoops you up bridal style. You're constantly impressed by his muscles, but now more than ever.

"Okay, mama. Let's get you to the car, then we'll go to the hospital. We'll turn the sirens on," Derek promises, moving as fast as he can with you in his arms and the bag balanced on his shoulders, "Cut through traffic."

"Thank you, Derek," You groan, face pressed into his shoulder as your first wave of contractions begins flowing over you. It's an aching you've never felt before, and you try not to sob knowing that they'll only get worse with time.

"No need, no need." He assures you, and he's surprisingly fast to get you into the car. True to his word, he turns the sirens on, but your groans and moans of pain might be louder than the piercing wails that clear the road for you.

"Okay," Your eyes are squeezed shut, but you hear the squeal of tires against the road as Derek pulls into the parking lot, "Okay, we're gonna get you in there, okay? Then I'll call Hotch, you just do your thing."

An attendant is already rushing out to meet you and you squeeze Derek's arm one final time, a pained smile on your face as he watches the nurses help you into a wheelchair.

"Thank you," You repeat, "Derek, thank you. I love you."

"Love you too," He grins, relaxed now that he knows you're finally in proper hands, "Now go have us another BAU baby!"

--

Aaron storms into the waiting room a mere twenty minutes after Derek calls him, and he was supposed to be conducting a prison interview, so Derek doesn't want to think about how he'd managed to get here that fast.

"My wife," Hotch demands, as if Derek thinks he might be here to read to sick children, "Where's Y/N?"

"Delivery room 4," Derek stands to show him the window attached to your room, blinds drawn and painful groans coming from within, "Hurry, man, they said it's going real fast."

"Thank you." Aaron stops to grab Derek's forearms, squeezing them and nodding once, "Thank you, Morgan."

"Get in there," Derek grins, the last bit of stress that had been squeezing at his chest alleviated now that Aaron is here to witness the birth of his daughter, "Go on, Hotch."

Aaron doesn't need more coaxing than that.

He's allowed a quick entry when he introduces himself to the nurse, and you're already being fed ice chips that last mere seconds between your clenched teeth.

"Honey," Aaron rushes forward, and you reach out for his desperately. Your grip is nearly bruising on his hand but he couldn't care less, and leans in to kiss your sweat-lined forehead.

"What can I do?" He asks, standing even after the nurse offers him a chair. You nod to it, and that's his cue to sit.

"Nothing." You nearly sob, overtaken by pain Aaron wishes he could fix for you, "Just- just promise me- aah!"

"You're okay," Aaron jumps into action, squeezing your hand so that you squeeze his even harder, pressing his free hand against your teeth through your cheeks so that you don't crack a tooth by clenching your jaw so tight. You let him force your mouth open but it only makes your cries of pain louder, and when they subside you open your eyes to find him staring worriedly down at you.

"I want the baby to have Morgan as a middle name," You finish your thought, "I- I know we decided on Mia for her first, but- but-"

"Mia Morgan Hotchner," Aaron nods, smiling at the way the name rolls off of his tongue, "I think that's perfect, honey."

[qqueenofhades]

I will always attempt to prod you for new Garcy content, so, here's hoping this speaks to you 😂 (also happy belated birthday! <- my Tumblr wasn't working properly on you big day, and didn't let me send you a HBD greeting then, so I'm doing it now) 🥳

----------

Garcy

41. Don't look back

The New England night is rank with cold, with the briny scent of the distant sea, with woodsmoke and creosote, tar and turpentine, hay and mud. Lucy stands with her arms crossed, her coat drawn tightly over her shoulders, staring out at the dark woods that stretch endlessly beyond this simple farmhouse on the edge of Boston -- in the year 1880, a fast-growing industrial city, thronged with largely-Irish immigrants, strung up with newfangled electric lights and trolley cars, steamships moored at the docks, but still straining at the old Pilgrim bones beneath, forced to accept all this modernity at a blow. In other circumstances, she would almost like the chance to look around. Not, however, as if that is going to happen. Now or ever.

She shivers harder. She can still feel the wind cutting right through her, and surely it's her imagination that it's not just a figure of speech, that she's becoming more and more insubstantial, never-existing, by the moment. She feels dreamy, almost comfortable, the sort of lulling reverie you slip into when you're on the brink of freezing to death and it feels downright pleasant. She looks down at her hands, tries to see if she can see through them to the ground. It would be just, perhaps. It would be the only outcome.

Just then, there's a particularly loud commotion in the farmhouse behind her, and she turns around sharply. She hasn't been paying attention to the low-level clamor -- the shouts, the shots, the smashing, the screaming, the sort that would attract the neighbors if there were any in range. As it is, there aren't, and that too is all by design. She stands here, a cold and merciless goddess, listens to men die inside, and feels... nothing. Her mother has, in the end, done her job too well. Carol Preston dutifully raised her daughters in Rittenhouse, trained Lucy to be the heiress, the crown princess, and now it's playing out exactly as she intended, with one devastating little twist. It's Rittenhouse dying in there, all of them, or at least Lucy so badly hopes. All her ancestors, her great-grandfathers and uncles and whatever else, and that means that when they get back to the present day (if they get back to the present day), there is a very good chance that she will never have existed at all. Will be a revenant, a time-ghost, a relic from another timeline who has nothing left at all, no root to her old life, and not even anyone else's memories. Hell, she might just wink out on the spot, a twisted paradox too contradicted to exist. Is it worth it? Can anything possibly be worth this?

