#prompt 1 steer
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starrysnowdrop · 10 months ago
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FFXIVWrite 2024 #1: Steer
Idiom: steer clear of; to stay away from purposely; avoid.
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During the events of patch 4.3, quest “Under the Moonlight”; Hali tries to convince Yume to take a step back from participating in the investigation of Zenos’ death and potential resurrection.
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“Yume, can I talk to you about something?”
The auri samurai glanced down at her pink-haired lalafellin companion and nodded. “Alright, what’s the matter?”
“Well, you see
” Hali scrunched up her face, trying to figure out how to say what she wanted to say. She folded her arms and continued.
“Look, Alisaie and I, well we are worried about you, and we thought that perhaps you might need to take a step back and let us deal with the
 umm
 problem at hand.”
Yume shrugged her shoulders, not following Hali’s train of thought. “What? Why would I need a break? I’m fine.”
“Yume
 you have had to deal with a lot lately—”
“So have we all! Honestly I was thinking that Alisaie might need to take some time for herself with Alphinaud embarking on a diplomatic mission to Garlemald and all. She is the one that needs to relax for a while. But I’m alright.”
The lalafellin astrologian shook her head and looked up at Yume with a concerned expression. “While I agree about Alisaie, I still think you need to rest too, you know?”
Yume was growing tired of Hali dancing around the issue, or was it the person in question. She raised her voice as she replied, “Just say it already! It’s because of Zenos, isn’t it?” She sighed and placed her hands on her hips. “You don’t understand. He is alive, and I need to know if it’s really him, or if an ascian has claimed his body!”
“Yume, listen to me! I think you need to steer clear of all this right now, especially when we tell Lyse the truth. She’s not going to be happy with hearing that Zenos lives, in any capacity whatsoever. Do you really want to be there to witness her reaction?”
Hali briefly closed her eyes as she began to recall the events of the past few days spent in Doma.
“You just had to deal with Asahi threatening you over his obsession with Zenos, and you are still clearly shaken up by the echo vision we saw earlier, so perhaps you should go back to the Rising Stones to relax, meditate, and clear your head. I will keep you updated on everything, I promise.”
Yume shook her head, with slight irritation in her voice as she wanted to put this whole needless conversation to rest. “
No, Hali. I need to see this through for myself, and that’s final. Lyse will just have to be a good little leader and learn how to tolerate me being in her presence.”
This time it was Hali’s turn to sigh. Yume and Lyse were not on good terms with each other anymore, not after they have had several fights over Yume’s fixation on Garlemald’s crown prince. Though Yume never wavered in her duty and fought Zenos alongside her and their friends, Lyse couldn’t stand how much Yume seemed to talk about Zenos, and how the samurai picked up and read every tome she could that held information on him. To not only Lyse’s eyes, but everyone else’s, Yume seemed to be growing obsessed with him, and she always seems to talk about him as if he were a long-lost lover

Hali wondered for a moment if that was how she looked like when she recalled her days in Ishgard with Aymeric, but she quickly pushed those thoughts from her mind and shrugged. There might be another dramatic argument in the near future between Yume and Lyse, but it couldn’t be avoided if Yume insists on going to Rhalgr’s Reach with her.
“Alrighty, suit yourself.”
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Yume’s Blog: @firelightmuse
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katalinhunter · 10 months ago
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Steer
Three lives entwined in a way, each from a different world. At a glance there should be no connection between them but in some way they were all tied together.
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Katalin
The highlander had just returned from her enforced honeymoon after a similarly enforced marriage. Normally she would have been ornery about someone demanding that she do a thing but this was one of the few times where she was going to do it anyway and the person making the demands was a
 time-split version of herself from just over two Eorzean years back who she had attempted to murder, had sworn revenge in return and held her captive/tortured her for moons, had shared a body for a bit before getting forged into a weapon that Katalin had wielded for nearly a year.
It was a complicated relationship.
She still wasn't sure why Harle (that time-split etc. version) was no longer a blade but that was a situation that was slowly resolving without her input. She hoped. There was a bit of concern that she would have to step in and do things but for now she was keeping her hands away, letting things play out.
Jovana
The Ronso held a short 2-page report from Amh Arang, her old home in Mord Souq actually. it had been tucked into her backpack and forgotten about as she and her husband searched for and actually found a path to the First.
"Wicked white
" Not only had the desolate Empty shown unusual stirrings of aether there were actual claims of greenery returning? There were no first-hand sightings so she was skeptical but supposedly the Warrior of Darkness was working towards the same goal as her team.
She remembered stepping out onto the porch, warm firelight embracing the doorway behind her. Her daughter Coto's small hand was warm in her own as they both stared up to a night sky for the first time. Jovana gave a sudden laugh, overcome by the sight, then looked over to Verboten with a fanged smile as he held to Coto's other hand. Her husband's eyes were equally wide in wonder as he stared up. "They did it!"
Anything was possible.
Tawny
Tawny still wasn't sure exactly how they were here. A few people had stories, ideas, things that sounded plausible, but Tawmy really didn't get it. Not that it stopped them from bullshitting through things.
The last memory was back in Fifth Crown, making a delivery to a friendly group on the outskirts of the city. There had been
 a voice? A bright white light that leaked out of a sealed case, a hand closing around the hilt of a blade.
Then nothing, blank, empty memories, not even chaotic dreams or a hangover. Just waking up here in this shithole. Skulking around a house and avoiding the notice of people who lived there. A few of the people looked all too much like the Henshin although they didn't seem to act the part.
It had been nice for a couple of weeks until he accidentally walked in on a few of them by accident. Half-truths were spun, barely understood claims were made, and Tawny had actually got them to accept him as 'steward' of the place. Idiots.
There was no obvious path back home but things were okay. The club scene and night-life here were terrible but there was surely an angle to be played.
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chocoblep · 10 months ago
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#1: Molding an Opinion
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Prompt: Steer
It would have been easier to just tell the Duskwight no, to deny him the loan he was asking for simply due to the fact that he would likely be entering a hostile market were he to sell in any of the three main city-states. He didn't say no, though–not yet, anyway. He wanted to see if the man had come up with this conclusion on his own. As he eyed the admittedly pristine earthenware specimens that the man had set on his desk, he made a deal with himself: He would say yes if the potter could find the best marketing opportunity with just a couple pointed questions from Rath. If he couldn't, then he would not be able to save himself when prejudice or oversaturation hurt his business.
“Tell me, Master Sauveterre,” he began, folding his hands on the desk’s light oak surface and tapping his foot a couple times against the Green Room’s moss-like carpet. “How is it that you intend upon marketing yourself? Who is your target consumer?”
“Ah, an excellent question,” the man began, lifting a hand to stroke at his dark beard. He turned his single fuchsia eye to meet Rath's own particolored pair as he spoke confidently. “My target consumer is anyone who needs tableware or any other earthenware goods that could feasibly be made by my hand. While I would prefer to sell to more upscale clientele, given my specialties and proclivity for more unique artistic pieces, I am also not averse to providing for the basic needs of families, individuals, and establishments alike. As for marketing myself
” He paused there, furrowing his brow. “I am well aware of the prejudice toward my kind that is rampant in the Shroud. I imagine Thanalan has its fair share of potters, given the materials readily available to its denizens. La Noscea has the drawback of dealing with more imported goods than the other nations, which might make it difficult for me to stand out. Therefore, I want to target Ishgard. Noble houses are always looking for a new thing to showcase their wealth, and my art could be just that. With the ongoing restoration project there, the need for basic items is currently at a high, and there are not so many in my line of work that I have seen there.”
Interesting. Rath had not expected the insightfulness that had been presented here. He had guiding questions ready for any other answer, but it seemed the man had already gotten himself where Rath would have suggested he go. He made a show of picking up and examining one of the pieces–an earthenware vase carved with climbing ivy, each cutout displaying different layers, all of differing shades of green. It was both sturdy and elegant.
“They drink quite a lot of tea, and I would assume they prefer much more delicate items than these,” he commented., sweeping his hand out in a gesture toward a trio of mugs on the desk.
“Which is why I am here,” the man replied, an earnest smile on his face. “I need a better kiln and a more suitable workspace to break into porcelains
 ah, no pun intended.”
“I see. And if I grant you this loan, it would be for securing your new workspace and equipment?”
“Ah, yes
 and also relocation costs. I have a bit saved up for that, but moving my current equipment that far is expensive.”
M’rath unfolded his hands and reached to the side to grab a blank piece of parchment and begin drafting a contract. “I will take a chance on you, Raoul, but before we discuss the exact terms of the agreement, tell me how much you would charge for this vase. It belongs in this room.”
He glanced to the Duskwight, lips twitching as he caught the surface thoughts dancing around in the man's head. Now it was time to see if he was properly valuing his work.
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winddragonart · 10 months ago
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FFXIV Write 2024 #1: Steer
Mother Crystal dimmed Fate of the Star in our hands Let's do right by her
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quirkycoterie · 10 months ago
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The Crow's Nest
Aliiza concentrated on the swirls of the mists ahead of the ship. She knew from more experience than most would even guess at how to read each one for hazards in the water, even though the hazards themselves were unseeable in these conditions. The helmsman just had to trust in her calls. Her body registered the swells of the ocean below them as her eyes parsed the other movements. Her hair in a ponytail stayed out of her eyes and was as good an indicator of wind speed and direction as any other tool for her.
The raging winds and mists had come suddenly and she'd climbed up to replace the usual navigator. At regular intervals she'd assure the helmsman they were clear. It was hard for anyone to tell how much progress was actually being made and they were too far out for lighthouses. Finally, she saw the lifts and eddies in the mists she'd been watching for. Her voice sounded out to the helmsman, "We're at the first break! Hard to port by 40 degrees now!" She held the edge of the nest as the helmsman made the correction and the crew worked the sails. Now... she just had to guide them thru 5 more difficult breaks.
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starlightsearches · 7 months ago
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All Yours
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"I'm going to fucking ruin you." / "I won't apologize for marking you up, everyone should know you're taken." / "I don't want anyone else. No one can make me feel like you do."
@somethingvicked tagging you because I accidentally deleted the original ask 😬 just wanted to say thanks for the request and a big, fat SORRY for taking so long. i was scrolling through my drafts the other day and saw this was like a year old and the shame managed to motivate me enough to finish this. Ooops again and I hope you enjoy!! Comments, likes, and reblogs are always cherished 💖
Eddie Munson x F! Reader
AN: 18+ only!!!!!!, car sex, partially-clothed sex, piv, semi-public, titty worship, humping, dacryphilia, unwarranted jealousy, porn with a little plot, eddie's self-depricating at the beginning but he fucks like a god, very possesive! eddie, multiple orgasms, one (1) mention of pregnancy but it's off-hand and mostly unrelated to the sex, unprotected sex, I took the spirit of the prompts more than the literal wording, this is very different for me and maybe rushed? idk you tell me 🙃
Eddie always jokes that you're his second love.
His van—with its stained upholstery, rattling frame and the battery on its last leg—was here first, he says. And despite everything previously mentioned, he treats that car like his baby.
So when he slams his door hard enough to rattle the glass in the window, it wouldn’t take a genius to know something is up.
Eddie sits silently in the half-light, gripping at the steering wheel with both hands and gnawing at his bottom lip until the skin turns white.
"Everything okay?"
He won't even look at you when he shoves the key in the ignition.
"Sure," Eddie says, but there's a bite to his voice, quiet over the roaring grind of the starter, "why wouldn't it be?"
The car does start—despite his abuse to the engine—and you prop your feet up on the dash, raising your brows as he tears out onto the empty street.
"Ohhh-kay. Is this about—"
You don't even get a chance to take a guess.
"It's not about Steve."
Eddie spits Steve's name at the window and the passing trees, their leaves blurring into inky smudges. You watch his jaw tick, eyes flashing from the road to the rear-view mirror, but never to you.
His resolve falters with the press of your hand against his on the gearshift.
"Really? ‘Cause I was going to ask if this was about Patrick Swayze?”
The speedometer ticks up for a quick beat, and then drops, and Eddie squirms in his seat.
He steers off to the right, and the van shakes as the tires bump off the smooth pavement to the gravel edge of the road, little twigs snapping off on the trees outside against the fading paint.
"Fuck," Eddie grumbles, quiet, like he's having a conversation with himself. His fingers catch in his curls when he takes the other hand from the steering wheel. It's dark out here, away from the street lights, but you still catch the shine glazing his lower lashes, the way he blinks to keep any tears from pooling there.
"I mean, it's no big deal," you tell him, petting over his knuckles with your thumb, "I just wish you would have said something."
You're not sure what lies were spread to make sure the goofy little pre-teens didn't show up for movie night and try to break down Steve's door. You just knew that—for once—everybody piled on the couch in the living room was of legal age.
It seemed like an exciting prospect when the night started, but everything was pretty much the same: just more beer, and fewer voices shouting about whatever movie you were gonna watch.
Nancy and Robin were a united front when they pulled out Dirty Dancing, and you joined them, mostly to annoy Steve when he pretended he wasn't interested.
Eddie grumbled about the choice, arm slung around your shoulder, but he came around, eventually. Nobody can resist the allure of Johnny Castle.
However many beers you had may have been one too many, though, because as soon as the credits started rolling, Steve had yanked you from Eddie's grasp and onto your feet as Nancy and Robin were cheering jump jump jump and you ran, stumbling into Steve's arms with a surprisingly powerful leap. Then you were floating, high above the living room with a bird's eye view of the crushed beer cans and Hostess wrappers littered over the carpet for one glorious second.
Until you landed in a giggling heap with Steve groaning beneath you, the room shaking with laughter to the point of tears, until Robin threatened to pee her pants.
Now that you've sobered up a little, you recognize that Eddie hadn't been laughing along.
He lets his head fall back against the headrest, eyes big as saucers, pathetic like a little dog who's about to get yelled at for pissing on the couch, and he twists the hand that's resting beneath yours until your fingers intertwine, gives you a squeeze—a move you recognize as an apology before he's got the words for what he's feeling.
"You know I'm not interested in Steve, right?" you ask, squeezing back.
Eddie nods, but his eyes tell a different story. He carries this thing with him—a kind of self-conscious bewilderment each time you reach for him in a crowd, press your lips to his, call him your boyfriend when there are people around to hear it.
It's kind of funny how much it doesn't make sense to you, how you assumed that, deep down, Eddie knew that you loved him, but also how badly you wanted him. That it wasn't some kind of fluke or coincidence or apathy that kept you here.
Eddie's breath catches in his chest, like he's trying not to cry, and you know you were wrong. You're not doing nearly good enough a job at making Eddie feel half as loved as he is.
You slip your hand from his, resting it just above his knee—an innocent start for your more illicit plans—scooting in your chair until you're almost nose to nose, lower your voice into a whisper.
"I'm serious, honey. You've got nothing to worry about."
Your plan is working already. Eddie swallows hard enough you can see his adam's apple jump in his throat, and his gaze keeps flickering from your eyes to the hand you've got on his thigh, climbing higher with each soothing stroke.
"Yeah, I-I know, baby, it's just—" his breath hitches, but he's fighting to get the words out, wet lips parting with a heavy breath as your fingers travel higher, thumb in the crease between his thigh and his crotch, "it's Steve Harrington."
His voice jumps an octave on Steve’s name, and your quiet laughter comes out in little breaths.
“I don't want to talk about Steve Harrington."
Your words hit his mouth in a puff of hot air, and Eddie gasps into the kiss that follows, moaning a little when your palm meets the zipper of his jeans and his swelling cock beneath. The tip of his nose digs into your cheek, one of his big hands finding your waist, trying to pull you closer, or as close as he can with the center console in the way.
"God, baby. Need you- need you so bad," he huffs, but you’re already breaking from the kiss, lifting your hips from the seat as you crawl into the space between Eddie’s warm chest and the steering wheel.
“Then you can have me,” you tell him, settling your weight in his lap, grasping around for the lever that’ll give you a little extra space. The seat rattles back until it stops with a heavy clunk, and Eddie has to dig his teeth into his bottom lip to keep quiet when your body lurches into his.
He won’t meet your eyes, looking out the blackened windows, checking the car like somebody’s gonna pop out from the back seat.
“What? Uh, I mean—like, here?”
You take Eddie’s face in both your hands, relishing the scratch of the sparse stubble peppering his jaw. Out of habit, his hands come to rest on your thighs, and you hum in approval.
“Whenever–“ you whisper, shifting your hips back just to bring them forward again, the crotch of your jeans meeting the bulge in his, rattling the chains hooked to his belt loops. Eddie’s neck goes taut, head pressed back against the seat.
“Wherever– “ you place your lips at the delicate skin he’s revealed, just brushing along the column of his throat. When you meet his eyes again, Eddie’s pupils are blown wide.
“And however you want me, Eddie. I’m all yours.”
“You’re all mine,” he repeats back to you, and his hands echo the sentiment, his confidence growing as he moves around to grip at your ass cheeks, pulling you more fully against him until he can grind up on you, his lips at your neck now, planting messy kisses at the edge of your throat that have you digging your fingers into his hair just to keep him there.
Your boyfriend's got a big dick—fucking hung like a horse, although he doesn't seem to know it, and he's already throbbing and heavy in his jeans, bucking his hips into you like he's trying to get you pregnant before he’s even inside you.
"Eddie," you sigh his name, just to admire the feeling of it, and he lets out a groan that has you dripping, the damp fabric of your panties sticking to your cunt and dragging over your clit with each shift of his hips.
"Yeah, baby?" he asks, and you hardly notice his hands at the zipper on your jacket, trailing it down, down, down until he can slip it from your shoulders, gripping at your tits through your tank top.
"You feel so—fuck," he's cut you off mid-sentence, pulling the neckline of your top down until your breasts are free, nipples already pebbling in the cool air. Eddie pinches one of them in between two fingers, the metal of his rings biting at the other until you gasp.
"Yeah?" he repeats, harder this time, the word mumbled into your tits. Eddie's smothering himself, licking and kissing and teething his way as he moves to replace one of his hands with his mouth over the dark, stiff peak.
He sucks the bud between his lips, glides his tongue over the sensitive skin there. The sound of your moans fills the car, and suddenly the pressure of his cock isn't enough when there's so much fabric between you. You can't pull away, though, not with how his free arm has circled your waist, forcing the sway of your hips.
"Eddie," you call out again, but he just grunts, onto the other breast now, fucking devouring you in a way only he can.