Yes, Lucy thinks. Her face is stone, her eyes are dry, she does not weep a single tear. Yes, it is.

At last, the banging and blasting falls silent. Ruthlessly effective as he is, Garcia Flynn is far from subtle. There's a long moment in which Lucy panics, thinking that they managed to strike a lucky blow, that he's gone too, but then he emerges, tall and dark and shadowed, his suit sleeves spattered in blood. He looks at her and doesn't say a word. Just goes to his knees in front of her (even so, he's still almost as tall as she is) and holds out the gun, a medieval knight pledging his sword to the service of his lady. At last, his voice half a whisper in the wind, he says, "It's done."

Lucy shivers from head to toe. She looks down at him and doesn't answer. Yes, her ancestors might all be dead now, but there's still no guarantee that Rittenhouse has been erased, root and branch. One of them might have left a pregnant wife somewhere, or a secret mistress with a love child, or all the other ways history contorts around on itself to protect its continuity. She could have done all this, live with the knowledge of it forever, and still failed. Flynn might have gone in there to kill her whole family, but Lucy is the one who brought him here.

(What would she have done, if they hadn't found each other? Who would she be? Carol's perfect little Rittenhouse princess, just as planned? Not this, this Salem witch, hands dripping with blood just as much as Flynn's. It's only on his because she asked him to do it, and he agreed. That's love, she supposes. A twisted and dark and desperate version, but still love. He is the only thing she has.)

"Flynn." Lucy doesn't recognize her own voice. "Please. Get me out of here. Get me out of here."

Flynn considers, then nods once. He lifts her halfway, arms around her waist; as ever, her weight is completely negligible to him. It's going to be a long walk back to the Mothership, where Rufus is waiting nervously. When they get in, the jump very well might not work, as long as Lucy is in there. The space-time continuum might reject traveling back with an alien entity, an erased object. She might have to get out and stay in 1880 forever, the price of removing Rittenhouse in the present. Is she ready to do that? Can she stand it? Or will she just simply evanesce away?

"Flynn," she starts again, shaking, her face buried in his shoulder. He walks quickly, but somehow without hurrying. The wool of his jacket smells of lamp-oil and fresh blood. "Flynn, I'm not going to be able to come back, not if I don't -- "

"Yes." He sounds calm, certain, cold as the snow. "You're going to be fine, Lucy. Rufus will figure it out. You'll come home with us."

"But back there -- " Lucy twists, tries to peer over his shoulder, to look back at the dark farmhouse where Rittenhouse has, pray God, finally met its utmost end. "If you -- "

"Shh." Flynn's grip tightens on her. "Don't look back, Lucy. It's all right. Trust me. I would never do anything to hurt you."

It's a deeply ironic utterance, considering what he just did to her whole family (on her express invitation, but still) and how their relationship started, but she does. She trusts him. She holds onto him with both hands. Don't look back. Like Lot's wife fleeing from Sodom, unable to resist the curse, transmogrified into salt. There are tears on her cheeks. She tastes it on her lips. She doesn't know who she's crying for. It seems impossible for it to be her.

Don't look back.

Lucy buries her face in Flynn's neck again, and does not.

[aldbooks]

The Syren - ACOTAR Writing Circle - Part 3 - Rating: E

I have the pleasure of finishing this lovely story begun by @headcanonheadcaseand continued by @secret-third-thing as part of the ACOTAR Writing Circle organized by @azrielshadowssing

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

Summary: Gwyn Berdara is more than just the bartender at The Syren, she's the heart and soul of the place. She rebuilt the old pub from the ground up, turning it into a cocktail bar, and is fully committed to its success. She's always drawn the line at flirting with her customers, but when a patron begins quizzing her cocktail recipes, Gwyn finds herself willing to bend her rules.

words 3691

Gwyn checked the time on her phone- again. Her break was almost up and there was no sign of Azriel. The door to the bar had only opened twice in the twenty minutes she’d been out here to emit a few stumbling college girls and their friends back into the night, and her phone had not buzzed once with an incoming message.

Scoffing, Gwyn rolled her eyes and tucked her phone back into her pocket. “Whatever,” she muttered to herself as she glared out the windshield. “He can do what he wants, I don’t care. It’s not as if there was really anything going on with us. We only hooked up the one time and it wasn’t even that good.”

Liar. She was a damned liar. Those too brief moments they’d spent in her car, in the very seat she was now occupying, had been… she didn’t have the words to properly describe how it had felt. To feel him moving inside of her, his hands and mouth on her skin, the sounds he’d made, the ones she’d made… Even just remembering it sent a shiver through her. 

She did care. Very much. Not that she had a right to, however. Because the one thing she hadn’t lied to herself about was that there was nothing going on between them. There had been no words or discussions of commitments or exclusivity. They barely knew each other, and he clearly had some past with the blonde, one that still seemed to be affecting him. She wanted no part of that. She refused to be anyone’s second choice, no matter how good the sex.