He's not stopping, teeth scraping at your skin and his lips pursed, sucking the life out of you while his other hand pinches and flicks the other stiff bud, still damp with his spit.
It's almost frightening how close he's gotten you, and just from this—the movement of his hips and his worshiping mouth.
"Eddie."
There must be something different in the way you say it this time, because he listens, finally, snaking his hand down between your bodies, slipping the button on your jeans and shoving his fingers inside until they reach the apex of your aching cunt. Your vision goes foggy, on the verge of tears from the relief of something solid pressed right up against your clit.
And his mouth doesn't stray from your tits, single-minded in a way only somebody like Eddie could be, sucking at your nipples until they both shine.
His fingers curl, perfect, sitting right where you need them as you grind and grind and grind your hips, brain turning to jelly with the way he's making you feel.
You feel Eddie's teeth bite a perfect circle on the inside of your breast, and that's what pulls you under.
You're practically screaming, and Eddie still won't stop, letting you ride out the perfect feeling of him, maybe hoping you'll remember this moment the next time Steve sees you. Just the idea of meeting up with your friends again after this has you flushing so deep you think you might combust right here.
The sparks fade slowly, your pussy still shaking and empty, wet enough you're sure you've soaked Eddie's fingers and he finally relents, his plump, pink lips tracing your collar bones, stopping at the edge of your jaw. He takes the delicate skin their between his teeth and sucks, hard.
That jolts you from your stupor. You press his head back, one hand on his forehead so you can make him look you in the eyes.
"Hey—that's gonna bruise."
You're scolding has no effect; Eddie's on a different plane now, cocky from making you cum so easily and still a little peeved from earlier, pressing past your hold on him until he can reattach himself to your neck.
"Not sorry," he tells you, marking you up between staccato shifts of his hips, "wanna make sure everybody knows you're mine."
It's impenetrable logic—you couldn't argue with him if you wanted to, and you really, really don't want to when he makes his way to your mouth, kissing you, his tongue against yours and his hot, heavy breaths, one hand balled in the fabric of your tank top at the middle of your back.
"Turn around," he tells you, guiding you into compliance with his hands at your waist, and it makes you dizzy, feeling like you'd end up on the ceiling if Eddie didn't keep his grip on you, pulling you tight against him until your back meets his chest.
It’s like he's touching you everywhere, hands on your hips and your tits and pushing your hair up off your neck—looking for more skin that he hasn't painted yet—so you're not prepared when the chair falls back, left breathless and unmoored, staring at the stained upholstery on the roof of Eddie's van.
"You good?" Eddie asks in response to the gasp you let out, urging your hips into the air as he tugs your jeans and your underwear down around your thighs.
You just nod, too desperate for any explanation, to say anything at all. Eddie's turned you stupid, has you whining into his neck when you lean your head back on his shoulder, looking up at his jaw with wild, tear-filled eyes.
"Gonna ruin you for anybody else, sweetheart," he tells you over the sound of his jangling belt, his hot cock pressed against your back. "Gonna make sure you never leave me."
You nod, fucking rabid when he shifts and you can finally feel the fat tip of his dick at your entrance, smearing the first taste of his cum over your lips.
"Nobody else, Eddie," you promise him, "just you."
Eddie takes his cock in his hand, teasing it over your pussy, nudging it against your clit until you jump in his arms. He grips tighter at your waist, holding you just under your tits to keep you still.
"Promise?" he asks.
The tears that slip down your cheeks and onto his neck must be answer enough, because Eddie slides inside you, just the tip, and the relief at even this small feeling of fullness has you crying out.
Eddie's thrusts are methodical and relentless, slow at first, but they build quickly, his hips slamming into you, his grunts from exertion and from pleasure low in your ear. And you're moaning, too, like putty against him, totally enraptured as you watch the muscles in his jaw flex, beads of sweat collecting at his hairline.
He keeps hitting this spot inside you, has you full to the brim, and you're so wet you half-wonder if your pussy juice is soaking into the seat.
It feels like the van is rocking with the force of his thrusts, steam collecting around the edges of the windows from your shared breaths. It’s obscene how in to this you are, how loud it sounds, the wet squelch of your poor cunt echoing around the interior of his van.
"You're gonna cum for me, baby," he tells you, "wanna feel you squeezing my cock."
Four of his fingers meet at the top of your thighs, rubbing steady circles over your clit. You think you might be screaming.
Eddie has you cumming like you're being raptured, twitching in his lap, tits bouncing as he fucks into you, deeper than before until your vision blacks out and you can't see or feel or think of anything but perfect Eddie Munson and his perfect fucking cock.
It's dark when you come to. Maybe he fucked you blind.
Your vision returns, though, just in time. Eddie's chest heaves beneath you, and he pulls out with a grunt, his cum and yours dripping down your thighs in a sight so lurid it's got you flushing down to your neck.
That's definitely going to stain the upholstery.
Eddie doesn't seem to care, stroking his heavy hands over your thighs, pulling your clothes back into place—gentle where they had been rough, his mouth dotting soft kisses against the back of your spine.
Eddie shifts you around in his lap, let's his big eyes find yours. Your fingers twine with his, and he laughs a little when you kiss at his knuckles.
"You know," Eddie says, cheeks pink and a stupid smile on his face, "now that I think about it, Dirty Dancing might be my new favorite movie. I mean, who doesn’t love Patrick Swayze?"
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the-secret-formulaone · 8 months ago
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prompt: you and max have been secretly together for years. neither the fans or the media have a clue. what happens when you and max are neck and neck for the drivers championship and you get the unexpected news that you’re pregnant?
pairing: max verstappen x ferrari! reader
word count: ~7.6k
warnings: 18+, cursing, mentions of sex but no real smut, mentions of miscarriage, some mention of blood
a/n: hello, i'm brand new at writing fanfic for f1. i've had this idea for a while and it was eating at me so i hope you enjoy. i thought it would be cool to have it be like a normal fic with a bit of that social!au content that the fandom loves.
this is pt.1 of how everything is going down and then the next and final part will be what happens after, her pregnancy and what reader does this time around. along with some fan social media mayhem.
id love to hear your thoughts!
enjoy!
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LAS VEGAS, USA | NOV 2024
The nausea settling in the pit of your stomach is unbearable, it gets worse with each lap you complete. You're confident you can push through and finish the race without throwing up in your helmet, until the track begins doubling and tripling.
You haven’t felt this dizzy since you crashed in Spa three years ago due to rain. There were no stakes then as you were having a bad race weekend and started P7. Today you’re P1 and the gap between you and Max is getting shorter as you slow to try and compensate for the nausea and dizziness.
You hear your team in your ear, asking you if the car's giving you trouble since there’s no apparent reason for you to be slowing down at this point. Especially with ten laps to go.
“The car is fine,” you say through gritted teeth, trying to relax your abdomen to keep the nausea at bay.
“Then what’s the matter? Are you okay?” Riccardo, your race engineer, asks. His tone is stern yet concerned.
“Yeah, I’m perfectly fine. My head feels like it’s spinning is all.” You're nonchalant but deep inside you’re panicking. This race means so much to you and your team. Now is not the time to get sick.
“Can you finish the race?” His filtered voice asks through the radio.
“Yes, I’m finishing the bloody race,” you curse, pressing on the gas pedal and tightening the hold on the steering wheel.
“If you continue feeling this way, box immediately,” he orders, not wanting to risk the safety of his driver, “By the way Max is 2 seconds behind you.”
“Fucking hell.” After all the work to create a 10 second gap Max is catching up because your body decided to get sick.
There’s rage building inside of you, keeping Max away is the most difficult part of racing. It took pure skill to keep him at a distance, he’s only catching up because you’re slowing. You're letting yourself down.
It’s been a battle of pole positions and fastest laps for you two. The championship is within your reach, threatening to break Max’s two year streak. It's why Max is giving everything he has to get ahead of you. If he wins this race he’ll be on top once more.
Another bout of nausea takes over your body, shivers running down your spine. Why are you nauseous and dizzy? You were hydrated before the race, the temperature in the car is warm as always but it’s cool outside, unlike Singapore, and you felt perfectly fine earlier.
It’s most likely karma for teasing Max this morning and leaving him with a raging hard on.
You notice Max in your peripheral vision. He’s ready to attack and regain P1. You accelerate and block him as best you can but nearing the turn you miscalculate giving Max the perfect opportunity to pass you.
He settles right in front of you, mocking how he got ahead so easily. If you didn’t love him and felt the bile coming up your throat you would’ve cursed at him. You were famously known for insulting the men driving the other cars.
At this point, you weren’t driving straight and your race engineer, Riccardo was telling you to pit and pull out of the race.
“I promise you I’m good enough to finish the race,” you say after a moment to swallow the bile coming up. You'd rather die than DNF'ing with a handful of laps to go.
“Norris is catching up. Let’s finish this race quickly so you can get checked.”
You’re glad you created a gap at the beginning of the race, otherwise Lando and Charles, your teammate, would’ve caught up already.
You see Lando trying to overtake you but you surprisingly block him and go as fast as you can. It’s not your best work and the FIA will have something to say about it but you make do.
Finally, down the final straight you press on the gas and cross the finish line. You finish the race out of pure muscle memory since you can’t rely on your distorted vision. Ignoring the celebratory cheers, you pull up on the spot marked #2. No one says anything about the askew parking job.
Your hands are clumsy, pulling out the steering wheel and standing. One of your teammates is right there giving you the hand you clearly need as you sway and almost fall straight out of the car.
Max is none the wiser, calmly getting out the RB and running over to his team who congratulate and scream his name. In his head, you lost control of your car, giving him a way to pass you. That's how F1 works.
You pull on your helmet and all the straps fast, the Ferrari team member helping you when he sees your urgency. As soon as you pull off your balaclava you bend over and empty the contents of your stomach.
Privacy be damned.
It’s not pretty. You’ve been holding this in for 20 laps and it’s not going to stop any time soon. The cameras focus on you as you push away the Ferrari team and finish throwing up. Ready hands catch you and you’re sat on a wheel chair as they roll you over to the medics. You close your eyes and throw your head back, everything around you spinning.
The murmurs of the crowd and the media cause Max to notice. He catches sight of you being wheeled away into the back. He takes a tentative step towards you, itching to be by your side but remembers the agreement you made to keep your relationship a secret.
Sometimes he hates how stubborn you are. At this point, the world should know you two are together, married even. Yet he understands your hesitancy with how cruel the media and the fans can be.
Max stays rooted on the spot, watchful eyes and dozens of lenses noticing every movement. Lando gets close to Max trying to avoid the cameras.
“What happened?” Lando asks referring to you.
“No idea, mate,” Max says, staring intently at the door you were just rolled through. A sleuth of Ferrari members following.
“She wasn't driving straight,” Lando shakes his head. He knew something was off when he caught up to her. “It was so unpredictable it made it harder on me to battle it.”
Max didn’t think much when he pulled up behind you but he did think it was strange how easy it was to overtake you. You always give him the hardest time.
He remembers this morning when you were in bed kissing him, touching him, teasing him. You were so cheeky, his length in your hand as you sweet talked him. 'Convincing' him to throw the race. Not like he’d ever do it. You were simply having your fun with him.
There wasn’t any sign of sickness then. It’s not like you spun out during the race either. You had been flawless out on the track until you weren’t.
“I'm going to check on her,” Max tells Lando, motioning with his head and wondering what exactly is wrong with his wife.
"Just wait," Lando stops him with a hand on his chest. They notice Charles in the Ferrari garage, heading to the back where they have you. "If you go, it'll stir up rumors."
Max tenses his jaw and looks away. With a roll of his eyes he turns to get weighed. He doesn't like it but Lando is right. He doesn't give a damn about his reputation only yours and the promise he made you.
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f1_news tweeted: Ferrari’s Princess is transferred to hospital after race. It was heard through their radio she was having severe motion sickness, giving Max Verstappen the lead. Not many details are known as of this moment. More updates coming soon!
comments:
user2: hope she’s doing okay! she needs to come back to kick max's ass and take the championship from him 😼‍💹
user3: bet max is celebrating
-> user4: he looked very concerned when he saw her in the wheelchair
-> user14: who wouldn’t, she looked like death 💀
user4: did ya'll notice max disappear after the ceremony?
-> user5: lol he was making sure his favorite rival was okay đŸ€Ł
-> user101: no point in staying if he can’t rub it in her face đŸ€
user6: our ferrari princess 👾 looked out of it. not sure how she made it out the car
user7: the podium felt so empty without her in it 😓
-> user8: did you notice max kept looking at the spot she was supposed to be as if expecting her to suddenly appear
-> user9: she’s like his best friend and his enemy wrapped in one. can’t live with her, can't live without her
-> user10: i swear he’s in love with her. đŸ—Łïž it’s not normal the way he looks at her
-> user11: please, she’s married. you guys need to stop being delusional and stop shipping her with every guy on the grid
-> user10: not every guy, just max and maybe charles
 -> user76: let's take a moment to appreciate charles immediately asking about her and leaving the track to see how she was. it's a win for us predestined x princess shippers
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In the hospital, they quickly take you into a private room. The nurses retake your vitals and give you a shot to help with the nausea. A doctor comes in relatively quickly, asking you an array of questions to help him figure out why you got sick.
"The nurse should be in quickly to draw blood. I'm not too worried about this being anything other than a virus but we just want to make sure you're all good before leaving."
"Thank you, doc," you respond, lying back on the bed. They've given you one of the flimsiest hospital gowns in existence but you've gotta admit it's more comfortable than your race suit.
It's awfully lonely in the hospital room but it gives you time to relax and wind down. Fred and Riccardo were extremely concerned for your well being- not related at all to the fact you're on the run to win the championship-forcing you to go into the hospital.
Their stressed energy, the ambulance ride and then the nurses fussing over you was overwhelming. It would've made your nausea worse had it not been for the shot.
You're snoozing off when the door opens and your husband walks in. Max has a backpack slung over his shoulder with a set of clothes for you, along with your phone and other personal belongings you left at the paddock. He hurries over to you, dropping the bag and wrapping his arms around you.
"I was so worried, schatje," Max says in your ear, kissing your temple. The softness of his hoodie and the familiar scent he carries is comforting.
"I'm okay. You should keep your distance though, doc says I have a virus," you tell him, slightly pushing him away.
He’s stubborn as he keeps hold of your hand. "I don't care if I get sick. We've got two weeks until the next race, plenty of time for me to get better." Max sits on the chair next to your bed, asking you what happened during today’s race and listening to every word you say.
"What did they do for podium?" You later ask curiously, turning on your side to get more comfortable. Max props his head on his hand as he leans on your bed, getting closer to you despite your protests.
"Riccardo was there to accept it," Max tells you, kissing the back of your hand. He had been really worried. A part of him kept checking his surroundings for any sign of you.
It’s days like today where he wishes your relationship wasn’t secret. Max wants to express how worried he was about his girlfriend wife. He wanted to say ‘fuck you’ to all protocol and go after you.
He understands your reluctance and the need for privacy in your personal life. He knows what it’s like to have his privacy invaded and Max agrees that good things have come out of keeping your relationship a secret but you’ve also had to miss out on others. One day, you’ll have to come clean to the public to be able to live your life to the fullest.
The doctor returns before he can vocalize this. He knocks on the door as he steps into the room, a tablet in his hands. “Results have come back. Would you like the gentleman to step out or is it okay if he stays?”
“He’s my husband,” you tell the doctor.
You're used to people not recognizing you outside of Formula One but Max is more known than you. You wait for the doctor to react at the sight of Max, except there’s not an ounce of recognition in his face. Good, or else, you’d have to rely on his patient-doctor confidentiality.
“Let’s get into it then. Lab’s show dehydration which is normal for the state you came in like. In addition, to the fact, you had just finished a physically demanding race. Surprisingly they also showed that your quantitative hCG levels are high meaning—"
“I’m pregnant?” You pan, shocked. Max's hand tightens around yours. Last year's endeavors left you with enough knowledge to know what that term means.
“Yes, you are pregnant,” he nods.
Max instantly turns towards you in complete shock. There’s part of him that’s happy but then there’s another that’s concerned. Personally, he’d love to have a child but it would mean you would have to sacrifice the championship.
You stare at the doctor with parted lips and furrowed brows, “That’s impossible. I have an IUD.” This couldn't be happening at a worse time.
“All methods of contraception have a percentage of failure,” the doctor sighs. “Your pregnancy explains today's sudden dizziness and nausea.”
“Do you know how far along she is?” Max asks, holding your hand tightly to show his support.
“We would need an ultrasound for that but based on her last menstrual period it can’t be more than 6 weeks.”
“Six weeks,” you breath out. You could only hear your pounding heart and the air coming in and out of your mouth. God, you've been training and driving the whole time. For fucks sake, just two weeks ago you had been celebrating your win with lots of alcohol.
You hardly hear the doctor excuse himself, leaving you and Max alone. Tears brim your eyes at the cruelty of the universe. You have in your hands the two things you want most in life. A shot at the championship and the opportunity to become a mother.
Max sits on the bed, wiping away your tears. He doesn’t say much, at a loss of words. There’s not much he can say to make this better but he thumbs away your tears and pulls you into a hug.
You fist his shirt in your hands, crying onto his shoulder, “This is not fair.”
“I know, schatje.” Max is at a loss. He understands the conflicting feelings you have. It’s no easy thing especially after everything you and Max went through.
“I can’t go through this again,” you sob, remembering the painful memories of the previous year.
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United Arab Emirates | Nov 2022
The last race of the season has come quickly, deeming Max the World Champion for the second time running. He’s at the top of the podium as the Dutch national anthem plays. You look up at him from the third position, smiling at him proudly.
You’re frustrated that you weren’t able to catch up to him but you’re confident your time will come. Every year you’ve spent in the grid you’ve been able to rise through the ranks and get great contracts.
Mercedes took a chance on you this year and you’ve made them proud. It was a challenge against Ferrari and Red Bull but as the only woman you’d say you did brilliant.
You’re going to miss this next year but a break is due. After years of hard training and dedicating everything to your career you’ve decided to focus on your personal life.
It’s been nearly a year since you’ve married Max and the conversation surrounding children becomes more constant. It's a nagging sensation in the back of your head. A longing you can't stop.
Feeling at peace with your performance, you decided to take this next year to become a mother. You’re young so in two years you’re sure you can come back stronger than ever and give Max a run for his money.
As the ceremony comes to an end, the party begins and the champagne bottles are brought out. “Don’t run,” Max laughs, spraying the frothy liquid in your direction.
You fight back, shaking the bottle and spraying some at Max and Charles. They gang up on you as Charles blocks your way and they both spray you. That will keep the fans making edits for months to come, the implication of the action clear.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Charles yells over the cheers when you aim the spray at his mouth.
Getting off the stage and into a private room, Max takes off his hat and pulls you in by the waist to press his sweet tasting lips against yours. You giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. “Congrats two-time world champion.”
“Thank you, schatje,” Max responds, brushing back the hair sticking to your forehead.
“Get a room you two,” Charles huffs, knowing you forgot he was there.
“Sorry,” you say with a blush.
“I’m not,” Max laughs, stealing another kiss.
Outside, reporters of all kind were waiting to interview all three of you. They want Max’s celebratory words and you and Charles’ disappointment and regret. They live for the heartfelt promises you'll make for next season.
“Over here!” A reporter calls you, handing you a microphone. “What’s the plan for next year? Are you renewing with Mercedes or is there another team making offers?”
“I come with sad news,” you pout at the camera, “I won’t be on the grid next year.”
The reporter stares wide-eyed at you. This is the first time you've said those words out loud. “Could you share with us why?”
You nod at his question, fixing your hat as you speak the words you rehearsed many times before. “Since I was young I was prioritizing racing and getting into Formula One. I love how far I’ve come but I want to take a step back and enjoy my personal life for a little while. As you know, I got married a year ago and I want to enjoy that newlywed life. I will be back though,” you say with a smile and a wink at the camera.
“Is there a chance you’ll tell us who the lucky guy is?” The reporter questions, not really expecting you to answer. That the one thing you won't disclose.
You laugh, shaking your head at him, “No chance. I like to keep my personal life private.”
“Worth a shot," the reporter laughs with you. "Thank you for your time and we hope to see you soon!”
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youtube upload: The Grid's Princess QUITS
thumbnail 📾: Toto Wolff looking angry and yelling at a Mercedes staff member. Lewis Hamilton with an arm around an upset looking reader.
comments:
user25: our queen is leaving? đŸ˜« user30: who is going to keep the boys in check -> user5: i bet that’s why she’s taking a break, it’s not easy keeping charles and max under control user6: aren’t we curious as to who this mystery husband is? 👀 -> user17: i bet it’s either someone old or a billionaire, or both, i mean did you see the rock on her finger? -> user 46: oh they must be loaded to win over the grid's princess -> user96: i'm sorry but until i see proof of this man i will continue to set her up with charles user59: please, use a more dramatic title user48: i'm ready to fight đŸ€ș whoever made her stop racing. she's the only reason i watch them go in circles. who else is going to learn french to curse out charles properly? user55: *sigh* guess it’s time to rewatch all of the edits of her and max on repeat until she returns user104: let’s make a game. take a shot every time max and charles mention her next season.
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Monaco | March 2023
When you temporarily retired, you thought you'd become pregnant in a matter of weeks. That is not the case.
Movies make it seem so easy to become pregnant, when in reality, it’s a challenge. It took nearly four months and multiple doctor visits for you to become with child.
The Winter break was spent tangled in sheets, keeping warm in each others embrace. Max was insatiable and so were you. Any chance you had you’d be dragging him somewhere private, his hands pulling at your underwear to tug them off...or to the side.
Max's voice would be in your ear as he spoke of how good you take him. He'd encourage you with words he'd never otherwise use. His cologne would intoxicate you, putting you in a trance.
His hold was firm and steady, making you shake and arch against him. His length sinking into you until you came with his name on your lips and his seed inside you.
Then, it finally happened. A positive pregnancy test in your bathroom counter. The alarm rang loudly, making you and Max share a nervous glance.
“You look,” you say with a shaky voice and shakier hands. Your period was late, followed by your tender breasts and the morning sickness. You fear your body was making it up because you wanted it so much.
“Before that,” Max says, cupping your face, “Don’t be disappointed if it’s negative. We’re just getting started and we have a whole year to try, yeah?”
You place your hands over his and nod with a small smile. Max presses a kiss to your forehead before he picks up the home test.
Max erupts in a smile, nodding and showing you the word positive. You scream, falling into his arms. He spins you around, kissing all over your face.
You and Max are over the moon, giddily waiting for every appointment with your doctor. Every ultrasound was recorded along with the babies heart beat.
Max is ecstatic. He's been wanting to have a family with you since he realized you were the one. He thought it wouldn't happen for a long time but then you revealed you wanted it too and soon despite your career.
It took a long conversation to figure out how to go about it with both of your careers being at their peak but you came to an agreement. He was ready be a father and you were ready to be a mother, even if it meant putting your career in pause.
Your desire to bring a child into the world was greater than giving the championship another shot. Whenever you're ready to return to F1, he'll take a step back and support you.
Max planned a dinner with the whole family where you told them you were expecting. Plans to decorate the nursery littered your coffee table and your internet browser history was filled with shop links with cute clothes and baby items.
Weeks later, it happened. Something felt wrong, off.
“Maxie,” you breathe heavily, feeling wet between your legs. Cramps littering your lower abdomen.
“What's wrong?” Max sits up in bed, sensing your distressed state. His gaze fixes on the red stain forming on the white sheets.
“I’m scared,” you cry, afraid to move or do anything. Cramps squeezing your insides like a bad period.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here,” Max reassures you, “Let’s go to the bathroom, yeah? I’ll call the doctor.”
A quick trip to the ER confirmed it. You miscarried.
You couldn’t look at Max that night, hugging yourself tightly as he drove home. You ignored all the glances he threw your way, shiying away from the hand that reached out for you.
All that happiness you felt drained out of you, leaving complete sadness behind.
Max was sad about the baby but he was more focused on you and the toll it took on you. It was always a possibility. The doctor spoke about what to expect on the first trimester and this was one of the things he mentioned. You both chose to ignore it at the time.
Max kept most of the lights off in the apartment. Remembering the bags with baby stuff from your online shopping. He kept the spare bedroom closed, where you were planning how to arrange it and paint it to transform it into the nursery.
He’s never seen you this devastated. After years of knowing you and dating you he never had the chance to see you at your lowest. It breaks his fucking heart.
Max holds you that night while you're in pain and bleeding. He rocks you as you cry, tears spilling from his eyes too as all that new hope is crushed.
You need him. Max is all you have at the moment because while he goes to race on the weekends and clear his head, you stay home with the weight of losing a baby.
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Zandvoort | August 2023
With medical clearance and a couple of months to heal mentally. You and Max got to trying again.
You aren’t quitters and again you both desperately want a child. There's lots of sex, more than before. Something reignited in the relationship, like when the relationship began. Nothing could keep you away from Max back then.
He would fuck you wherever he could. Often times risking being seen. It was a moment where neither of you cared about being caught or being exposed to the whole world.
The Two-Time World Champion and the Grid’s Princess. Happily Married and Horny for Each Other.
The second time you found out you were pregnant was in Zandvoort, Max’s home race. You weren’t traveling as much trying to give your body rest and hopefully encourage it to take but this was a special track for Max so you tagged along.
Similar symptoms were arising so you waited to arrive at Zandvoort to take the test with Max. You were once again in the bathroom, sitting on the counter. He was between your legs, his head on your chest, waiting for the four minutes to be over.
“If it’s negative?” You asked, your fingers in his hair, scratching at his scalp to relax him.
“Then we try again and again and again,” he says cheekily, grabbing onto your thighs and kissing you.
“You’d like that wouldn’t you,” you giggle, pulling at his roots to make him groan.
“Perhaps but I’m not the one yelling out my name,” he smirks, recalling the other night when he had you with your legs up on his shoulders as he entered you slow and deep. If he closes his eyes he can hear your whiny moans begging for him to tip you over the edge.
“Poor Checo had to call the front desk and fill in a complaint,” you giggle, hiding your face from Max with your hands.
“It’s not my fault I didn’t see his text,” Max shrugs, not having a care in the world.
He was in his suite with his wife, having fun and trying to conceive. It’s not his fault he was making you feel so good you felt the need to scream his name and it’s not his fault Checo’s bedroom was right next to yours. Blame the Red Bull team for reserving two suites right next to each other.
The triggering alarm sounds, making your heart race. This time you grab the test, deciphering what the faint lines mean. You ran out of the good pregnancy tests and you were too lazy to go out and get new ones.
“It’s positive!” You squeal, showing the home test to Max.
Max’s eyes widen, “We did it!”
“I'm so happy,” you tear up from joy, hugging Max’s shoulders. Nothing is stopping him tomorrow on the track. He’s going to ride this high as long as possible.
Max grabs your thighs, forcing you to wrap your legs around him. He carries you over to the bed, kissing your lips, your neck, your chest.
Max was going to make you scream out his name again.
There was little celebration. You and Max kept the news to yourselves for a while longer. You took every precaution on the book. You stopped traveling with Max afraid it was one of the causes of your first miscarriage. You took care of your diet, you did minimal exercise, took every prenatal vitamin you could find but much like the first time, it happened again.
This time you felt so defeated, like something was wrong with you. Like maybe you weren’t meant to bring a child into the world or become a mother.
Max found you on the balcony one night after it happened. It was freezing outside so he got a blanket and wrapped it around your shoulders.
“‘I'm sorry,” you sniffle, not meeting his eyes. Your tears were cold against your cheeks.
“For what?” Max asks, watching you carefully. Your eyes red rimmed and nose runny.
“There’s something wrong with me and I can’t give us a baby,” you cry softly, wiping away at your tears.
You feel so ashamed and embarrassed. Having a baby shouldn’t be this fucking hard. You’ve done so much in life and this simple thing you can’t do. Something your body was designed to do.
“Hey, no. You know what the doctor said. There’s nothing wrong with you and there’s so many other ways we can have children together,” Max chides you, pulling his chair closer and grabbing your shoulders so you look at him.
“If there’s nothing wrong with me why does it keep happening?” You ask as your eyes well with more tears. They haven’t stopped in a good ten minutes.
“It’s not our time yet.” It’s the only thing Max can say. He doesn’t have all the answers in the world but there is one thing he’s sure of. “I love you no matter what.”
“I don’t want to go through this again.” Your bottom lip wobbles as you speak. The words getting caught on your throat.
It’s not like you don’t want children because you desperately do but you can’t go through another disappointment. More pain and more blood. More false hope.
“You don’t have to,” Max tells you, comforting you the best way he can. He picks you up, settling you on his lap as he wraps his arms around you. He kisses your head, coming up with words to make you feel better.
He doesn’t want a child if the process is going to cause you so much suffering. It’s hard seeing you like this when he’s used to seeing you be this independent strong woman, who broke barriers in a field of men.
He’s discovering a new side to you deep into your relationship. He loves you but it’s shocking to see you be this vulnerable when a lot of times you love to handle things on your own. In a way, he’s happy he’s able to be here with you and help you.
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Monza | November 2023
In Formula One rumors spread like wildfire. Within the teams and its members and riders the reason for your break didn’t remain a secret for long.
It didn’t stop certain teams from reaching out and persuading you into joining them. As far as they know you’re not pregnant yet and you did promise to return one day.
As the only woman in the grid you pull in lots of sponsors and the media and fans love you. Having you on a team is a win all around, considering you also bring in trophies.
Ferrari is a big team showing their interest in you. They’ve sent your manager multiple invitations for you to come and visit Ferrari Headquarters. No strings attached just a simple tour and meeting.
It’s tempting. Driving for Ferrari is every F1 racers dream and to be invited to test out their car and talk business is an honor.
You went quietly to the meeting, undecided if it’s the choice you want to make. Mercedes awaits your return whenever you’re ready, having led them to victory many times alongside Lewis.
Oh, Toto Wolff has you in his sight constantly. If he knew you were at Monza he’d probably fly down and get you out. You’re one of his biggest assets yet.
“There's our princess,” Charles greets you, running up to you and giving you a big hug.
He missed having you around. The fans never let him forget of all the good times, constantly tagging him on instagram and twitter.
“Hey Charles,” you laugh as he sways you from side to side.
“I missed you,” he says as he guides you over to the garage.
“Missed me kicking your ass?” You quip, playfully pushing him.
“Please, competing against Max on my own is exhausting. Too much responsibility,” Charles admits.
“He’s having the time of his life.” Max has the most fun when there are challenges and Charles has proven to be a worthy one. Insults and all. He loves getting a rise out of him.
The Ferrari team sets you up with a bright red race suit, giving you a visual of what your future has in store.
The feel of the baclavla is familiar around your head and the weight of the helmet comforting. It’s been a year since you last wore the uniform and it feels like home.
You step into the car, slidding in the steering wheel. The crew gives you the signal to pull out and you do with a push on the gas.
The rumble of the engine is exhilarating as is the blend of colors around you. It comes back so naturally, knowing when to push the car when to break. Learning this car is easy, like it’s made for you.
It has the potential to be a winner, to help you achieve the goal of becoming world champion.
“Ready to join Scuderia Ferrari?” Frederic Vasseif asks you once you get out of the car. There’s a smugness to him. He knows you enjoyed it and you’re itching for more.
“I don’t know. Carlos seems to be doing really well,” you try to play it cool, taking off your helmet and baclavla to shake off your hair.
“He’s good but you’re the greatest,” Fred says, giving you a knowing look.
“If I accept it’s because I want to win the Championship,” you negotiate. Charles is the first driver and it makes sense he stays there since he’s been with the team longer but you will not sacrifice yourself for him.
“We wouldn’t have it any other way,” Fred agrees, extending his hand to shake yours.
“The predestined and the princess?” Charles smiles, wrapping an arm around you.
You smile and bite your lip, “It’s time to take down Max Verstappen.”
No wonder the fans think there’s a long standing rivalry between you and Max. You talk a lot about taking him down and winning the championship. With the trust you two have he bites back with words of his own. It makes for quite a show. They’re going to lose it once it’s revealed you’re joining Ferrari.
Your joy returning home is palpable. Max notices it the moment you walk into your shared home in Monaco. The cats notice it too as they weave between your legs asking to be pet.
"Hi, love," Max greets you, placing his hands on your hips and kissing you. You wrap your arms your his neck loosely, smiling into the kiss.
He doesn't let you go when the kiss breaks, his thumbs caressing your back. You smile at him, a hand on his face, as your fingers brush over his stubble. He leans into it. “How did it go?”
“It's top secret," you say cheekily.
"Really?" Max follows along amusedly, "You can't even tell your dear husband Max Emilian?"
It's been an inside joke since you started dating that the person you're dating is Max Emilian and not Max Verstappen. Helps keep things separated to a certain degree but mostly it's funny.
"Well, if it's Max Emilian asking I can tell him that I've just signed with Ferrari and that Max Verstappen will have some serious competition next year," you tell him as your smile widens.
“Congratulations!" Max exclaims, hugging you tightly. You laugh is music in his ears. From the moment you stepped in he knew something changed. You were laughing and smiling like a weight was lifted off your shoulders.
“I’m a Ferrari girl now and I’m going to take that title from you,” she boasts, playfully pushing him.
“That’s a big statement,” he says, playfully caging her in his arms. Max adores that her competitive streak is back, it's one of the things he fell in love with when you began dating.
Being married means being there in the bad and the good, in sickness and in health. He'll be by your side through it all but he'd rather have you be happy and competitive than depressed and anxious.
“What you think I can’t do it?” You laugh when he tries tickling you. Your this close to elbowing him if he doesn't stop.
Finally letting up, he cups your face and looks into your eyes as he says, “If there’s someone who is going to do it, it’s you. You're my girl after all.”
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f1 posted on instagram: The Princess is back and in red. Everyone bow down. 📾: Reader wearing a Ferrari race suit posing in front of the new Ferrari SF-23. Comments: user8: holy shit she’s back
user95: this was not on my bingo card, but it was in my dreams every night since she left -> user57: like a wise woman once said in rome; this is what dreams are made of
user72: guess she had enough of that married life and is back to wreck these boys
user14: i might actually fucking cry. our queen is back and in ferrari red -> user98: red is definitely her color. -> user67: you know who's color it is too? charles... ->user53: you know who likes charles? max... ->user17: i can't with you 💀
user67: i want to see max squirm with both charles and her against him -> user55: please if anything it’ll turn him on -> user45: hell even i'm turned on
user88: wait does this mean she can’t curse at charles anymore? -> user68: don't worry, the second charles gets in her way it's coming. don't you remember that one time she almost crashed with lewis and she let him have it? -> user 90: i've never seen lewis be that fast outside of a car
user12: i’ve got my editing program ready, i’ll get all the edits. max x princess, predestined x princess, max x charles, i got them all -> user56: i'm not picky, i'll help -> user02: you should do one where she's walking in like in those wwe fights with the dramatic music
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Monaco | Nov 2024
The conversation about the pregnancy is kept on pause. You and Max wait till you're back home in Monaco to continue it. It's fresh in your minds though as you try and make sense of he timing of it all.
There's only two more races to the season, you are so close to the end. You wish you hadn't found out till much later, they do say ignorance is bliss.
You're filled with fear and uncertainty. What if this pregnancy ends up like the rest? What if you give up the championship for something that might not even happen? But what if you chose the championship and give up a viable pregnancy?
The morning after arriving at Monaco you're in the kitchen with your laptop in front of you as you schedule an appointment with your doctor. The cup of coffee you made earlier is now cold as you could barely drink it with so many thoughts in your head.
You cover your face with your hands, groaning at the headache forming so early in the day.
Max finds you like that and he knows it's time to talk. He comes up behind you, pressing a kiss and resting his chin on your shoulder as he hugs you from behind.
"What's on your mind, schatje?"
You take a deep breath, focusing on him to try and gather your thoughts, "I don't know what to do, Maxie. What do I do?"
"I can't tell you what to do. I can tell you that I want to have a baby with you but I don’t want you to go through all that pain again or feel pressured that you need to do this for me. I love you and I want you to be happy. If it's choosing your career I'm here for you. If it's starting a family I'm here as well," Max says as he hugs you tighter until you relax against him.
You shake your head, lacing your fingers with his as they lie on your midsection. "It's the fact that the first two didn't end well and it was such a horrible experience. If I knew for a fact I was going to give birth to this baby I would drop the championship in a heartbeat."
"I'm happy with whatever you choose. Even if you decide that carrying a baby isn't for you. Later on we can try surrogacy or adoption."
It's 2024 and there are tons of options out there in the case you want to become parents. It doesn't have to be one way or no way. Plus, they are young and have their lives ahead of them.