And that, for once, was not a lie.

A ringing emitted from her pocket, a reminder she’d set to let her know break time was over. Sighing, she turned the alarm off and climbed back out of her truck taking a moment to double check her appearance before heading back in. She told herself it had nothing to do with Azriel, she didn’t care what he thought of her. It was for the other patrons, the ones she would smile at and flirt tips out of.

As she walked back inside and headed behind the bar once more, she became aware of two things. One, someone had apparently decided it was karaoke night as they sang very loudly- and off key- to Neil Diamond. Two, Azriel was still watching the blonde (said singer), and didn’t even seem to be aware that Gwyn had left the bar, as he was still nursing the same drink she’d made for him when he arrived.

Irritation climbed up her throat and she swallowed it back, ignoring the knowing, sympathetic look Emerie shot her as she joined her behind the bar. Shaking it off, Gwyn quickly dropped back into the rhythm of mixing and serving, resolving not to glance back at that corner booth again, no matter how loud or obnoxious the noise became as Cassian’s baritone joined in to Journey. Soon enough, half the bar was singing along, glasses raised to the ceiling in a cacophony of discordant sound that grated on Gwyn’s ears. Nesta caught her eye and they both grimaced. She decided right then to never host karaoke nights at the bar. Ever.

~*~*~*~

Gwyn tapped the brakes a bit too hard in surprise the next morning, cursing as coffee sloshed onto her hand and glared out the windshield at the man waiting for her outside the bar, leaning against a motorcycle straight out of her wet dreams. Of course he would ride a motorcycle. He couldn’t have driven some perfectly sensible vehicle that diminished his appeal enough to keep her sane for whatever confrontation was about to happen. Damn him.

She’d more or less kept to her resolution not to look his way the rest of the evening after he’d failed to join her on her break. She definitely hadn’t noticed the way his eyes barely left the pretty blonde in his group the rest of the night, or the way she had giggled and leaned against him, her manicured fingers wrapped tightly around his arm as they left, or the way he did not meet her eye as he passed by the bar. And she definitely had not spent most of the night, once she got home, trying not to think about him or the fact that the one encounter they’d had together would likely be the only and she might never see him again.

Absolutely not.

And now, here he was, waiting for her, coffee in hand as she pulled into the bar this morning. She had come in earlier than usual to catch up on some bookkeeping and wondered how on earth he’d known when she would be here. Or how long he’d been waiting.

She ignored him as she carefully set her travel mug aside, wiping her hand on her jeans and pulled into her usual spot. Taking her time as she gathered her phone and purse and everything she would need for the day, she took one last, steadying breath before climbing out of the driver’s seat, shutting the door behind her with a sharp snap. 

“Morning,” he greeted her with a deep rumble that made her toes curl in her boots. The blasted man had parked nearly blocking the bar’s back door so there was no way to avoid him. As she passed him, she gave a pointed look at the tray of coffees in his hand before meeting his eye and raising her own mug to her lips.

Behind her, she heard him sigh quietly and felt him follow her to the door, staying a respectful distance behind as she pulled her keys out and unlocked the door. He said her name just before she made to shut the door in his face and, against her better judgment, something in his voice made her pause.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “For the way I acted last night. I- will you please let me explain?”

Gritting her teeth, she looked back at him. The morning light caught off the golden hues in his hazel eyes and she could easily read the remorse in them. But was his remorse for the lost opportunity for sex, or for the loss of whatever strange tension had existed between them from the moment they’d met? It seemed her heart was in the driver’s seat this morning and not her brain, as she gave him a sharp nod and allowed him to follow her inside. 

Feeling especially grumpy this morning, she did not offer him a seat as she tossed her things onto her desk and flopped down into her chair, ignoring him entirely as she woke her computer up and pretended to be busy while he patiently waited to be acknowledged. It was a test of sorts, to see just how badly he wanted to apologize. How sincere he might be and, so far, he was passing.

Finally, she leaned back in her seat, turning it to face him. A quick glance at the chair opposite her had him sitting down, awkwardly cradling the coffees in his lap. Still she said nothing as she stared at him, and waited. 

Azriel shifted under her scrutiny, clearing his throat before finally speaking. “I, uh- our friends, who joined us last night, they… sort of surprised us with their visit. I hadn’t been expecting to see them, which was why I’d kind of gone silent the last few days…” He reached up to scratch the back of his head in an adorably nervous gesture that absolutely did not soften her towards him. At all.

She watched as a faint blush stained his cheeks. “You might have noticed there’s a- er, bit of history between Morrigan and I.” Morrigan. So that was the blonde’s name. It was very regal sounding and oddly fitting for the stunning beauty. She gave him no sign of agreement, just continued to stare at him as he floundered through his explanation. While she knew her face was cold and impassive, inside she was a riot of nerves having no idea what sort of history or feelings he was about to admit to.