"Really? You couldn’t be like one of the awful men who insist women need to have a baby? You’re making this hard on me," you lightly joke, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss it.
Max laughs along with you. He knows you've made a decision even if you haven't realized. He's only there to guide you. “You already made a decision, schatje.”
Your eyes return to your laptop where the appointment with the specialty clinic is displayed. “I need to give this pregnancy a chance. I mean think about it. I've raced, I've drank alcohol and it's still here. It happened against all odds, Maxie. What if it’s a sign? That the timing is right,” you say, recalling the conversation you had with him a year ago. “I just hate I need to withdraw from the rest of the races.”
Max made a decision that same moment, “I’ll pull out from the races too.” It feels shitty that because you're a woman you have to pull out the races for your safety and the baby's while he continues on like nothing has happened.
“What? That’s insane Max,” you exclaim, staring at him bewildered.
“It’s only fair. You have to do it to have OUR baby, why do you have to be the only one who quits?”
You laugh and shake your head, placing your hands on his chest, “You’re not doing that, Max. This is F1 and it’s ruthless which is why you’re so good at it. Besides, with last Sunday's race you're already ahead of me and there's no chance the others are catching up with two races to go. The title is yours," you reassure him, kissing the corner of his mouth, “It’s not my time to be a world champion yet and maybe it never will. I have to accept that."
Max scoffs, poking his tongue on his cheek, “No, you will be. Once you have this baby you’re coming back even if I have to give away my seat in Red Bull.”
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you hum, looking into his eyes.
“You beat me on your rookie year,” he reminds you.
Back when you started in F1 and neither you or Max were on the top you had friendly battles in the midst of the races. It wasn't for podium but it kept the fans entertained and recruiters eyes on you both. Max beat you most times but there was one day you beat him on a wet race which is unheard of.
“Once!”
“Once was enough!” He insists. Max fell in love with your competitive side, it didn't matter if you beat him or not. That day when you approached him with that big smile and malicious intent in your eyes he was done for.
“How will we handle the media?” He steers the conversation a different place. He's not sure how much longer he can keep the relationship a secret with a baby on the way.
“Same as always. They can’t know about us yet, Maxie. They will throw your name on the ground and say horrible things.”
If the media finds out that you're pregnant with Max's baby they will say it's sabotage cause he felt threatened that you were going to take the title from him. They don't care for details.
“I don’t know how much longer we can keep this a secret,” he confesses, trying to reason with you.
“Not long okay? After the baby comes,” you promise him. After the baby comes you will tell the world everything.
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F1_news tweeted: The Grid's Princess is withdrawing from the rest of the races this season due to her health. Not much is known yet. Carlos Sainz to take over her seat.
comments:
user56: not again please -> user97: i'm in tears -> user57: alexa play 'see you again' by charlie puth
user64: i hope she's doing okay and is able to return next year. she was so close on getting the championship
user76: i love the queen but i'm happy to get charlos back again! -> user34: it's very bitter sweet isn't it? -> user57: i wonder if she'll be back with ferrari next year? -> user45: well her contract is for two years so if she's okay when the next season starts i don't see why not -> user08: contracts mean nothing in F1 user04: get ready to witness a pouty max -> user 87: these next few races will be a piece of cake and he hates it -> user72: i love lando and charles but there's no way they are going to give him a hard time
user46: this is the end of the princess, who is going to want her back? -> user 43: get the fuck out of here you hater -> user345: who asked for your opinion?
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F1_fanpage: The Grid's princess seen walking out of a clinic specialized in complicated pregnancies. 📾
user45: holy shit, it all makes fucking sense she’s pregnant -> user58: i didn't want to say anything but dizzy and nausea? it’s textbook pregnancy
user67: our queen is having a prince(ss) -> user176: who is the fucking dad? -> user404: he needs to be a part of F1 for her to still be around when she should be home resting
user47: she's glowing
user68: not her audibly rooting for carlos on the latest race -> user99: well it is only temporary and it's not like they kicked her out. she left because she had to -> user55: we love a supportive queen either way
user88: did ya'll see her interacting with max and charles after the race? they were so careful with her. it makes so much sense! -> user44: i'm hyperventilating we got a max hug! -> user 67: better yet we got a charles hug! -> user12: opening up my editing program as we speak
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Part 2 Coming Soon
The world is aware you're now pregnant. You got a job working for the F1 social media and interview team during your pregnancy. Rumors keep spreading about who your husband and baby daddy is. Fans keep shipping you with Max and Charles. Max might just explode if he doesn’t tell everyone, but will he?
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2K notes · View notes
zepskies · 3 months ago
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OVER THE BRIDGE
Pairing: Beau Arlen x Soulmate!Reader 
Summary: Your car is teetering on the edge of a rickety bridge. When Sheriff Beau Arlen arrives at the scene to help you, he realizes that for the first time in his life, he can hear his soulmate’s thoughts.
AN: Happy Beau Wednesday! And here we go—my last bingo square for @jacklesversebingo 
 Round 1! 😉 That’s right, I’m gearing up for a Round 2 of fun prompts! But I had to do something for Beau before I closed out this masterlist for the first round. I’ve also been wanting to do another soulmate AU, since I haven’t written one since Never Say Goodbye (Dean Winchester x Soulmate!Reader). I’ve never seen one for Beau Arlen, so I thought, the time is now! Lol
Jacklesverse Bingo Prompt: “I’m gonna take care of this, but until I do, I need to get you somewhere safe.”
Posted on Patreon: 4/09/2025
Word Count: 4.2K
Tags/Warnings: Survival situation, sort of meet cute lol, angst, soulmates, and romantic fluff.
JVB Masterlist || Beau Arlen Masterlist
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You picked your head up slowly from the airbag. You could barely feel that side of your face.
Blood began to drip into your eye, but you managed to wipe it away. You glanced down at your hand to watch the tremble in it, curiously.
Your gaze drifted beyond it, beyond your steering wheel. A sea of wheat-like grass and beds of gravel looked ready to meet you through your windshield. The groan of metal accompanied a slight rocking of your little 2009 Toyota Corolla, back and forth. You sucked in a shaky breath and tried to hold in the urge to cough.
Your chest hurt. It was sharp and aching where your seatbelt clung tightly to your ribs.
Then, your heart fell into your stomach as you realized

Your car was teetering on the edge of the Morelli Bridge. It was one of the few in Helena, Montana that hadn’t yet been replaced for repairs or sold for scrap, but you knew it was old. An old, old timber bridge, built in 1893
which meant you were infinitely screwed.
You braced yourself on the driver’s side door and held your breath, trying to keep the panic from rising up past the tightness in your throat. Your bruised body was otherwise paralyzed; you didn’t know what to do, or even why you were hit. But you could guess.
You glanced out your window through frizzy strands of your hair at the silver SUV that bulldozed into your back tires. The SUV had spiraled away from your car and hit a lamppost. Now the front of it was crunched like an accordion, where it was smoking on fire. Two men broke open the driver and passenger side doors open with their boots. They were dressed like ranchers in their long jackets, jeans, and Stetson hats, but when they hauled out guns along with them, your eyes widened.
What the hell’s going on?!
You heard a horde of police sirens coming closer, until their lights were half-blinding you through the back windows of your car. An unfamiliar thread of feeling laced through you then. You didn’t know exactly what it was, but it cut into your awareness, for a moment right through your fear.
Goosebumps spread across your arms. A tingling warmth enveloped you, comforted you, if just for a few seconds.
A white van striped with red was racing across the bridge along with the squad cars. Between your ringing ears, you almost thought you could hear a man’s chatter, giving orders to cut ‘em off. Form a perimeter. Like some kind of police scanner.
Tears of desperation filled your eyes.
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Please. Please help me.
Beau Arlen heard the thought like it was his own, loud and clear as a bell.
His voice cut off mid-sentence as he was speaking to Jenny and into the police radio. She shot him a look—first in confusion, then in concern.
“Beau?” she prompted.
“Yeah,” he said after a moment, clearing his throat. His mouth opened to continue giving his instructions on how to round up these guys; they had already ducked behind their smoking car and were shooting at the squad cars pulling up to them. They’d been caught on the act of trying to steal a showhorse. Luckily the horse was safe and being taken to the precinct, but these dusty cowboys were on the run.
“You okay?” Jenny said. “It’s not often that you’re at a loss for words.”
Beau shot her a wry look. He opened his mouth to reply, but the voice in his mind grew even stronger. Sharper. Feminine, and desperate.
Hellooo! Can they even see I’m still alive over here? Oh, God. Please. I can’t move

Beau blinked in confusion, but the sharp tug of fear and dread inside his chest was even harder to ignore than the thoughts in his head—thoughts that were most definitely not his own. It was the strangest sensation, like a vice-grip on his heart.
Christ, it can’t be, he thought. Here? Now? But where—
His eyes widened when he looked over and caught sight of a little blue Toyota Corolla. It was teetering on the edge of the bridge, already tipping toward the side of falling right off.
“Pull over here. Now!” Beau told Jenny.
His voice was serious and sharp enough that she did what he said without questioning. She might enjoy poking at him from time to time, but he was still the Sheriff, and after the summer they’d had solving the case of Buck Barnes and putting his wife behind bars, Jenny respected Beau. More than she ever thought she would.
She pulled her 1996 Ford Bronco over beside the Toyota. Beau had his seatbelt off before she even hit the brakes. She started to put it into Park, but he stopped her.
“You back up the squad. I’ll handle this,” he said. He opened the passenger door and climbed out.
“What?” she said incredulously. “If someone’s in there, you’re gonna need help.”
“That’s what the Fire Squad’s for,” Beau said, tossing a thumb behind him at the firetruck speeding towards the bridge. He threw Jenny’s passenger door shut and banged on it twice with an open hand, asking her without words to do what he said.
Jenny didn’t like it, but she peeled off to help the blockade of policemen trying to corral the men they were after.
Beau didn’t exactly know why his instinct was to go to the tipping car alone, but he understood it the moment he hurried over and found you through the driver’s side window. Tears streaked down your face while you sat there very still, and very terrified. Not only could he see it in your face, but he could feel it behind his ribs. It made his desire to help you even more visceral—like a gut punch that reached all the way up into his throat.
“Hey!” he called to you.
Your head whipped over to meet him, and your eyes widened in abject relief. He could feel that too, and it made him smile, even as his own heart began to trip up faster. He pulled at the car door handle.
“Sheriff Beau Arlen, ma’am. I’m gonna get you out. Don’t you worry,” he assured. “Can you unlock the door? Slowly. Try not to rock the boat, so to speak.”
You gave a jerky, minimal nod, and you reached over to press the “unlock” button. The sensor didn’t respond for the locks or the windows. Beau’s lips pressed together. No matter how he pulled at the door, it wouldn’t budge. All he had on him was his gun, a pocketknife, and a lockpick that wouldn’t do him much good here.
Damn it. Should’ve grabbed a slim jim, he thought.
Beau noticed the way you paused, your head tilting as you stared at him with wider eyes. It made him pause as well.
“Did you
did you say something?” you asked, raising your voice so you could be heard through the closed window.
Beau was about to respond when a firefighter captain approached from his right.
“Sheriff,” he greeted with a nod. The firetruck was parked near the Toyota, and there was an ambulance coming up from behind on the bridge. “Just the driver in the car?”
Beau nodded at him belatedly. “Yeah, just be real careful. It’s teetering on the edge of the bridge.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” the captain said. “You might wanna step back, Sheriff.”
Beau looked back over at your tear-streaked terrified face, and he shook his head. He wasn’t about to step out of your line of sight. He wanted you to know that he was here, and he wasn’t leaving you.
“Just get this door open for me first, and we’ll get her out,” he said.
The captain took note of Beau’s firmness, and so he agreed. Two more firefighters came with Halligans and power tools to pry the door open. All the while, Beau was focused on you. He could see your growing panic when the tools whirred loudly and shook the car.
Oh God, oh God, oh God. This thing’s going to tip over and I’m going to be a fucking gravel pancake!
Hearing your thoughts again was like another dousing of cold water to his senses, but he felt compelled to get closer—as close as he could without getting in the firefighters’ way. 
It’s okay, darlin’. You’re not gonna tip over. I’m not gonna let that happen, he thought in reply. It was instinctual, but he knew that you heard him. He saw the way you gasped, even as another tear rolled down your cheek.
He was struck then by the look of you. Despite your frizzy hair and a line of blood drying down the side of your face, you were beautiful; your eyes, the shape of your face and the shade of your hair, and the way you were looking at him now, like you were crying for a whole different reason.
You
you’re

Beau Arlen, ma’am, he answered, with his best charming smile (albeit a bit nervous). He carded a hand through his hair on reflex.
You managed to smile back, wiping your tears away. Yeah, you said that.
What’s your name then, darlin’?
You hesitated, but when you gave him your name, the roll of the letters and the sound of your voice
it all made a strange, warm tingle run down his spine. It filled him with a sensation of champagne bubbly, stirring low in his belly. His hand pressed harder against the Toyota’s hood without him realizing.
The car groaned and began to tip even more.
Shit! Beau’s eyes widened. You gasped and clung to the car seat by your nails.
“Beau!” you yelled out through the glass.
“Got it,” one of the firemen said, and he wrenched the door open.
Beau stepped in quickly and fished out his pocketknife. Flicking it open, he barely had time to meet your eyes before he tore through your seatbelt. Then he slid an arm around your back and under your knees, gathering you to his chest before he scooped you out of the car.
It was just in time for it to snap against the cables secured around the car. You wouldn’t have gone over the edge, even if Beau hadn’t grabbed you and pulled you out
but neither of you had known that.
Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as you buried your teary face against his chest. You were shaking. Beau nodded at the firemen in thanks and walked a few more feet away from the car. The ambulance was having a hard time getting through on the narrow bridge with all the police cars and the firetruck itself, so Beau saw no other solution but to have you kneel down on the ground with him, using the firetruck as cover.
“You’re all right. I gotcha,” he said gently.
His heart clenched at the way you clung to him, trembling. You nodded shakily, swiping stray tears from your face. When you looked up at him, he was struck silent again.
Just straight up raw beauty. His lips parted, but not a sound came out. His mouth suddenly felt dry.
“Yes, thank you,” you said. The fear faded out of your expression, melting into a smile. “For the save, and for the, um
the compliment.”
Beau blinked in confusion. Complim— Aw, shit.
You’d heard his thoughts just now. Too bad it was entirely the truth. He couldn’t help but smile too, if a bit sheepishly.
The moment shattered when a trill of gunfire sounded. A couple of bullets actually pierced the firetruck, one of them taking out a side mirror. You screamed, but Beau instinctively protected you with his body. He covered you by tucking your head to his chest and wrapping his arm around you.
“Let’s get you out of here,” he said.
“But, my car—” you said, with a tremble in your voice. The firemen were still trying to pull it back onto the bridge. Beau nodded.
“I’m gonna take care of this, but until I do, I need to get you somewhere safe,” he said, cupping the back of your head. “Come on.”
He withdrew his gun and helped you to your feet. He hastened you over to the ambulance, covering your head and your body with his broad frame until he could guide you inside the vehicle. The paramedics collected you from there, but you still stopped short and turned to grab his arm.
“Wait! You’re going back there?” you asked, alarm lacing your tone.
Beau felt your worry for him, your instinct to cling to the newfound connection in your soul, the part of you that sensed its equal. It was like a warm thread thrumming strong between you, but also delicate.
Beau gave you a patient, apologetic smile. “Can’t leave my team hangin’. But don’t worry, I’ll come find you when I’m done here. So we can
”
Your eyes stared deeply into his, and somehow, he knew you were holding your breath. Beau grabbed your hand and squeezed with purpose.
“I’ll come find you,” he promised.
You were reluctant, but you eventually nodded. He was the Sheriff, you reminded yourself. Of course he had to go back. You released his hand, letting him slip away from you.
Every step he took back toward the crime scene—every step he took away from the ambulance revving up to drive away was another step that felt wrong, down to his bones. When the vehicle made its way across the bridge and eventually disappeared around the bend, the warm tendril of connection in his chest dissipated.
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He didn’t come.
Not when you spent four hours in the hospital’s Emergency Department. Not when you took an Uber home, ordered takeout, and cried through the entire movie of Fools Rush In to try and make yourself feel like you were home, and not a shaken mess.
However, nothing you did made you feel as safe as you did when the Sheriff held your hand.
Beau Arlen, you reminded yourself. The name that felt branded under your skin, on your heart, the moment he locked eyes with you.
You snuggled yourself deeper into your collection of fuzzy blankets in bed. You pictured his bearded face in your mind, and that small smattering of freckles that only showed up when the firetruck’s headlights hit his face.
You remembered his strength, his little show of badassery when he cut you loose from the car. But most of all, you remembered feeling his determination and his caring. Even if he didn’t say it in words, or even in his thoughts, you knew what you’d felt from his soul connecting with yours. He wasn’t going to let you go over the bridge. 
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By Wednesday afternoon, you were standing in front of your last class of the day. Helena High School was large enough that you didn’t have every junior upperclassman in your classes, but your 12th grade Honors English class had to be your favorite. The kids were sharp, and they actually paid attention and took notes when you spoke, even if it was on Wuthering Heights.
“Bye, guys. Have a good day,” you waved at them after the last bell of the day rang.
“Bye, Miss!” the last few of them called back.
So polite, you smiled. That was also what you liked about the honors class. The last girl was struggling to pack everything up into her backpack. A book fell off her desk and tumbled to the floor. She looked up at you sheepishly, strands of her light brown hair slipping out of the ponytail and into her honey brown eyes.
“Sorry,” she said.
“I got it,” you said, and you slipped between the rows of desks to help her. John Grisham. Interesting

“Legal thrillers, huh?” you noted. “Not your typical reading for a seventeen-year-old, but I dig it.”
Internally you wanted to slap your own forehead. Did people even say dig it anymore?
Emily didn’t seem to mind. She just laughed.
“I know. I’m just not that into
you know, sexy vampires, and sexy werewolves, and
sexy fairies.”
Your brows rose of their own accord. “Sexy fairies?”
She nodded, with a blushing smile. “Yeah. But um, anyway, my dad’s on his way, so I’ve got to get out front.”
“Oh, I’ll go with you,” you said. “It’s my turn to supervise student pickup with Mr. Harrison.”
You leave your classroom with Emily and head down the hall with thoughts other than lesson plans running through your head.
I can’t believe that man. You couldn’t keep the frown from crossing your face. Three days, and the Sheriff couldn’t be bothered to keep his promise? What, he couldn’t get my information from the paramedics? The hospital? My damn police report?
You’d gone to the Lewis & Clark Police Department the very next day after the incident to file it, but the Sheriff hadn’t been in his office. You’d asked a Deputy there, a pretty blonde woman, and she’d told you that he was on a case.
“Do you want to leave a message?” she’d asked, when she noticed you hesitating to leave.
“No,” you’d replied. “No, it’s okay. Thank you though.”
You sighed. It was kind of sad, really. You were an English teacher who couldn’t write a simple note
even if it was to your actual soulmate.
“Are you okay, Miss?” Emily asked, breaking you out of your reverie. You gave her a smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. Just thinking about everything I have to do before tomorrow’s class,” you lied. In fact, you lied through your teeth.
You two made your way outside the building and to the pickup and drop off area. You monitored most of the kids getting picked up, but Emily sat on one of the benches with her headphones in while she continued reading her John Grisham book. You smiled at the sight. It was nice to see kids reading of their own free will.
But you became a little concerned as the hour ticked by.
Geez, where’s her father?
You didn’t know much about her family, but you did remember that her parents were divorced. Her private attorney mother went to the PTA meetings whenever she could, outside of her busy schedule. Come to think of it, you supposed you knew where the interest in legal thrillers came from.
And suddenly, it hit you.
Emily Arlen
Arlen.
You gasped out loud, remembering the pair of green eyes that stared into yours so intensely, and the light brown hair that matched his daughter’s.
"Sheriff Beau Arlen, ma'am."
You jolted out of your thoughts when a red truck pulled into the pick-up zone and stopped at the curb. The man at the wheel honked twice, grinning at his daughter through the rolled down window. Your mouth fell open in soft shock.
“Finally,” Emily muttered, but she smiled when she looked up at her dad. She took out her headphones and stuffed her book into her backpack so she could go over to his truck.
She glanced at you as she passed by, about to tell you goodbye. Noting the spaced-out look on your face, she frowned and stopped short.
“Hey, aaaare you okay?”
It was the second time she was asking, but this time, you couldn’t lie to her. Because her dad followed her line of vision and finally found you standing there. His eyes went wide as well.
He quickly parked the car where it stood. He climbed out, and when he came around the hood toward you and Emily, his foot almost missed the curb and made him stumble.
You broke your frozen limbs out of the proverbial ice and reached out a hand, even though you weren’t even close enough to help. You held your other hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter.
Beau righted himself, clearing his throat. Then he took measured steps over to you and his daughter. The cut of his beard, short brown hair that swept over his dark brows, and kind green eyes
he looked exactly the same, if with a different jacket. This one was beige and suede. It matched well with his blue jeans and boots. His shiny gold-on-leather badge hung on his belt.
“Hey, there,” he said, with a short wave.
Your smile grew. “Good afternoon, Sheriff.”
He smiled too, setting his hand on Emily’s shoulder.
“Dad, this is my English teacher,” she said.
Beau’s brows raised high. “Really. Small world.” His eyes were set on you, and they didn’t leave your face. You bit the inside of your lip as your face began to heat up in a blush.
Emily gave him a confused look. “What?”
Blinking, as if coming back to himself, he patted her back.
“Ah, you know what, I actually want to ask your teacher something. Mind waiting for me in the car?” he said. “Just don’t blast the music too loud, kay kiddo?”
Emily gave him a slightly suspicious look, but she did as he asked, waving goodbye to you. You waved back as she went over to the car. It left you with her father.
Beau swept his fingers through his hair. He was a bit nervous, and you were now picking up on it as the connection between you two flared to life. You felt it deep and warm and thrumming in your chest. At least you weren’t alone in your nerves.
“Looks like you’re doing well. I’m real glad for that,” he said.
You nodded. “I am, thanks to you.”
He smiled at that. It was genuine at first, before it turned rueful.
“I uh
I owe you an apology though,” he said.
“That’s a good place to start,” you replied, though you softened it with a somewhat playful gleam to your smile.
He chuckled, and it pulled at the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes. Somehow, you thought it just made his smile all the more charming.
Then, he seemed to pause. His lips tugged harder at the corner of his mouth.
“Well, me and my charming smile are most definitely sorry,” he said.
Your face fell. Shit. Did he hear that?
Oh, he most definitely did. His grin kicked up into a smirk.
You covered your mouth when a snort bubbled up, your face flaring with a hot blush.
“So we’re basically human lie detectors now. Great. Just
great,” you said, giggling a little.
Beau’s amusement soon faded. “Look, I can’t excuse myself. First I just
I thought you might want some space after what happened. I didn’t want to overwhelm you. Then
well, maybe I just started second-guessing, letting myself get busy. I had no idea you were Em’s teacher.”
Your head tilted as you considered him. After a moment, you softened with a sigh.
“She’s a good kid. Really smart too,” you said, taking a cautious step closer to him. “Think I know where she gets that from.”
Beau snorted. “Definitely from her mother.” But he drew closer to you too, with a meaningful look. “Who I’m civilly divorced from.”
“I know,” you nodded, “but thanks for that footnote.”
He was a bit hesitant, but he reached out and grasped your hand. You took in a deep breath through your nose at the shiver that ran up your spine. That feeling was different, like the burn of smokey, rich whiskey filling your chest. Your heart leapt as you looked up at his face.
Safe. That was the feeling.
“Do you think I might be able to take you out for dinner tomorrow?” he asked. “I mean, I don’t want to go too fast for you, but considering our situation—”
“Beau,” you stopped him with a gentle hand over his. “You literally saved me from falling off a bridge, not to mention a hailstorm of bullets.” You smiled up at him more brightly. “I already know what kind of guy you are. You also happen to be my soulmate. I think I would very much love to have dinner with you.”
When your words finally registered, Beau’s shoulders loosened in relief. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he glanced back and realized that Emily was still waiting in the front seat of his car and watching you two curiously.
Beau sighed. He knew he was in for a full spotlight interrogation on the way home, but he fished out his phone and texted you his number. Somehow he had it without asking for it first

“So, can I call you later?” he asked, with another one of those smiles that set your insides fluttering.
“Ah, so you did get my cell number off my police report. And still you couldn’t manage to call me?” you teased.
Beau chuckled, ducking his head in embarrassment. Was he even starting to blush?
“Well, you got me there. I really am sorry, darlin’. I just—”
You reached out for him this time, squeezing a hand over his wrist.
“It’s okay, really,” you said. “You’re here now. Let’s just
figure out what this can be.”
Beau peeled his gaze from your hand and looked back into your eyes. He had to smile. If he let himself, he could feel you. Your relief, your good humor, and your hope. It all felt sweet as pie to him.
“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s do that.”
Despite lingering insecurities and the remnants of past mistakes threatening to dampen the moment in his mind, he had just one thing winning out above them all.
I’ve got a feeling this is gonna be good, he thought.
He hoped you could hear it.
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AN: Bridgerton fans who have also seen Queen Charlotte will get one of those little references in there. 😘
▶ Read the Sequel: CONNECTION
Summary: Beau saved you from your car nearly going over a rickety bridge, discovering he was your soulmate in the process. Now, the two of you enjoy a milestone date at the county fair.
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luvendiary · 4 months ago
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👁👁 I'm the anon that asked for a silent/non-talker reader fic with hiccup many many moons ago, but if you still write for him, could it be with a prompt where reader's still not much of a talker on some days but would like to still passionately communicate, therefore inventing a sort of sign language system with hiccup under gothi's supervision, and maybe put in a bit about how stoick knows of their relationship (i visited this hole of fondness in my brain again, forgive me)
a/n: dearest anon. I am so sorry for gettin back to you so late. I haven't been writing much lately, but your request helped me sort of rekindle my love for it. I've been spending way to much time on my phone instead of doing the things I like. I'll try to put out more writing. i'm sorry if the ending is a bit janky, im a little out of practice. also, i don't know much about asl, so i apologize for any mistakes. thank you for your request!
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Sweetest of Melodies (pt. 2)
pt. 1
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The sound of soft humming flooded the room. You were so focused on the soft lulling sound that came from your throat that you were unaware that the place had gone quiet. When you did, however, you found that all eyes were on you, making you retract your head into your shoulders as the signs of embarrassment appeared on your face. You silently reached out for Hiccup’s hand in order to seek some sort of comfort.
‘Sorry’, you wanted to say, but your words failed you at the moment. You had come a long way since allowing yourself to speak more freely in front of the riders. That didn’t mean that you were still totally comfortable with letting yourself be heard. Instead, you liked being able to hear yourself better; that’s what most of your words were meant for anyway. For you to hear them.
“You should sing more often,” Astrid said as if it was no big deal. You appreciated her nonchalant attitude, it made you feel less judged. You knew the riders didn’t have bad intentions, it was probably still a little strange to hear you make a sound, which prompted their current reaction. But years of overthinking made you jump to the worst possible scenario, even if you knew it wasn’t true.
In return you offered her a shy smile. Hiccup sensed your discomfort and did his best to steer the conversation away from you whilst giving your hand a small squeeze.
Later that night it occurred to him that whilst you were somewhat comfortable speaking to him, it was still a big step for you to accommodate to this while having been mute for years.
He was visibly stressed as he realized that some of your relationship’s problems might stem from that. You weren’t used to communicating with anyone. Anyone besides Gothi.
That’s how Hiccup found himself knocking at your front door one early morning. Gothi opened the door, as he knew she would and assuming that he was looking for you (like he often did), she quickly signaled to him that you had gone to collect some items you had run out of. 
“Actually. I’m here to see you”, he explained with a nervous smile.
Gothi seemed surprised for a brief moment before inviting him inside.
Awkwardly, Hiccup made his way inside and found a stool to sit on. He watches as Gothi -much like you did whenever he came to visit- occupied herself with making tea. 
Once the tea was on the table, and she had poured a cup for him as well as one for herself, she stared at him patiently.
He took that as his sign to talk, and set the cup down after having had a sip. “I need your help,” he stated rather obviously.
The small woman raised her eyebrow before signing your name in the form of a question. 
“Yes,” Hiccup confirmed. “I just-” he sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s come so far with speaking out more, and she’s doing great, but
I’ve just now realized that while she’s making all this effort, I don’t seem to be doing anything to understand her better.”
Gothi’s gaze softened.
“She tries so hard, all the time; to understand me, and help me understand her, I just feel as if it’s about time I did the same for her.”
Silence settled between them as Gothi took another sip of her tea before hopping off the stool she was sitting on and staggering off to one of her many shelves. 
“I guess, I was wondering if you could help me. Understand her better, I mean-”
 Not a second later a small book was slammed on the table. Hiccup jumped slightly, marveling at the frail woman’s strength. 
Upon further inspection he realized it was not a book but rather a journal. Littered with drawings of different hand signs and gestures and their respective meanings. Dust covered its pages, indicating how long it had been since someone opened it last.
Hiccup looked up at Gothi with admiration. “You made this?”
The woman shook her head and flicked back to the first page where your name had been scribbled down neatly. 
He chuckled as he stared down at the journal, “this is amazing.”
She nodded proudly. She had been the one to help you come up with this communication method, it had been your idea of course- but as the both of you developed it it made your bond grow stronger. She considered it to be hers as much as yours. 
Hiccup carefully tucked the journal away and stood up. Enthusiastically, he gave Gothi a quick kiss on the cheek and thanked her before bolting out of the house.
‘Good luck’, she signed as she watched the young man ride away on his dragon.
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Hiccup was determined. His presence amongst the dragonriders had become sparse. When he wasn’t training or helping out in the forge, he was most likely practicing his signing skills. Even then, work seemed to come second to his newfound hobby. 
He found himself practicing with Toothless, as he signed him orders receiving a confused tilt of the dragon’s head in return. He stole moments in the forge, his hands mimicking the signs in between hammering metal; his usual rambling also appeared to be accompanied by matching signs. Even during dragon races, he would move his fingers in the air absentmindedly, his mind working through the motions while Astrid gave him odd glances.
You, on the other hand, had no idea what was going on. His absence was more palpable as the days went on. He still greeted you, still sent you small smiles and the occasional kiss when you crossed paths, but your moments together felt shorter. Less frequent. He always had somewhere to rush off to. Places to go, people to see, things he needed to do. 
At first, you didn’t think much of it—Hiccup was the chief’s son, after all. He had responsibilities. 
But as the days stretched into weeks, your nervousness grew. 
Had you done something wrong? Was he getting tired of having to put up with you? Maybe it was too much effort, too exhausting. Maybe he had realized that words were easier. Someone else would be easier

The thought made your stomach twist uncomfortably.
You tried to push the thought away, but doubt seemed to creep into every corner of your mind. 
You found yourself slipping into old habits. Speaking less often and keeping to yourself. You had stopped going to the forge to keep Hiccup company while he did his work.
Maybe he needed space.
Astrid had taken notice of this change, trying her best to include you in whatever plan the dragon riders were currently in the midst of. Whether it was a trip to a nearby island or just having lunch together near the cliffside.
One afternoon as you took residence in the Great Hall while grinding herbs, you felt a presence approach you. Hiccup strode in, and you quickly averted your gaze as you focused on the task at hand.
“Where have you been?” he asked lightheartedly as his arms snaked around your waist and he pulled you closer.
You smiled nervously and just shrugged your shoulders.
“My dad's been asking for you. You don’t come by the forge anymore,” he continued as he nestled his head on your shoulder, pressing your back to him. 
“Just busy,” you replied curtly.
He noticed how your hands seemed to accompany your words now. One of them laid flat, with your palm looking downwards whilst the other stood vertically and moved side to side in a repetitive motion.
‘Busy’.
He hadn’t noticed that before. But now that he thought about it, your hands were always moving. You had been talking to yourself all along, in silence.
“I need to tell you something,” he said then, as he took a step back. His arms leaving your waist. You immediately missed the contact.
Your mind immediately jumped to the worst conclusion. 
Hiccup's hands flexed and unflexed at his sides and his shoulders did that shaky thing they did whenever he had a lot on his mind.
‘Leaving,’ you signed to yourself as you placed down the pestle.
His face turned into that of confusion, as his right hand mimicked what yours had just done.  ‘Leave?’ 
“What? No,” he mumbled, his eyebrows furrowed. ‘I miss you’
Your mind had been too slow to realize what was happening. “What?”
 ‘I miss you’ he signed again. This time followed by an ‘i love you’.
Your breath caught in your throat as a gasp escaped your lips.
His movements were slightly jumbled, not as smooth as yours or Gothi’s were. But the message was there clear as day. He was talking to her, with no words.
You stared at him for a long moment before finally reaching out, your fingers trembling as they brushed against his.
“I miss you too,” you replied. “So much.”
Hiccup grabbed your hand and pulled you in before sweeping you off your feet for a kiss.
“What did you mean ‘leave’?” he asked with a slight chuckle as he pressed a tender kiss to your neck.
Your face flushed, immediately embarrassed for your self-deprecating thoughts. You tried to hide your face in the crook of his neck but he moved his head to search for your eyes.
“Don’t tell me you thought I wanted to leave you,” he said, though the statement came out more as a question. 
“I’m sorry!” you said as you buried your head in his chest. “You just had been spending less time with me, and I thought you were getting tired of having to deal with me.” 
Hiccup pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “Hey, don’t say that,” he whispered. “I could never get tired of you. I just—I wanted to learn. I wanted to understand you the way you understand me.”
You smiled up at him, adoration clear on your face. You stepped back and raised your hand slightly. 
‘I love you too’.
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tackytigerfic · 27 days ago
Text
ZOOM
For @drarrymicrofic prompt: inhale
Drarry, Formula 1 AU, this is sort of Maxiel-coded ok.
Dear @wolfpants I'm sorry it's F1 but wanted to wish you a very happy and very belated birthday, pal.
There's a moment, after his front wheels lock but before he hits the wall, when Harry experiences a weird and total purity of vision. Everything leaps into high colour: the numbers flashing demurely on his screen, the flickering jaunty stripes of the wall he's about to crash into, the gloss of his gloves where his hands are flexing as the steering wheel spins through his hands, as though turning it will do the slightest bit of good.
In his moment of clarity, Harry just has the time to think “Malfoy,” and then the nose of the car is buried in the barrier, the air fuel-hot, the throb of the engine suddenly, horribly still.
It’s objectively a weird last thought to have had; Harry’s done with Malfoy, has been done with Malfoy for ages. It might just be hysteria manifesting in a weird way, the thought of imminent death combining with the awful, frightening, sudden pain of the impact making Harry loopy. He doesn’t have time to worry about it anymore, though, because that’s when he smells burning.
***
The interview with Malfoy is all over the news by the time Harry gets home from the hospital, and it plays on a constant silent loop on the big telly while he drinks a Red Bull straight from the can, standing in the cold blast from the open fridge door. There’s an interview with Albus too, outside the Firebolt hospitality. Harry doesn’t know what he’s saying, hasn’t watched it, but he can make a fairly good guess.
He has watched the Malfoy interview. Couldn’t help himself, if he’s honest, plus it’s also all over the socials, even the Firebolt ones. No escape. It's obviously recorded just after the race, because Malfoy is still trackside, lines scored over his cheeks from the balaclava, his hair sticking with sweat behind his ears. His dad is beside him, scrolling furiously through his phone, wearing a Strike hoodie, the silver snake of the S gleaming in a thousand camera flashes.
“Fuck off,” Malfoy tells the cameras — the word is bleeped out, but his mouth moves unmistakably through the consonants. He sucks aggressively on his straw as the microphone is shoved in his face again, a bodiless voice saying, “Can you tell us how you’re feeling about what happened to Harry, Draco?”
Malfoy throws his helmet. Whoever’s behind the camera does a good job of capturing the sudden movement, the slight sheen of sweat in the armpit of Malfoy’s green fireproofs, the viciousness of the overarm throw, the clumsy harmless landing as the helmet rolls uselessly along the ground — if Malfoy was aiming for the reporters, he was way off. Embarrassing, for a professional athlete.
There’s silence.
Malfoy shoves through the crowd of reporters, the dangling arms of his race suit flapping behind him. The camera moves with him. He turns.
“I don’t give a damn about Potter.” And then he really is gone, the green globe of his helmet still rocking on the concrete.
The camera pans back to Lucius Malfoy, who looks bored.