“First of all,” he said, leaning forward, his expression earnest. “I want to say that, while I did once care about her- that way- I haven’t for a long time. Still don’t. Neither does Cassian-” he said quickly. Despite herself she was amused that even as he was attempting to apologize for his own sake, he was still worried about how her friend might react to a potential threat to her ‘situationship’ with his friend. Which he rightly should be. Nesta was terribly territorial, but she had seemed unbothered by whatever had been happening last night. Not that she would tell him so. Let him sweat.

Shaking his head, he continued. “Nothing ever really happened between us, anyway. The details are irrelevant but I just- it had been so long since I’d seen her, I think I’d forgotten what she was like.”

Gwyn raised a brow at that, the first response she’d given him thus far. A panicked look came over his face and he hurried to explain, “I mean, I forgot how manipulative she was. She was always good at playing Cass and I against each other. Cass caught on long before I did, unfortunately, and ultimately, it was what convinced me to move on. But she was in typical form last night, trying to flirt and evoke a jealous response out of us both and, when that didn’t work, she got more aggressive… I don’t know what exactly you saw, but I promise I was not pining for her. I was more angry than anything.”

His expression turned pleading. “As for not meeting you on your break, I swear I tried to, but every time I tried to leave, Morrigan would rope me into whatever stupid conversation she was having and wouldn’t let me leave.”

Gwyn scoffed at that and he winced. “You’re a big boy, Az. If you wanted to leave, you could have. Easily. And if you’re apparently incapable of using your big boy words to tell her to shove it, well then… I’m not sure there’s much left to discuss. I have no time to play with little boys.”

Azriel grimaced. “I’m sorry,” he said again, his tone now dejected. “Truly. I know you and I- that we-” a sigh of frustration. “I know there was never any kind of official agreement or anything between us but I liked you. I still like you. And I know last night I wasn’t exactly in best form, but I hoped…”

His lips rolled together as he stopped that train of thought. Gwyn’s heart was pounding as she fought to keep her expression neutral. He looked a bit like a lost puppy and damn if it didn’t yank at that awful, sensitive part of her that longed to fix all the sad, broken things in the world. Just like her bar, and her Bronco. She had a feeling that, with some tender loving care, this man might just be everything she never thought she wanted. But no. She was stronger than that. She’d been hurt too many times to allow herself to fall for another man who would not fight for her. Hell, if his explanation of what had happened the night before meant anything, it seemed he could barely fight for himself. She didn’t have time for that nonsense. She had a business to run that took far too much of her time and energy. She didn’t need another thing to take care of.

He seemed to read that in her face as he sighed dejectedly, hanging his head for a moment before rising from his seat. Setting the coffees on the corner of her desk, he gave her a sad smile. “I really am sorry, Gwyn. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” she said coolly, forcing herself to meet his eye and did not miss the flicker of pain in them as he nodded and turned to leave.

As soon as he was gone, she buried her face in her hands and willed herself not to cry the stupid tears that burned her eyes. He wasn’t worth it.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

~*~*~*~

Gwyn swiped a hand across the sweat that had collected on her brow as she finally managed to catch up with the mad rush that had suddenly hit her bar in a wave. Turning towards the far end, intending to restock the ice chest, she bit back a sigh when she found Azriel waiting there with a ghost of a smile. 

Ever since the morning he’d come to see her to try and explain what had happened with him and Morrigan nearly two weeks ago, he’d shown up at Syren almost every night, with or without Cassian, sometimes not even drinking, just sitting at the end of the bar and watching her as she worked. The first few times he barely spoke to her outside of the words necessary to order a drink. Gradually, his smiles became more frequent as he attempted to banter with her as they had before, apparently finding her steely responses amusing.

She’d be lying if she said it didn’t excite her a little every time he gave her that crooked grin when she gave him some smart ass retort. She liked sparring with him, and each time  he smiled at her she both wanted to smack him and drag him over the bar to have her way with him right there on the sticky floor. The thought was tempting.

Ignoring the heated response that thought elicited in her, she took a bracing breath and walked over to him. If she added a bit of sway to the movement of her hips as she did so, and if his eyes dipped down to watch the movement with hungry eyes, well… that was no one’s business.

“What do you want?” she snapped. The regular sitting two seats away gave her a sharp look, likely shocked at her lack of manners when she was so friendly with everyone else. Azriel just grinned, pointing at the newest addition to the menu. 

“Why is this one called the Priestess?”

The corner of her lip twitched. “Because it’s deceptively sweet,” she purred. “And if you’re not careful, you’ll find yourself on your knees.”

His eyes darkened as his grin turned a bit seductive. “Sounds perfect.”

Fuck. Me. She thought. She had no defenses for that smile. If she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself giving in much sooner than she’d intended. 

She’d already decided to give him another chance. Honestly, how was a girl meant to resist such charm when he showed up at her bar continuously, no matter how harsh she was? Nesta and Emerie had also voted in his favor, giving her knowing grins the moment he’d walked in every night. She had no doubt of his sincerity when he’d said he liked her. And damn it all if she didn’t like him too, if for no other reason than his stubborn persistence. 