“Of course, my son wishes Potter a speedy recovery,” he says. There’s an excruciating pause while he taps at his phone screen efficiently, then the whoosh sound of a message sending. He looks up. “They were, after all, teammates once.”
They’ve even shared the clip on the Strike socials, though they left out the swearing and the straw-sucking and the helmet-throwing, just kept the moment when Malfoy stalks out of the paddock, Lucius Malfoy’s glib statement.
A slow-mo of Malfoy throwing his helmet already has over a million likes on the official F1 account on Insta. Harry’s checked, from his fake account. He watches it four times while he eats one of the revolting meals that are all Ginny allows him to eat in-season. She’s got a new training schedule set up for him too; she’s left it stuck to the front of the fridge with one of the Potter 7 magnets he has about 20 of.
His phone is going, Ron out of some sponsorship meeting, a pic of the contract with a thumbs up emoji. Harry gives it a thumbs up back and then Ron messages again — Malfoy asking about you and the puking emoji. Text him mate or he’ll just keep texting me.
Harry’s message thread with Malfoy is over a year old. It’s buried so deep he almost hopes he won’t find it, but of course it’s there as he scrolls down, just an anonymous M for Malfoy in the place of the photo Harry used to have saved. He clicks in, thumbing quickly into the text box so he doesn’t have to look at the line of blue messages one after the other. Malfoy had never replied, not since the day he told Harry that he was moving to Strike. Harry shouldn’t even fucking bother messaging now, he should just let Ron handle Malfoy. That’s literally his job.
I’m fine, is what he settles on. It strikes the right note, he thinks. Dignified, but factual. He hits send, then undoes it all by going back in straight away and following it up with Ron told me you asked. He almost mentions the onboard. Malfoy would have mentioned it, if it was the other way round. But he’s glad he managed not to, when his messages turn to read but Malfoy doesn’t reply.
***
The buzzer goes just after Harry takes his first round of painkillers. He's still swishing water around his mouth when he looks at the door camera feed and sees Malfoy is there, unmistakable.
“What are you doing here?” he says into the intercom, and watches the jerky delay of the image as Malfoy rolls his eyes and hammers a fist on the door.
“Open up, Potter,” he says, without bothering to press the intercom button, loud enough that Harry can hear him through the door. Harry does open up.
Malfoy comes in. He’s wearing white from head to toe, some sort of tracksuit with baggy trouser legs and an oversized hoodie. His trainers are definitely not meant for actually training in — they’re pristine, totally unmarked as though he’d taken them out of the box before he came over here. He bends to unlace them, tugs them off and sets them on the mat. Under his baseball cap, his hair is pushed back behind his ears, almost the same colour as the fabric. He looks ridiculous. He looks expensive. In fact, he looks like two million dollars, which is exactly what Ron reckoned he’d made off the Nike deal.
“What the hell, Malfoy?” Harry says, and Malfoy looks him up and down, taking him in slowly, the stretched-out old Firebolt tee from Harry’s first ever round of proper merch, his shorts, his bare feet. The cast on his left hand.
“You fucked it, Potter,” Malfoy says. “I’d be embarrassed for you, if I cared.”
“And yet,” Harry says, moving around Malfoy to kick the door shut behind him, “here you are. Presumably to let me know in person just how little you care?”
“Are you out for the rest of the season?” Malfoy grins at the idea, winningly. He doesn’t wait for Harry to answer, just makes for the kitchen. Harry can hear the whirring of the ice-maker on the fridge, the crisp sound of a bottle of sparkling water being opened.
“Dunno.” Harry leans against the kitchen door. Malfoy unerringly reaches into the glasses cupboard, fills two tumblers with ice. His sleeve flaps as he pours the water. “They think I have a mild concussion. Even Albus wasn’t going to drag me into a team meeting when I’m just out of hospital.”
Malfoy looks at him thoughtfully, readjusts his baseball cap. A tuft of hair is sticking out the opening at the back, like a little tail.
“They’ll have to keep you out for a few races, at least. You’ll be lucky to be back by Singapore, my father thinks.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he has an opinion on it, alright.” Harry kicks at the door frame with the back of his heel. He watches Malfoy drink, the moving line of his throat, the small subtle sparkle of the number 13 at his breast as he swallows.
“Right,” Malfoy says, setting down his glass next to Harry’s untouched one, which is sweating despite the aircon. “You’re not dead, anyway. I’ll be off, then.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” It must be the concussion that makes him keep talking. “You could stay for dinner. If you want.”
It’s an awful idea — Harry knows it even as he says it, even as Malfoy’s mouth curls into distaste. The last time they had dinner here had been the night Malfoy had told Harry about Strike. About leaving.
“You can’t just hit your head,” Malfoy says, his back to Harry as he puts the water bottle back, slamming the fridge door shut behind him, “and then start acting like everything’s normal again.”
“I’ve been acting normal this whole time.” Harry’s done; he needs more headache tablets, some air, a glass of water that hasn’t been poured for him by Malfoy. “You’re the one who made things not normal. I mean, Strike? If you had to go, at least go somewhere good.”
It’s so very much an echo of the last time they spoke that Harry wonders if maybe he’s actually having an extended hallucination. But no, even a concussed brain couldn’t have conjured up the intimidating crispness of Malfoy’s white tracksuit, the baseball cap with its rearing snake logo, the crooked seam of Malfoy’s left sock. He’s unimaginable, here in Harry’s kitchen.
“Yes, I bet you’d have loved me to stick around playing second driver to you,” Malfoy says, pushing past Harry to look for his shoes in the dim hallway.
“You’ll always be second to me,” Harry replies, and kicks one of Malfoy’s trainers at him. It couldn’t hurt, all that light foamy stuff, but Malfoy makes an injured noise and shoves at him again, shoulder to chest, nudging Harry back into the wall. He wriggles a foot into the trainer, not bothering with the laces. Harry wants to shove him back, but settles instead for saying, "Doesn’t matter what car you’re in, you’re still going to end up exactly where you belong. Behind me.”
“Oh promises, promises, Potter. Behind you, indeed. I’m sure you'd like that. We've all seen the photos.”
Malfoy’s breath shivers over Harry’s cheek, minty, like he’s been chewing gum and then drinking Harry’s iced water. He’s so physically present, the smell of his weird perfume that he orders from Paris, his lopsided stance where he has only one shoe on, his hard shoulder still pressed forcefully against Harry’s chest, saying things with his blandest voice just like he does in pressers, as though Harry doesn’t know exactly what he’s insinuating.
“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry says, and elbows him. His stomach is rock hard under the folds of the white jumper; he always did have more discipline than Harry.
“Looks like everyone knows about you now. Oh, sorry — touched a nerve, have I?”
He has, though not for the reasons he means. Harry doesn't really care about the photos, that so many people have seen him like that, or even that the guy had probably made a packet out of tipping off the paps, and he hadn’t even been that good a shag. Nothing much has changed for Harry since it all came out, really — even in the aftermath, the team had come up with the statement, he just had to read it. He wears a rainbow lanyard for his paddock pass now, but that’s really the only thing that’s different.
Harry only cares about the fact that he’s clearly not very happy in the photos. When they pop up online like they still do from time to time, even now, all he can see are the shadows under his eyes, the patchy stubble, his eyes red-rimmed. He hadn’t been sleeping well back then.
“Everyone who mattered already knew.” Harry shrugs. “No point in living a lie, anyway.”
Malfoy narrows his eyes. Glib statements drive him crazy, and apparently Harry isn’t over wanting to do that.
“I’m not—” Malfoy begins, but he knows that Harry knows. Harry was there for it all. Malfoy was there too — in Vegas, where it started, in their shared hotel room, his eyes feverishly bright in the reflected glow of the strip outside the window as he watched Harry from across the room, the rustle of his bedsheets, Harry’s frantic hand, the sounds they made from their entirely separate beds that make Harry hot to think about even now. All the hotel rooms, always separate beds, the line they very carefully never crossed. The time Malfoy texted a photo of his palm, come pooling, from the toilet of the gala they were both at. The time on the jet when Ron had nearly walked in on Harry with his cock out and Malfoy had pretended to be asleep in his seat, a malicious flush creeping up his neck, smothering his laughter in his blanket.
Harry gets his phone out. Malfoy’s still close enough to see the screen, watches Harry thumb in the passcode that Malfoy had known off by heart, that Harry has never bothered to update. Malfoy’s face doesn’t change as Harry brings up the clip, first the slow-mo slide of Harry’s car into the candystriped barrier, the hail of debris over the track. And then the screen switches to Malfoy’s onboard, his green gloves steady on the wheel as he whips around Turn 2.
There are so many fan edits of this bit, all of them set to swoopy music and intercut with flickering old photos of Harry and Malfoy in their matching race suits, from before, but Harry doesn’t need to go that far. This one is enough to get the point across.
Here it comes, the demanding crackle of Malfoy’s radio.
“Who?” he asks, and Goyle —fucking Goyle, the traitor, who hadn’t even thought about not following where Malfoy led — replies, “Safety car, Draco, safety car.”
“I know, I just saw,” Malfoy replies. “Who? Is it Potter?”
“It’s Potter,” Goyle confirms, and Malfoy breathes in so hard you can hear it over the engine, even through the fuzz of the onboard.
“Harry?” Malfoy asks then. Harry’s listened to this about a hundred times now, in news reports and on the official socials and all those edits, which have all added soaring music to this bit, violins or something, and then Goyle says, “Harry’s okay, Draco, he’s out of the car.”
Harry shuts the screen down. He can hear Malfoy breathing in the sudden silence.
“Looks like everyone knows about you now, too,” Harry says. “It’s all over the socials. We have a ship name and everything.”
“Fuck you,” Malfoy says, and then kisses Harry, nonsensically, almost missing his mouth, the brim of his hat knocking into Harry’s forehead, his lips rasping over Harry’s unshaven chin. Malfoy tries again, but he’s at the wrong angle, so Harry turns him, both of them tripping over Malfoy's other shoe. Harry pushes him up against the wall, knocks the stupid hat off his head so he can kiss him properly, his tongue in Malfoy’s hot mouth, Malfoy’s hand sliding unerring up the back of his t-shirt.
“It’s fine,” Malfoy says into Harry’s mouth, and then forgets himself to kiss Harry again for a bit. “It’s fine for me to— It’s fine that I care—”
He’s trying to reassure himself, and annoyed about it. Harry suspects it’s probably not all that fine, at least not from the point of view of the Strike management team, which is to say Lucius Malfoy. But Harry doesn’t care as long as Malfoy is allowing him to lick into his mouth, bite at his lip a bit, his body solid and moving under Harry’s hands.
“Yeah,” Harry tells him. “It’s fine, it’s good. I care too, I care—” Malfoy kneads his chest, thumb flicking over one nipple. “I thought about you before I died.”
Harry manages to wriggle his good hand between them, and Malfoy’s dick is there and Harry’s touching him where he’s hot and straining and kind of big where the fabric is all rucked up over his hard-on. Everything is clear again, like the moment before he died, Malfoy in sharp focus even in the dim hallway, his spiky pale eyelashes and his faint freckles and the wet patch on his trackie bottoms under the heel of Harry’s hand.
“You didn’t die,” Malfoy says — his crooked incisor, the scar on his lip from the time they went karting for Crabbe’s stag do, his skin that tastes weird and looks all dewy from whatever moisturiser he’s using these days — and shoves his knee between Harry’s legs for Harry to clench around, rub against. Harry’s going to come like this, maybe; it feels as good as driving, as good as a podium — or nearly, at least.
“I did break a metacarpal, though,” Harry tells him, breathless. “It’s actually very painful. I might need surgery.”
“You’re pathetic,” Malfoy says, sounding deeply satisfied about it. Harry’s bad hand is in his hair. Harry’s glad his fingers are free, at least, so he can ruffle up the strands that have been moulded flat by the hat.
“But I did think I was going to die, to be fair,” he says, stroking, stroking, one hand on Malfoy’s dick and one in his hair so Malfoy makes a sound and arches his back, meeting both touches. Harry’s own dick is jammed up against Malfoy’s hip. “And I thought about you when I did.”
“Alright,” Malfoy says, unpeeling himself from Harry, kicking off his one untied shoe. “Bedroom.”
Malfoy leads the way, shedding his hoodie as he goes so Harry can admire the working of his shoulders. On the console table, next to a big horrible arrangement of flowers and a bowl with all of Harry’s car keys, is the helmet he’d been wearing the day of the accident. It was supposed to be auctioned off for charity after the race — they might still be planning to, in fact. It'll probably make even more since the crash; people are weird like that. It's quite pretty, actually, designed specially for Zandvoort: a riot of brightly painted tulips around all the sponsor logos, Harry’s lightning bolt picked out in gold on top, the rest of it Firebolt red.
Malfoy pauses. He’s halfway through removing his tracksuit bottoms, one thumb hooked low in the back of the waistband, most of his tight white underwear on show. He looks at the helmet consideringly. Harry catches up with him, bites at the line of his shoulder. Malfoy reaches out, one finger tracing the lightning bolt, and then, as delicately as a cat, pushes the helmet off the edge of the table. It bounces when it hits the marble floor tiles, the sound of impact louder than Harry was expecting. Together, they watch the helmet roll then wobble then still, a gleaming red orb half under the table alongside Harry’s running trainers and the Crocs he wears for taking the bins out.
“It’s a shit design anyway,” Malfoy says, tilting his head to allow Harry better access. Harry’s nose is in his hair — shampoo, warm scalp, and underneath it all, the faint hot smell of fuel.
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urdreamydoodles · 8 months ago
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hi hi! I love your writing and was wondering about what you’d think everyone’s reaction to a drunk us. Maybe we went drinking together and were a lightweight or something (idk đŸ„Č) anyways thank youuuuu!!!
X-Men x Drunk!Reader (Part.1)
How they deal with their drunk s/o (Part.1)
A night out with your partner quickly turns wild as your tipsy self unleashes a little chaos around.
Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Bobby Drake, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Emma Frost, Raven Darkhölme & Laura Kinney
I was extremely inspired by this prompt, thank you <3
Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine
- Logan is absolutely used to handling chaos, but nothing quite prepares him for the brand of trouble you unleash when tipsy. When you’re several drinks in and decide it’s a good idea to start a spontaneous dance battle with some random patrons, Logan just sighs and crosses his arms, watching with a mix of amusement and exasperation. He’s tempted to pull you away but can’t deny how much he’s enjoying the show.
- He’s mostly unfazed when you start taking your "battle" a bit too far, challenging one particularly large guy to a dance-off. Logan leans against the bar with a smirk, ready to step in if things get out of hand. He figures you can handle yourself, but if anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, he’s already prepared to make his presence known.
- When you stumble over to him, grinning like you’ve just won a gold medal, he can't help but chuckle, pulling you close and whispering, “You’re a handful, y’know that?” But it’s clear he’s enjoying this different side of you, especially when you insist on dragging him onto the dance floor despite his protests. Logan grumbles but lets you lead, his usual stoicism softening just for you.
- It’s when you try to order “a round for everyone” on his tab that Logan decides enough is enough. He firmly wraps an arm around your waist and steers you away from the bar, muttering about how he’s “not made of money” as you laugh and lean into him. He’s torn between scolding you and letting out a laugh of his own.
- On the walk home, you ramble about the night, sharing exaggerated stories and embellishments that make Logan roll his eyes but secretly cherish every word. Despite his gruff exterior, he listens to every detail, finding the way you see the world endlessly entertaining and a perfect counterbalance to his own guarded nature.
- By the time you’re back, Logan’s more than happy to tuck you in, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. You’re finally starting to settle, mumbling something about how much fun you had with him. He just smiles, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’re trouble,” he murmurs, though you can hear the affection in his voice. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit
- Remy absolutely thrives on chaos, and he’s more than ready to encourage it the moment he sees you’ve had a few drinks. When you suddenly decide it’s a great idea to “borrow” someone’s hat and start spinning it around like a magician, Remy’s right there, egging you on with a wicked grin and suggesting even wilder antics. “Go on, chĂ©rie, show ‘em what you got.”
- He’s delighted when you turn to him with that mischievous sparkle in your eye, pulling him into your impromptu show. You two quickly become the center of attention as he plays along, letting you use his trench coat for added flair while he flourishes a deck of cards with his signature charm, drawing oohs and ahhs from the crowd.
- When you start loudly declaring that Remy’s “the best-looking man in the room,” he just smirks and pulls you close, whispering, “Tell me somethin’ I don’t know, ma belle.” You can tell he’s absolutely eating up every bit of attention, and he makes sure to dip you dramatically on the dance floor, laughing along with you.
- Things escalate when you decide to start a card game with some nearby strangers, with Remy’s deck, of course. You might be a little hazy on the rules, but he’s having too much fun watching you bluff your way through. The two of you make a formidable (if slightly unorthodox) team, charming everyone at the table with your combined wit and unpredictability.
- Remy makes sure to keep you steady when you start wobbling a bit, an arm always draped around your shoulders as he guides you from one bit of chaos to the next. He’s vigilant without being obvious, letting you have your fun while ensuring no one gets too handsy or tries to take advantage of your state.
- When the night winds down, he insists on carrying you back if you’re stumbling, laughing when you protest that you can walk just fine. Once home, he lays you on the bed with exaggerated gentleness, grinning down at you with that signature smirk of his. “Ma belle, you certainly know how t’ keep things interestin’,” he whispers before placing a soft kiss on your hand. For Remy, nights like this with you are what make life exciting.
Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler
- Kurt is simultaneously amused and a bit alarmed when he realizes you’re tipsy. He’s not used to you being so bold, so when you start loudly complimenting him and declaring him “the handsomest guy in the room,” his cheeks turn a dark shade of blue. He tries to calm you down, but you’re too busy grabbing his hand and dragging him toward the dance floor.
- At first, Kurt’s hesitant to join you, worried that his appearance might draw stares. But you’re so unbothered and so full of joy that he can’t help but relax, letting you lead him. His movements are clumsy but endearing, and he laughs along with you, his tail swishing in rhythm as he finally lets go of his worries, at least for tonight.
- When you start insisting on “showing everyone his bamf trick,” Kurt chuckles nervously, trying to talk you out of it. But you’re persistent, so he finally gives in, teleporting the two of you across the room in a puff of smoke. Your delighted laughter is infectious, and he starts teleporting you both to random spots around the club, filling the room with giggles and gasps from onlookers.