She held his gaze a moment longer before turning to grab her ingredients. Bourbon, lemon juice, thyme infused simple syrup, peach puree and a splash of sweet tea. He watched intently as she added everything to the shaker, his gaze on her breasts and she lifted it to shake. Straining it into a glass, she slid it over the bar to him, holding his stare as he lifted it to his lips and took a long sip. 

Swiping a stray droplet from the corner of his lips, his tongue stroked over the tip before sucking it into his mouth. Her knees wobbled a bit but she kept a straight face as she called over her shoulder to Emerie. “I’m going on break.”

Behind her, her friend snicked but agreed. Azriel grinned as she winked at him before turning on her heel and hurrying to the back. By the time she grabbed her keys, and a condom, and made her way to her truck, Azriel was stalking around the side of the building to meet her. Wanting more space than the front seat offered, she flipped open the hatch and climbed into the bed. A hand grabbed her ankle, yanking her back slightly. Before she knew what was happening,  her jeans were off and Azriel was climbing in behind her, still fully clothed. The hatch slammed closed and he was on her, hands tangling in her hair as their mouths crashed together. 

She squeaked when he suddenly flipped them over, dragging her up to straddle his face. He grinned up at her as his fingers pushed her underwear aside, stroking her lazily. “It’s not quite kneeling, but given the lack of space back here, it will have to do.” And then his mouth was on her.

For several moments, all Gwyn could do was grip the back of the seats and attempt to breathe. His tongue was merciless as he licked and sucked and nipped and worshiped her. Her orgasm built shamefully fast and though she did her best to hold it off, there was little she could do against such onslaught. Soon enough she was shaking and screaming and grinding against his face. His fingers dug into her ass, encouraging her to move, and the vibrations of his groans only made her shake harder.

When she couldn’t take anymore, he relented, loosening his hold and allowing her to pull away from him. She stared down at him in a pleasured haze, watching as he panted and licked his lips with a satisfied smile. Fuck. 

She didn’t realize she’d said it outloud until his grin widened. “I need you inside me,” there was no disguising the huskiness of her voice as she said it. She moved to grab the condom from the back pocket of her jeans that were bunched up in the far corner but he flipped her over before she could go far, laying her out diagonally along the bed of the truck. Reaching up for the seatbelt of the driver's seat, she watched in confusion and then anticipation as he pulled her hands above her head and bound her wrists with the strap, leaving her open to him. 

She gave a breathless laugh as he scrambled out of his pants, tucking a condom from his own pocket between his teeth. “Someone was optimistic, I see.”

He shrugged, unrepentant. Yanking his shirt over his head, he was suddenly, gloriously naked and she looked her fill as he rolled the condom on, sorry not to have use of her hands to touch every inch of him. Later, she promised herself. Because there would be a later.

Stretching himself over her, his kiss was surprisingly tender and she felt herself melt a little more. “I missed you,” he said, trailing kisses down her neck. She wrapped her legs around him as she felt his cock slide against her clit. Making his way back up to her lips, he continued to thrust against her, making her wetter but still not entering her. “Please tell me this isn’t just a one time thing,” he begged. 

“It will be if you don’t fuck me right the fuck now,” she grumbled.

He laughed, his eyes sparkling in the darkness. “Yes, my syren,” he promised. He was inside her in the next breath and she gasped at the sudden fullness. His movements were excruciatingly slow as he allowed her to adjust to him, his cock dragging through her with each slow thrust. The sensation was delicious but she quickly grew impatient. 

Tugging against her restraints, the seatbelt moved with her but not enough to touch him, causing her to groan her frustration. “Azriel,” she snapped his name and his answering laugh was low and sexy. 

Bracing himself above her on an elbow, his other hand wrapped lightly around her throat and he held her gaze as his pace increased until her thighs were squeezing around him and the beginnings of an orgasm stirred. “Is this what you wanted?” he growled.

“Yes,” she breathed, her back arching as she tried to meet his thrusts. “Yes- fuck, yes!”

Her eyes slammed shut as another orgasm barreled through her, Azriel continuing to fuck her through it. He grunted as her pussy squeezed him until he too was coming apart, the fingers around her throat contracting slightly. His mouth found hers again as they both came down until the necessity for air forced them apart. 

Their bodies were covered in sweat as he rolled off of her as much as he could in the cramped space, reaching up to release her wrists. Taking each in his hands, he gently massaged the red marks between his fingers. All she could do was lay there and breathe, temporarily unable to move her body. Brushing hair out of her face, she felt his lips on her forehead as they lay there in silence.

A silence that was abruptly shattered by her alarm, signaling the end of her break. 

“Fuck. I don’t know if I can go back to work after that,” she groaned. Azriel’s hand slid down from her cheek to squeeze her hip and then she felt him moving about the space, probably redressing. She didn’t object as he helped her back into her pants. 

He was smiling, but she could tell there was something he wanted to say. “What is it?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Well, I don’t want to presume anything,” he said as he helped her out of the back. “But I was already planning on hanging out most of the night, if you’d like the company…”

Gwyn arched a brow as she took a moment to make sure she was presentable. “Oh?”