- Eventually, you try to climb up on a table to make an “important announcement,” and Kurt quickly teleports you back down before you can get too carried away. He’s laughing as he steadies you, but there’s a hint of worry in his eyes. “Mein liebe, maybe we should stick to safer activities, ja?” he teases, holding your hands firmly in his.
- As the night goes on, Kurt never strays far from your side. He’s a mixture of amused, charmed, and just a little bit flustered by your antics, but he’s also keenly aware of the attention you’re drawing. When anyone tries to get a little too close, he’ll bamf in between you and them, a protective look on his face as he politely but firmly keeps them at bay.
- Once you’re back home, he’s the sweetest caretaker, making sure you’re comfortable and tucking you in with a gentle smile. He holds your hand as you drift off, murmuring softly in German about how lucky he is to have someone as vibrant and fearless as you in his life. Even in your chaotic moments, Kurt’s love for you only grows stronger.
Scott Summers aka. Cyclops
- Scott is a bit hesitant when he notices you’ve had a few too many drinks, but he’s dedicated to making sure you’re safe and enjoying yourself. When you start insisting on trying to wear his visor and “see the world through his eyes,” he’s both flustered and exasperated, gently guiding your hands away with a laugh. “Trust me, you wouldn’t want that,” he says, trying to keep a straight face as you pout.
- You surprise him by dragging him onto the dance floor, and Scott, ever the responsible one, initially tries to decline. But seeing you so excited and insistent, he finally gives in. He might be awkward at first, but he quickly adjusts to your rhythm, even pulling you close and twirling you in an attempt to match your enthusiasm.
- When you declare loudly to a few nearby patrons that Scott Summers is “the best and most handsome leader,” he can’t help but blush. He’s clearly flattered and a bit embarrassed by the attention, but he just nods, smiling shyly, as you shower him with compliments. He feels oddly proud of your open affection, even if he’s a little overwhelmed by it.
- Scott keeps a close eye on you throughout the night, gently steering you away from any potential trouble or prying eyes. When someone bumps into you, causing you to stumble, he’s right there to steady you, one hand firmly on your waist. He’s the picture of a protective boyfriend, subtly keeping others at bay while still letting you enjoy yourself.
- When you start to get a little too loud and insist on “making a toast to the greatest mutant leader ever,” Scott decides it’s probably time to get you home. He chuckles softly, catching your hand and guiding you out of the club, all the while listening to your increasingly dramatic proclamations of love and admiration. He’s touched by it all, even if he won’t admit it.
- Back home, Scott helps you settle in, making sure you’re comfortable and well-hydrated. He sits by your side, holding your hand as you drowsily tell him how much you love him. Scott just smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I love you too, even when you’re a handful,” he murmurs, content to stay by your side until you fall asleep.
Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix
- Jean is equal parts entertained and concerned when she realizes you’re tipsy. She’s usually the responsible one, but she can’t help but laugh when you start slurring your words and calling her your “favorite telepathic goddess.” Jean blushes, clearly flattered by your adoration, and gently shushes you, though she’s clearly enjoying every second of it.
- When you start dancing wildly, Jean initially tries to calm you down, worried about drawing attention. But seeing the joy in your eyes, she eventually lets her guard down and joins you, holding your hands and spinning you around as you laugh. She’s surprisingly graceful and a fantastic dancer, easily matching your energy and guiding you through the moves.
- At one point, you insist that you and Jean “show off your telepathic connection” to the crowd. Jean laughs, gently steering you away from the idea. Instead, she subtly uses her powers to make sure you don’t stumble, mentally guiding you to stay upright and steady. Her subtle help goes unnoticed by you, but she’s just relieved to see you having fun.
- Jean finds herself laughing even more when you start a friendly debate with a nearby stranger about the “genius” of her red hair. She can’t believe how fiercely you’re defending her beauty, even as you insist it’s a “scientific fact” that she’s the most gorgeous woman in the room. Jean’s cheeks flush, and she wraps an arm around your waist, whispering, “You’re adorable, you know that?”
- When you start to get tired, Jean’s the perfect caretaker, gently guiding you out of the bustling club. She makes sure you’re cozy, even grabbing her own jacket to drape over your shoulders. She keeps a hand on you the entire way home, reassuring you and quietly laughing at your sleepy, affectionate murmurs.
- Once back, Jean gets you settled on the couch, brushing stray hair out of your face with the softest smile. You reach for her hand, mumbling something about how lucky you are to have her. She blushes, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m the lucky one,” she whispers, more to herself than to you, as she sits by your side until you drift off.
Ororo Munroe aka. Storm
- Ororo is incredibly amused when she realizes you’re tipsy; she’s rarely seen this side of you, and she finds it adorable. When you start calling her your “queen of the skies” and insisting she “make it rain just for fun,” she laughs and gently pats your cheek, reminding you that some powers are best kept for emergencies.
- You grab her hand and pull her onto the dance floor, much to her surprise. Ororo might be a graceful and poised leader, but she has a playful side too. She lets you lead, laughing as you spin her around, her silver hair flowing around her as she dances with surprising ease. It’s a rare sight, and you can tell she’s having fun, loosening up just for you.
- When you start loudly telling everyone nearby that “Ororo is the most powerful woman in the world,” she tries to shush you, laughing softly. She’s both flattered and slightly embarrassed by the attention, but she allows you to bask in her presence. She’ll gently tease you for your enthusiasm, a fond look in her eyes as she watches you defend her honor.
- Ororo’s always watching out for you, subtly guiding you away from any potential trouble. If you start to stumble or look a little too wobbly, she’s right there to steady you, her hand on your shoulder and a calm smile on her face. She finds a certain joy in taking care of you, grateful for this softer side of your relationship.
- At one point, you try to “command the winds” like her, playfully imitating her powers. Ororo laughs, incredibly entertained by your antics. She doesn’t mind the teasing, and she even indulges you by summoning a soft breeze that ruffles your hair, making you gasp in delight. “See? The winds listen to you too,” she jokes with a wink.
- When you’re finally ready to head home, Ororo makes sure you’re comfortable, holding your hand and gently brushing your cheek as you murmur about how amazing she is. She chuckles softly, telling you stories of her adventures to help you relax. Once home, she tucks you in with a gentle kiss on your forehead, whispering, “Sleep well, my love,” as she watches over you, content and deeply in love.
Anna Marie aka. Rogue
- Rogue is equal parts amused and nervous as she watches you go from a few drinks to a bit too tipsy. You start telling her she’s “the prettiest southern belle ever,” and she can’t help but blush and laugh, giving you a playful shove. But there’s a touch of worry in her eyes—she’s protective and feels a need to make sure you’re okay.
- When you try to dance with her, Rogue hesitates, but your enthusiasm is contagious. She ends up joining you, making sure to keep her gloved hands carefully in place. She’s gentle but full of energy, matching your moves while constantly keeping an eye on you to make sure you don’t trip over your own feet. Her laughter is light and warm, and she looks almost carefree.
- You start raving about how amazing Rogue is, telling random people nearby how she’s “a hero who can’t even touch people, but still manages to save the world.” She gets a bit flustered and shy, trying to hush you with a soft “sugar, that’s enough,” but the pride in her eyes is unmistakable. No one’s ever praised her like that before, and it means a lot.
- When someone accidentally bumps into you, and you look about ready to start a tipsy argument, Rogue steps in with a charming Southern drawl and defuses the situation. She’s got a sweet, calming presence when she wants to, and she manages to steer you away with ease, laughing about it afterward while holding your arm gently.
- Rogue knows when you’re reaching your limit and insists on taking you home, using a soft but firm tone to make sure you listen. She doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you, and seeing you a bit out of it brings out her nurturing side. “Alright, sugar, let’s get ya back before you do somethin’ we’ll both regret,” she says, guiding you with a patient smile.
- Once home, she sits with you, listening as you tell her how much you love her and appreciate her strength. Rogue’s heart swells with emotion, and she gently brushes a gloved hand along your cheek. “You’re somethin’ special, darlin’,” she murmurs, her voice warm and full of affection, staying with you until you’re sound asleep.
Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto
- Erik is a bit bemused but mostly wary when he notices you’re getting tipsy. He’s used to maintaining control in every situation, and your loosened inhibitions make him a bit nervous. But when you start complimenting his intelligence and calling him “the smartest, most powerful man in the room,” he lets a rare smile slip, finding your praise amusing.
- You start dragging him around, pointing at various metallic objects in the bar and insisting he show off his powers. He rolls his eyes at first, but he eventually indulges you by making a few small metallic items hover, just to see the joy on your face. Erik isn’t one to perform tricks, but he finds himself unable to say no to you.
- When you loudly declare that “Magneto is the future of mutantkind,” he tries to quiet you, but he’s clearly flattered by your support. He’s a man who’s used to admiration but doesn’t often receive it so openly. There’s a softness in his eyes as he places a firm hand on your shoulder, guiding you back to your seat with a chuckle.
- Erik stays close to you, watching with an amused smile as you stumble through conversations and rant about how incredible he is. He’s fiercely protective, stepping in if anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way. He’s calm, composed, and carries an air of authority that subtly warns others not to mess with you.
- At one point, you try to mimic his deep, imposing voice, quoting some of his more famous speeches. He’s visibly amused, and even a bit impressed at how well you remember his words. Erik finds your respect for his ideals endearing, and he places a gentle hand on your back, chuckling as he listens to your tipsy impression.
- When it’s time to leave, he’s entirely in control, guiding you out with a strong arm around your shoulders. Once home, Erik sits with you, listening as you share your adoration for him. He’s not the most openly affectionate man, but he reaches out, gently squeezing your hand as he says, “Your loyalty is a rare gift, and I don’t take it lightly.” He stays by your side, quietly protective, until you’re resting peacefully.
Charles Xavier aka. Professor X
- Charles is endlessly patient as you start to get a little tipsy, a gentle smile on his face as you go from poised to adorably unfiltered. When you begin praising his brilliance and calling him “the kindest genius in the world,” he chuckles, incredibly touched. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he teases, his eyes warm with affection.
- You insist that he shows off his powers, and Charles tries to decline, but your insistence eventually makes him give in. He subtly uses his telepathy to give you an image of your favorite place, a soothing mental picture that instantly makes you smile. He finds joy in seeing you happy, and he uses his powers in the gentlest, most comforting way.
- Charles is protective and attentive, ensuring you’re comfortable and not getting yourself into any trouble. When you loudly declare your love for him in front of others, he’s both embarrassed and deeply moved, his cheeks flushing slightly. “You’re quite the charmer tonight,” he whispers, his voice filled with warmth as he gently holds your hand.
- When someone tries to join your conversation, and you’re too tipsy to notice their intentions, Charles politely but firmly steps in, his calm authority enough to send them on their way. He might be gentle, but he can be firm when needed, and he’s especially vigilant when it comes to keeping you safe.
- You start telling Charles that he’s the greatest leader mutantkind could ever ask for, and he’s genuinely humbled, listening with a fond smile as you praise his wisdom and kindness. He doesn’t always let himself accept such compliments, but coming from you, they mean the world to him, and he quietly thanks you with a soft, appreciative kiss on your hand.
- When it’s time to leave, he makes sure you’re steady, guiding you with gentle hands and a reassuring presence. Back home, he helps you get comfortable, listening as you continue to express your admiration for him. Charles smiles, stroking your hand and murmuring, “I’m grateful for your support more than you know.” He stays by your side, his calm and comforting presence grounding you until you drift off to sleep.
Bobby Drake aka. Iceman
- Bobby finds your drunken antics both hilarious and endearing. As the night progresses, you start comparing him to a “walking snow cone” and insisting that he make ice sculptures for you on demand. Bobby, always up for a bit of fun, humors you by creating little ice animals in the palm of his hand, laughing as your eyes light up in delight.
- When you slip on an ice patch he accidentally created, Bobby quickly catches you, apologizing profusely while chuckling. You start calling him your “snow prince” and playfully berate him for “making the world slippery.” He just grins, his hold on you steady, clearly enjoying your tipsy declarations and the way you cling to him.
- You insist on taking selfies with him, urging him to freeze up cute little props for the photos. Bobby goes all out, conjuring up ice hats, snowflake glasses, and even a tiny ice crown for you. By the end, your phone is full of adorable photos of the two of you laughing and posing together.
- When you go off on a tangent, telling the bartender and anyone nearby how incredible Bobby is, he gets a bit bashful but loves every second. Bobby has always loved being the center of attention, but hearing you proudly gush about him has him smiling like a fool. He playfully nudges you, saying, “Keep it coming, babe; I don’t hear this enough!”
- When you get a bit too warm in the crowded room, Bobby uses his powers to create a gentle, cool breeze just for you. You giggle and thank him, calling him your “personal A/C,” and he chuckles, wrapping his arm around you and playfully cooling you down whenever you request it.
- By the end of the night, Bobby is happily holding you up, guiding you home with an arm around your shoulders. He listens as you continue to talk about how wonderful he is, and he just grins, giving you a quick, frosty kiss on the forehead. “You’re pretty amazing yourself,” he says, staying with you until you’re safely tucked in and fast asleep.
Wanda Maximoff aka. The Scarlet Witch
- Wanda is amused by how talkative and unfiltered you get when you’re drunk. She’s often quiet and reserved herself, so seeing you let loose makes her smile. You start rambling about how “beautiful and powerful” she is, and she blushes, trying to brush it off, but your sincerity warms her heart.
- When you ask her to use her powers to make things “magical,” Wanda gently warns you, not wanting to attract too much attention. But when she sees the hopeful look in your eyes, she can’t resist. With a subtle flick of her fingers, she makes tiny red sparks dance in the air around you, creating a little “magic show” that leaves you giggling with joy.
- At one point, you try to mimic her iconic hand gestures, waving your hands around dramatically as if casting a spell. Wanda laughs softly, guiding your hands in the proper motions. “Like this, darling,” she murmurs, her fingers intertwined with yours as she playfully shows you her “magic moves.”
- When someone bumps into you a bit too roughly, Wanda steps forward, a protective fire in her eyes. Though she doesn’t escalate the situation, there’s a warning in her gaze that makes the person quickly apologize. She holds you close, whispering, “You’re safe with me,” her voice soothing and reassuring.
- As the night goes on, you keep insisting that Wanda is “the most powerful and amazing person ever,” and she laughs, flattered by your drunken praise. “You might be a little biased,” she teases, but there’s a soft blush on her cheeks, and you can tell she’s deeply touched by your admiration.
- When it’s time to go home, Wanda wraps an arm around you, using a bit of her magic to guide you gently so you don’t stumble. Once you’re home, she stays with you, listening as you continue to talk about how much you adore her. She strokes your hair and whispers, “You mean the world to me too,” staying by your side until you drift off into a peaceful sleep.
Pietro Maximoff aka. Quicksilver
- Pietro finds your drunken state absolutely hilarious, especially when you start trying to mimic his super-speed by running around. He quickly catches you each time, his laughter filling the air as he playfully warns you that “You’re not quite fast enough, babe!”
- You start challenging him to races, even though you know he’ll win. Pietro humors you, letting you “win” a couple of times, but eventually, he zips past you with a playful smirk. “Better luck next time!” he teases, only to scoop you up and spin you around when you pout about losing.
- When you get tired, Pietro is immediately by your side, lifting you into his arms without a second thought. You giggle and tell him he’s “better than a rollercoaster,” and he laughs, racing around just to hear your delighted squeals. He loves seeing you happy and will do anything to keep you smiling.
- When someone looks at you a bit too long for Pietro’s liking, he’s instantly protective, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and making it very clear that you’re his. He glares at the person until they look away, then turns back to you with a soft smile, his fingers brushing your cheek affectionately.
- You start bragging to strangers about Pietro’s speed, telling them he’s “the fastest guy in the world,” and Pietro just laughs, loving how proud you are of him. “Keep it up, and I’ll have to show off even more,” he says, giving you a cheeky wink as he zips around the room, just to impress you.
- By the end of the night, he’s carrying you home, his arms strong and steady around you as he runs. You cling to him, your arms wrapped around his neck, and he smiles, whispering, “I’ve got you, always.” Once you’re home, Pietro stays by your side, listening as you drift off, mumbling about how much you love him. He kisses your forehead, whispering, “Love you too, my slowpoke.”
Emma Frost aka. The White Queen
- Emma finds your drunken state absolutely fascinating, especially when you become more playful and bold. Normally calm and reserved, you start teasing her about her “icy” demeanor, and she’s amused, a rare smirk on her face as she listens to you try to “crack” her tough exterior. She’s secretly charmed by your confidence.
- When you dramatically declare that she’s “the most beautiful woman in the world,” Emma rolls her eyes with a soft laugh but secretly enjoys every word. She’s used to compliments, but something about hearing them from you, even in your tipsy state, makes her feel genuinely adored. She’ll brush a hand over your cheek, murmuring, “Careful with those compliments, darling—you’re liable to spoil me.”
- As the night progresses, you start showing off for her, attempting overly elaborate gestures and winking clumsily. Emma finds your efforts hilarious but still looks at you with genuine affection. Her fingers brush yours, and she lets herself be a bit softer with you, impressed by your uninhibited side.
- When someone gives you a bit too much attention, Emma is instantly protective. She’ll stand close to you, radiating that commanding aura, and make it clear that you’re taken. She’ll give you a subtle nod, as if to say, “Don’t worry—I’ve got you,” and her calm confidence reassures you instantly.
- You get a little bolder as the night goes on, playfully daring her to dance or try something “un-Emma-like.” Amused and intrigued, she might indulge you, swaying slightly to the music or even placing your hand in hers for a private moment. She’ll laugh, saying, “You’re lucky I’m in a generous mood tonight,” though you can tell she’s enjoying herself.
- When it’s time to leave, Emma makes sure you’re steady, her arm around your waist as she guides you to the car. She’ll whisper little reassurances, telling you how much she appreciates this rare, open side of you. Once home, she’ll help you settle in, her voice soft and reassuring, reminding you that she’s there for you completely.
Raven Darkhölme aka. Mystique
- Mystique is both amused and intrigued by your drunken state. Normally guarded, you become surprisingly talkative, telling her all sorts of stories. She listens with a raised eyebrow, smirking at your candidness. “So, this is what I miss when you’re sober?” she’ll tease, clearly enjoying this rare glimpse into your unfiltered thoughts.
- You keep reaching out to touch her, fascinated by her blue skin and how it shifts under your fingers. Mystique finds this endearing, gently teasing you but allowing you to trace her features. She’s rarely this vulnerable, but your innocent curiosity brings out a softer side, and she even leans into your touch.