Azriel closed up her truck and turned to give her a wicked smile. “Perhaps if you give me another Priestess, you can get me on my knees for real later…”

Her lips curled in a slow grin as she sauntered past him. “Now there’s something to look forward to.”

[medicinal-doll]

Mine.

Title: Mine

Dark!Daddy!Steve Kemp x Little!wife!reader

Words: 2K

Summary: You finally get to leave the house but A friend makes you doubt your relationship with your husband Steve but he has no problem reminding you of your place.

Warnings: Knife Play, dub-con/non-con,threats, ddlg dynamic,fingering,choking,spanking,dom/sub dynamic,p in v sex, intimidation,teasing, possessiveness, manipulation,hitting,dacryphilia

A/N: this was supposed to be a jock Ari Levinson fic but it didn't save properly sorry for the delay

*Please don't repost without permission If you use my writing as inspiration please ask first and credit me

......

You hook the clasp of your diamond necklace together as you stare at your reflection in the porcelain white vanity....until you feel hands on your waist.

"Steve please-"

"Where are you going" he says as he starts leaving gentle kisses along your neck.

And his grip on your waist turns into a needy insatiable one.

Steve hates when you leave. He almost never lets you out of the house without his supervision. He rarely says the words no but when the shoes you were going to wear start to vanish into thin air, and your car keys are nowhere to be seen just around the time you're going to leave. You can't help but suspect him as the culprit.

He gives you everything. money, food, A beautiful home, all the little doll clothes your heart desires and all the love in the world. So what reason would you ever have to leave his side.

Well that's what you imagine his reasoning is for practically holding you hostage 24/7.

"Baby I'm just going out with a few friends"

He stills his motions processing your words but his grip slowly starts to tighten around your waist, and you immediately turn attempting to soothe him.

"Stevie I promise I'll only be gone for an hour or two"

You put on your prettiest pout and cup his cheeks in your hands. peppering his face in lipstick kisses doing your best to butter him up in hopes he'll give in and let you go.

"Who's going" he questions giving you a rather dull look, but you know he's looking for you to say one wrong word as an excuse for you to stay.

"No one special just Greg, kate, and... mallory"

And you watch as his face morphs into one of utter disgust.

"steve ..."

"No..." "No! absolutely fucking not" he pulls away from your embrace and you follow after him.

Steve dispises Mallory. He's convinced she fills your head with 'bad things' those bad things are mostly her telling you to leave steve because she gets an off vibe from him, Whatever that means, but clearly it upsets steve.

You wrap your arms around his back and snuggle into his muscular shoulders "Please steve I haven't left in ages".

You feel his shoulders untense and decide to press him further.

"I've been a good girl lately haven't I daddy?"

He looks over his shoulder at you.

"Don't you think your good girl deserves a treat"

You give him your sweetest puppy eyes and he caves.

He faces you head on arms crossed and a stern expression. your gaze falls to his feet as you twiddle your fingers in anticipation.

"I want you back no later than 2"

You nod at him eagerly.

"And I want you to call me when you get there and when your leaving“

"And no talking to Mallory"

You try to hide the frown creeping on your face but Steve knows you too well.

“I mean it" he stalks toward you cupping your chin making you look into his deep blue eyes "I don't don't want you talking to her okay sweetie, not a word"

And he seals that sentence with a kiss to your forehead and you don't have the will to say no to him.

"Okay daddy I won't"

He smiles at your compliance and wraps you in A warm embrace that's a little too tight.

.....

Golden rays beam through the window as the scent of fresh coffee beans warm your senses. Slowly stirring your straw through the foamy cappuccino that's piping hot, you exhale softly taking in the comforting atmosphere.

"So, How are you and Steve doing"

You're drawn out of your sunny daydream by A familiar nasally voice.

You ignore her question and act like you're more invested in Kate and Greg's conversation, but you can still feel her eyes on you.

" Well I mean, I'm just saying...You know after that last fiasco at Kate's dinner party"

" I'm surprised he even let you out of the house "

She jokes but you hardly find it funny, Steve got so angry that your ass was red for a week.

you roll your eyes at her.

"Well, here I am" you answer giving her the fakest smile you can muster up.

“Don't you ever find it weird how you can't leave without his permission?"

You quirk an eyebrow up at her "Well I-"

"I mean the guy has a tracker on your phone like really??"

"you'd think he wouldn't be so paranoid, you guys live in such A secluded area"

"its real strange girl, like if my man was ever that controlling of me“

"I just don't think I could live with myse-"

You abruptly stand from your cushioned seat and leave through the doors of the cafe exit, trying your best to ignore the intrusive thoughts invading your psyche.

.....

" So how was your little get together honey"

Steve says with A surprisingly genuine smile.

"did you have a good time with Kate and Greg?"

His voice sounds slightly concerned with your lack of response.

You nod your head but you don't look at him.

" you called me an hour early doll, you sure everythings okay?'

You nod again and lay your head against the seat following the forest scenery with your eyes.And thankfully Steve doesn't pester you with anymore questions.

...........

The black mustang pulls into the driveway of your picturesque house surrounded by nature, its modernized and stocked full with the finest architecture and the latest technology.

Steve unlocks the door and you both enter.

He then goes to hook his jacket on the coat rack but when he turns back around you're nowhere to be seen.

Steve wanders the spacious house until he eventually finds you standing in your room. Eyes fixed on the scenery through window twirling your necklace.

You feel something looming towards you, but you're too in your head to care. You feel Steve's warm touch as he turns your body to face him.

You can't cover the look of worry on your face but still you attempt to avoid his eyes.

"what happened pumpkin hm?" He brushes your hair away from your head as he searches your face for an answer.

"Baby, Look at me..."

He tries to get you to talk to him but you refuse, and he notices his usual sweet talking isn't having the same affect it usually does"

"Have you been talking to Mallory" he says in a accusingly cold tone.

it's only when you shiver and bite your lip he has his answer.

"Who do you belong to..."

Steve asks his signature question because it helps him gauge how much correction and fixing his doll needs.

He stares at you in silence but the tension instantly gets to you.

" I..."

Before you can even start Steve hoists you up by your waist carrying you to his room.

"Steve No!! Listen I'm sorry!"

You try to wiggle out of his grip. He doesn't budge one bit, and continues carrying you like you weigh nothing.

...........

Your body is thrown at the bed like A ragdoll and before you even realize what's happening.Steve is manhandling you onto his lap and pulling up your skirt.

Usually you would just give into his force, but at the back of your mind you feel mallory's words. So you struggle against him with what little strength you have.

Steve's gaze bores down on you like a thousand fires but he doesn't say a word.

Smack!

A familiar burn ignites the skin of your plush bottom, and you try to hold in the painful whimper as your eyes start to water.

Steve relentlessly bruises your soft flesh.

You grip the fabric of his pants till your knuckles turn white, sobbing and crying as you try to use the last of your energy to escape his hold on you.

Deep down you both know how pointless it is for you to resist him.

After some time Steve's assault on your ass ceases and his palm rests gently on the tender flesh.

You sniffle and wipe your nose trying to regain your thoughts.

Steve places A subtle kiss on your spine and rubs your sore butt in slow soothing circles. Until he feels your muscles relax and your sobs dissipate.

"You know I love you honey"

"More than anything else in the world"

Your heart pangs in guilt and you feel yourself soften at his words.

"So much so... That you can't go out anymore sweetie"

"Not without me at least"

He places A kiss somewhere on your body, but you don't really care where because what the hell did he just say to you.

You feel the heat rise in your body and you can't control your mouth any longer.You immediately get off his lap distancing yourself from him while still on the bed.

"Steve no... You can't do that to me"

He lifts himself off of the bed and crosses his arms giving you a sympathetic look.

"Baby love .." he mutters as he slowly reaches a hand out towards you.

"Don't touch me" you hiss at him dodging his touch.

And you see his eyes go from dark ocean blue, to a violent abyss.

Steve doesn't always verbally warn you about testing him, but his eyes and body language tell you everything you need to know.

He reaches for you again.

"I said don't fucking touch me!"

You yell slapping his hands off of you.

Unfortunately you don't stop there, you go off on him.

"I'm tired of being trapped in this stupid fucking house with you all day!"

"I deserve to leave whenever the hell I please"

"I'm a human fucking being Steve, not A dumb animal you can just lock in a cage"

You feel your voice warble, and bring your knuckles to your eyes trying to mask the tears.

"It's not fair Steve..."

"You say you love me... yet you never let me do anything it's cruel"

You look down at your lap in shame.

.. Then you hear laughter

You look up at Steve and he's bent over, arms clutching his stomach trapped in A fit of joyous hysteria.

Your eyes widen in disbelief and your face reddens in embarrassment. You just bared your soul to him and he thinks it's fucking funny what!

He eventually collects himself and wipes the comedic tears from his eyes.

"Oh... I'm sorry princess"

"I just find it so fucking adorable when you think you have any say in what I decide for you"

He sighs and starts walking towards you.

Instantly you scoot back further on the bed and gulp nervously.

Steve has that terrifyingly unhinged look on his face. The same one he has when he finally leaves the basement after hours of doing god knows what.

You're a second too late when Steve grabs you harshly by your soft hair pinning you to the bed.

He then proceeds to climb on you, trapping you with his weight.

You want to fight him you really do.

The thing is you've learned that it's better not to when he's like this. You pushed his limits only once and let's just say... Kitchen knife wounds are a bitch to heal and you were half convinced he was going to eat you.

Steve glares at you with demonic eyes as his gaze travels to your lips.

You see him lean in and you panic.

Smack!

You...you hit him

....Oh no.

"S-steve, M'sorry I didn't mean to-"

He gets off of you and vanishes from the room.

You want to move.

run, hide, or something but you're too confused to do anything.

You're lost in your thoughts until you see Steve standing back at the doorway with an ominous look on his face, but you're relieved that he doesn't look as pissed off.

You start to feel a strange sense of relief at his mysteriousness. then you look at his left hand and that's when you see it.

Your heart sinks to the floor.

It must be at least 10 or 11 inches.

Stainless steel with a rubber grip.

Must be freshly sharpened, it's Steve's favorite. He cuts only the best meats with it and he makes sure it's well maintained.

Steve brings the knife up to his face getting a closer look, and he traces the edges of it. Admiring its intricacy eyes trained on every ridge.

"What did she say to you"

"I won't ask again"

You're practically pissing yourself at this point.

So you think it's best not to say or do anything to anger him further.

"S-she said... it's odd I don't go outside"

Your voice trembled horriblly when you spoke.

"Odd huh..." He says to himself, looking as lost in his head as you are.

And then he starts getting uncomfortably close.

You whimper but try to act like you're not scared shitless as he climbs back on top of you.

You try not to react, and you're doing pretty good at keeping your composure. then steve holds the knife directly to your neck.

And you start bawling your eyes out.

You're busy battling tears and trying not to move an inch as you feel the cold blade pressed firmly against your flesh. Deathly afraid the tiniest movement will slit your throat right open.

But you're snapped out of your stupor by a thick cold finger invading your entrance.

Steve pulls his finger from you and inspects his hand, knife still flush against your neck.

He holds his finger in front of your face.

it's coated in a clear sticky substance with a liquid bead at the top of his finger threatening to drip off.

"You see this honey" he waves his finger in front of your face.

"This is why you're mine" he says licking your slick from his finger.

"You can forget who your owner is all you want but your body won't"

He laughs at the dumb look on your face.

"There's knife against your neck baby"

"one little wrong move and I could kill you and yet you're dripping for me"

Your face is burning up in a weird mixture of fear and shame.there's no way you're turned on by something like this...right?

Steve angles the knife to where a bit of your neck is shown, and he attacks the exposed flesh with aggressive bites.

You try your hardest to hold in the inexcusable moans wanting to spill from your lips. But when you feel Steve's hot tongue drag against the dip of your collar bone, a shameless loud whimper escapes.

You mentally try to zip your mouth shut but then two thick fingers penetrate your soft walls, digging for that certain spot that makes you scream.

Your moans and whimpers fill the room and you can't lie the knife against your neck starts to add to the pleasure "Steve!" You whine.

Trying to keep your head as still as possible when Steve's fingers repeatedly prod and poke at your g spot.

Your body shakes as a sense of euphoria spreads from your core to the rest of your body.

Steve doesn't let you ride out your orgasm like he usually does, instead he flips you onto all fours and pushes your head down into the mattress.

Your ass is sticking straight up in the air as your arousal leaks down your thighs onto the sheets.

The knife is thrown beside your head and you hear the sound of a zipper being pulled.

Steve's wastes no time and plunges his cock deep in you until his cockhead kisses your womb.

"Steve no! It's too big take it ou-"

"Ah!"

Steve thrusts his hips into you at A mind numbing pace, wet skin slapping together as you feel his dick brush through every fold and trigger every nerve in your sensitive hole.

You can see your reflection through the knife and watch your face contort. your mind and body feeling as if it's going to break every time he brushes that soft spot deep inside you.

But then he stops and it's like someone hit the power off button on your mind.

But you come back to your senses when he grabs you roughly and forces you to lie on your side.

You gasp as your leg is yanked in the air and then thrown over his shoulder.

You both briefly make eye contact

"Steve..." you pout at him.

But he just shoves his cock back in you, it going deeper than it ever has.

Your face would say you're in pain but in reality it's the best damn thing you've ever felt.

Steve starts fucking you at the brutal pace from before, only at this angle each thrust has his dick crashing into your womb and you start babbling utter nonsense unable to cope with the pleasure.

Steve grips your throat forcing you to look at him.

"You still wanna go outside baby?" He probes.

"you don't need daddy to take care of you anymore is that it hm?"

You shake your head no at him barely able to speak.

"I want words slut"

He rarely calls you that but god it makes your pussy tingle and throb around him.

"N-no! daddy no I don't" you struggle to speak as he keeps grinding his hips against yours.

*No? But that's what you wanted right doll"

"You don't need me anymore"

"you don't need daddy cause you're A big strong girl who doesn't need my help is that it?"

You're fucking crying.

No! I only want you!"

"Just wanna be here with you..." Your throat burns from moaning and sobbing.

"Say it then" he says in a low sinister tone.

"Say you don't wanna go"

Steve glares at you, with a serious face to match and his grip tightens on your neck purposely making it hard for you to talk.

"I-i don't wanna go outside anymore daddy.."

"I wanna to be here with you-"

you say as he fucks you like a cheap whore.

He stares at you as you sob.

"Good girl..." He says continuing to pound your wet cunt.

You moan embarrassingly loud as he claims your tight little snatch with every thrust.His fat dick hitting your cervix repeatedly making your body writhe in pleasure.

"Steve god fuck!' you sob into him.

You feel His balls slap against your pussy and you break.

When he cums he squeezes too hard around your throat but the lack of oxygen only increases your high.

You feel his warm cum flood your pussy.

Washing away every thought in your head.

A warm hand cups your cheek. And you look at Steve.He stares back at you with his usual loving look.

"Mine" he says possessively caressing your blushed face.

"Yours" you say with a smile.

And the way he's looking at you is A reminder that Steve is all the freedom you'll ever need.