- When you start rambling about how “amazing” and “mysterious” she is, Mystique just chuckles, a rare, genuine smile crossing her face. Normally, she brushes off praise, but hearing it from you makes her feel appreciated in a way she’s not used to. She might even mutter, “Careful, or I’ll start believing you.”
- As the night goes on, you get into a bit of mischief together, with Mystique indulging your chaotic ideas. She’ll shift into different forms to amuse you, and you giggle every time she surprises you with a new face. Her laughter is warm and genuine, her guard completely down as she shares these fun moments with you.
- If anyone even looks at you the wrong way, Mystique’s protective instincts kick in. She’ll throw a deadly glare their way, making it very clear that you’re off-limits. Her fierce loyalty to you is both comforting and thrilling, and you find yourself feeling safe and cherished in her presence.
- When it’s time to go, she keeps an arm around you, guiding you back with quiet reassurances. She murmurs little words of comfort, her voice softer than usual, and even hums a low melody to keep you calm. Once home, she stays by your side, brushing your hair back and promising, “I’m here, always.”
Laura Kinney aka. X-23 / Wolverine
- Laura is a bit confused by your drunken antics, as she’s not exactly used to seeing you so uninhibited. She watches with curiosity and maybe a little amusement as you sway around, stumbling slightly. Laura finds herself oddly charmed by this side of you, even if she’s unsure how to respond at first.
- You keep reaching out to hold her hand or touch her arm, and though Laura is usually reserved, she lets you. Your affection surprises her, but she’s not one to pull away, especially with you. When you look up at her with that tipsy grin, she can’t help the tiny smile that breaks through her usual stoic expression.
- When you start playfully teasing her, calling her “your fierce protector” and joking about her serious demeanor, Laura is both amused and a bit flustered. She’s never had someone look at her like you do, with so much warmth and admiration, and your words mean more to her than she’ll let on.
- As the night goes on, Laura gets a bit protective. If you start wandering or leaning too close to others, she’ll gently pull you back, her grip steady but careful. “Stay close,” she’ll murmur, her voice soft but firm, a little blush on her cheeks as she realizes just how much she likes keeping you safe.
- You keep talking about how “amazing” she is, going on and on about her strength, courage, and loyalty. Laura is taken aback, not used to hearing such open admiration, but she listens quietly, her heart swelling with pride. She doesn’t say much, but her hand stays in yours, squeezing gently whenever you look her way.
- By the end of the night, she’s helping you home, a quiet but steady presence by your side. Laura makes sure you’re comfortable, brushing hair from your face as you drift off. Before leaving, she murmurs, “I’ll always keep you safe,” her voice barely a whisper. She stays nearby, her protective instincts on high, ensuring you’re well cared for as you sleep.
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signthesignificance · 14 days ago
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i love watching onboards, and here's some interesting things ive noticed from max's onboards in austria fp1/2 (no gp :(( miss him) all casual observations tho dont take them too seriously
max is much quieter but also much more micro-managy with simon than gp. like with gp he's always a bit bratty a bit chatty a bit complainy but with simon he was very quiet, only giving feedback when prompted directly
like i saw someone comment that max didn't complain about the brakes when usually hes complaining 24/7 and that meant the brakes were good, However max went off track a few times with lockups in the hard braking zones and you KNOW he would have been complaing to gp about brake issues every time, but because its simon he keeps quiet (im sure he'll mention it later to the engineers)
conversely when giving feedback for gp he usually simply says "car understeering" or "turn 1 feels bad" and that's it. with simon he'd go "car understeering, front wing issues, want to adjust by three clicks, box this lap" or "issues in turn 4 with front steering, want to go plus 3 on bball" like he's making all the technical decisions himself when usually he'd let gp make them for him
also at one point simon was talking a lot, saying like "leclerc is coming in 5, then kimi, leclerc is low fuel, kimi high, leclerc is now 3, kimi is 8, behind him bearman, clear behind, i would let kimi and bearman by in turn 8, then you can go next lap--" and max, silently, put recharge off and directly went for a hot lap, and simon instantly went "--uh or you can turn recharge off and go now if you wish" and then went quiet LMAOO you just know if it was gp max wouldve straight up told him to shup up (No Talking In The Braking Mate Please) but because its someone else he 'politely' ignored them and did what he wanted instead
its so funny too bc max is so used to hearing "kimi 5" and is now instead getting "kimi is running high fuel, he's 5 seconds behind, will be coming up on you in turn 7, recommend you let him past on turn 8, then after him--" and i am suure he is lowkey losing his mind lmaoo
for the record !!!!! this isn't a crticism of simon its just different comm styles for diff people everyone has their own preferences etc etc
but fr you can feel how much max trusts and likes gp, and it shows an interesting aspect to max's personality in how he acts towards people he's truly close to and comfortable with
i miss gp :((( pls come back soon :((((((((((((((
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dix0nspretty · 4 months ago
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Mouse Trap
Summary: Leave it to the quiet mouse of the group to get taken while searching for Merle.
Daryl Dixon x GN!Reader (pre-relationship), 943 words.
Era: Season 1, episode 4 "Vatos"
TW: Taken (kidnapped), TWD canon utilized, nickname 'Mouse'.
I honestly might write a part 2 to this one if y'all would like. I'm too tired to fully flesh this out the way I wanted to.
I'm, against my best judgement, engaging in this bastardized version of Russian Roulette Febuwhump/Kinktober for March that I'm affectionately calling Trinket's Cause of Death. It's basically 50/50 whump/kink where I generate a number corresponding to a prompt.
Day 9: Taken with Daryl (whump)
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Daryl hadn’t wanted you to come with the small group into Atlanta in the first place. You were a silent, lone figure within the quarry camp- no friends, no family. Just a quiet mouth to feed, one more defenseless piece of walker bait.
When Rick Grimes waltzed his way into the quarry and announced that he left Daryl’s older brother Merle handcuffed to a roof, Daryl lost his shit. Who does this random cop think he is, taking Merle’s life away? Sentencing him to being eaten by walkers with no chance to fight back or flee?
A fight breaks out, naturally, but Daryl’s quick to learn that Rick Grimes has closer ties to the group than he does. His wife and son are here, his partner and best friend. He gets to have his family while Daryl’s is devoured whole. Typical of the universe to shove a Dixon in the dirt and let everyone else stay clean.
“He probably ain't dead.”
Probably ain't, what a reassurance. That was your quiet voice making itself known- something rare in the first place, speaking to a Dixon even more so. Daryl was prepared to round that sharp wit and stinging grief onto you, but then your words clicked in his mind. “He either is or he ain’t.”
After further discussion about handcuff keys, padlocked doors, and some bag of guns Rick dropped in Atlanta, tensions slowly die down. Rick clearly has a more intact moral compass than Deputy Dipshit and Olive Oyl, given that he hatched a plan to get Merle back not an hour after he broke the news to Daryl in the first place.
A group formed to both get the bag of guns and get Merle back- Daryl, Rick, Glenn, T-Dog. And you.
Why you want to come along, Daryl has no fucking clue. You steer clear of the Dixons unless you have to interact, and you have no interest in the guns. Just the black tactical knife you’ve had since he met you that you fiddle with endlessly. When Rick asked what was in it for you, you simply shrugged and gave a vague “Want to.” Any further prompting was met with a silent stare.
Nobody anticipated Merle cutting his own hand off and disappearing out into walker-infested Atlanta, presumed dead. Nobody predicted the current scuffle, either, with Daryl getting the shit beat out of him and Glenn being dragged into a car that speeds off to God-knows-where.
Rick and T-Dog come skidding to Daryl’s aid a little too late, witnessing only Daryl’s tantrum about losing Glenn as he kicks the dumpster and yells in frustration, rounding onto the kid on the ground who narrowly avoids getting his head kicked in. Their own hostage. “They took Glenn. That little bastard and his little bastard homie friends. I'm gonna stomp your ass!”
“Daryl, calm down!” Rick snaps as T-Dog drags him back a couple steps and that’s when Daryl notices you aren’t here. No eyes saying what your mouth won’t, hiding around the edge of the dumpster to watch or keeping an eye on the walkers as you play with the blade of your knife.
No you at all.
“Where’s the mouse?” Daryl pants, slowing his struggle entirely to look at Rick who looks equally confused by your absence. When the group split up, you were assigned to be stationed with Rick. So, where the fuck are you?
Rick glances down the empty alleyway and back to Daryl. “They probably stayed behind, as backup. We’ll round back and get them, then get back to the lab with him.”
Except when Rick, Daryl, T-Dog, and their squealing hostage Miguel work back to Rick’s initial positioning, the only thing still there is your knife. Daryl doesn’t know shit about you, but he knows one thing.
“They were taken.”
“We don’t know that,” Rick argues with that shake of his head he’s becoming quickly familiar with but Daryl cuts him off with his own shake, standing up from his crouch and pocketing your knife.
“Nah, mouse won’t go anywhere without this. Marks look dragged. Taken, they didn’t just walk away. They ain’t that stupid.”
Another plan hatched with two less members of the original group, Miguel leading them to the Vatos after many attempts at assault by Daryl and some well-worded responses from Rick.
They spy Glenn on the roof to the building, bound and being held at the edge. Ready to be shoved off the second this Guillermo gives the signal. But still no you.
“Where’s the mouse?” Daryl asks for the second time, looking down the sights of the rifle at the smug man. Another look of confusion. Daryl is getting sick of people not knowing the answers to his questions. “Ain’t difficult. Where are they? This tall, a brat. Don’t like talkin’.”
Guillermo laughs and shakes his head. “No person like that ‘round here, amigo. We only grabbed the Asian kid. Seems like you lost a pet, hm?”
“Ain’t no fuckin’ pet,” Daryl growls to your defense, his grip tightening on the rifle he’s holding. He’s just itching to start a fight but that wouldn’t get him any closer to finding you. The archer isn’t sure why he even gives a fuck that you were swiped but something in his blood burns with the need to get you back. Back to the quarry, to your tent, to your silent watch with those sarcastic little eyes that always seem to find his.
Daryl doesn’t know who has you, but he knows one thing. When he finds you, they’re going to pay for thinking you were up for grabs in the first place.
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mythicalmaven · 8 months ago
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Helloooo love, could I have nr 1, 13, 23(reader) and 28 with Daniel ricciardo?đŸ€ so needy for him
Forbidden - Daniel Ricciardo (requested)
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As requested: a Daniel Ricciardo fanfic with a few prompts from the list! It's my first Ricciardo fanfic, so I hope I wrote it like you hoped lol :) It turned out a little longer than I expected, but I honestly like how it turned out! (I didn't proofread it, so excuse any mistakes lol)
masterlist | promptlist ↳pairing: daniel ricciardo x female!verstappen!reader ↳word count: 7,7K ↳prompts used: 1 - 'Use my thigh", 13 - "You're fucking soaked". 23 - "I..Uh.." - "I have never done this before" & 28 "We shouldn't do this" ↳warnings: friends to lovers, brothers teammate trope, age gap (8 years), kissing, alcohol, drunk, explicit sexual content, 18+ (MDNI!), jealousy, sexual tension ↳summary: In which it's 2017 and Max Verstappen's twin sister gets a little too involved with her brothers teammate
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You honestly had no idea how you'd come up with the not-so-clever idea of getting wasted in a Monaco nightclub, but right now, you couldn’t care less. The music thumped through the room, blending with the haze of alcohol and dim, colorful lights, and a certain curly-haired Australian who had slipped off to the bar for another drink lingered in your mind.
As the beat softened into something deeper, sultrier, you found yourself moving with Carlos once more. His hands rested casually on your hips, his thumbs brushing over the fabric of your dress as you swayed together. Ever since your twin, Max, joined the Formula 1 grid, Carlos had become one of your closest friends.
Carlos leaned in, his lips close to your ear, his voice a low murmur against the music. "So
 when are you finally gonna hook up with Danny?"
You scoffed, playfully swatting the back of his head. “Oh, shut up, will you?”
Carlos only grinned, knowing exactly how you felt about Daniel. He'd been trying to push you toward him for ages, but as always, you deflected. “I don’t think Max would be thrilled if I hooked up with his teammate,” you replied, though a part of you knew that wasn’t the real reason you’d been holding back.
Carlos shrugged with a smirk. “Did you forget how convinced Max was that we were hooking up back at Toro Rosso? He didn’t seem too bothered by that idea, did he?”
You rolled your eyes, chuckling as you swayed in rhythm with him, your fingers linking behind his neck. “Yeah, vividly. But that was different
” You let out a laugh, trying to keep your tone casual. “For one, our age gap was a lot smaller than Daniel and mine.”
Carlos raised an eyebrow. “You’re 20, who cares? Daniel’s 28—it’s not like he’s ancient.”
Sighing, you dropped your forehead against Carlos’s shoulder. “Besides, even if he would consider hooking up with me, he’d probably be disappointed. I’ve never
 well, you know. I’ve only gone as far as giving a guy a blowie in a club bathroom, and even that was a drunken disaster. Somehow, I doubt a 28-year-old is looking for a hookup with a 20-year-old virgin.”
Carlos chuckled under his breath, rolling his eyes as he shook his head. “You're really that blind, aren't you? The guy is absolutely head over heels for you.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but Carlos shifted his grip, spinning you around so your back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist to guide your movements. To anyone watching, it looked like a slow grind, intimate and close, even though he left enough space to keep things comfortable.
He steered you both around the dance floor, inching you closer to the bar. “Look at him,” Carlos murmured in your ear, lifting a hand to tilt your chin ever so slightly. “See for yourself.”
Your gaze landed on Daniel, and your breath caught in your throat. There he was, leaning against the bar, drink in hand, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity you hadn’t seen before. His jaw was tight, his lips set in a straight line as he took in every shift of your body against Carlos’s, his gaze dark, brooding, and unmistakably heated. The way his eyes drifted, tracing the curve of your legs, lingering on your hips as they moved, made your heart race. He wasn’t just watching; he was studying, every look brimming with tension and frustration.
Carlos’s laughter hummed against your back, pulling you out of your trance. “The guy’s been staring daggers at me since the second we started dancing.”
“No way,” you murmured, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady, even though your pulse hammered in your ears. “He’s just
 looking. Nothing more.”
Carlos raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening as he leaned down to murmur against your ear, “Who are you trying to convince? Me
 or yourself?”
“Fuck,” you huffed, feeling your cheeks flush under Daniel’s gaze, heat spreading through you in a way that felt as dangerous as it was thrilling. “I need more alcohol.”
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Hours and too many drinks later, you’d long since shed your usual shyness, finding a brazen confidence in the music, the crowd, and the glimmer of alcohol-fueled ease in every movement. The world felt hazy but thrilling, every pulse of the bass reverberating through you as you let yourself sink into the beat.
Carlos watched your transformation, amused at how you threw back shots and laughed a little louder than before. At one point, you looked back at him over your shoulder, eyes bright and mischievous, completely oblivious to the intensity with which a certain Australian had been watching you both.
With a chuckle and a playful push, Carlos nudged you forward, aiming you right in Daniel’s direction. “Go on, dance with him already,” he teased, his smirk saying he knew exactly what he was doing.
You stumbled into Daniel, feeling his hand steady you, his fingers lingering just a second too long as you regained your balance. “Well, fancy seeing you here, Ricciardo,” you quipped, your voice carrying an edge of flirtation that you didn’t usually dare with him.
Daniel’s lips curled into that easy, charming smile, his fingers still on your waist. “Fancy that. You’re looking a little
 spirited tonight,” he replied, his eyes raking over you with a mixture of amusement and something darker, something almost hungry that you couldn’t miss, even in your haze. He was trying to play it off, keep things casual, but his gaze lingered just a bit too long, drawn to the curve of your hips, the dip of your collarbone, and the dress that had ridden up just enough to reveal more of your thigh.
“Oh yeah?” you leaned in close, fingers grazing up his arm, catching the way his eyes followed every movement. “What do you mean, ‘spirited?’” You were close enough to catch the hint of his cologne, something warm and subtly spicy, like he was, and it made you feel just a little bolder.
Daniel chuckled, but his fingers tightened slightly at your waist as if grounding himself. “Just saying,” he replied, “I don’t usually see you dancing like that.” His eyes sparkled with a mix of fondness and something a little more conflicted. He was trying so hard to keep things cool, but you could tell he was affected. “Especially with Carlos. Didn’t know he was your type.”
You laughed, moving your body a little closer to his, playfully ignoring the tension that brewed between you. “Carlos? Nah. He’s more like
 a dance partner for the night. Besides,” you added, looking up at him through your lashes, “I think my type is just a little taller
 curly hair.. and definitely Australian.”
A flicker of something like surprise crossed his face, his eyes briefly widening before he collected himself. He swallowed, looking away, almost as if to compose himself. “Is that so?” he murmured, his fingers curling at your waist, his voice low.
Just then, the music changed to something slower, a sensual rhythm that had you pressing a little closer against him. Daniel’s hands slipped to your waist, pulling you flush against him, his heartbeat thrumming fast under your hands as you settled into a rhythm together. You let your body sway, your hips pressing against him as his hands guided you, holding you steady and closer than he should.
“Gotta stop moving like that,” he mumbled, his voice tight, a strained note of amusement as he tried to mask how breathless he sounded.
You looked up at him with a smirk. “Why?” you asked, feigning innocence, though the mischievous gleam in your eyes told him you knew exactly what you were doing.
He swallowed, his gaze darkening as his grip on your hips tightened, pulling you flush against him. The movement brought you closer than before, and in that instant, you felt him—hard, pressing against you through his jeans, undeniable and unrestrained. A thrill shot through you as your eyes met his, your gaze drifting downward for a fleeting second, then back up to find his expression transformed, conflicted and charged. His voice was rough, edged with that undeniable tension. “You know very well why,” he murmured, his tone thick with barely restrained desire and frustration, his fingers gripping your waist as if to hold himself back.
Your lips parted in surprise, but you didn't move away. Instead, you let a slow smile spread across your face, your body swaying against him just enough to deepen his predicament. Daniel’s jaw clenched, his gaze darting down to where your bodies pressed together, his expression shifting between longing and resistance, the internal battle clear as he tried to keep himself grounded, even as you blurred every boundary between you.
You felt the heat radiating off him, the subtle hitch in his breathing, the way his fingers trembled slightly against your waist.
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Hours later, you stumbled out of the bathroom, trying to make your way back to the dance floor but feeling far less coordinated than before. The world tilted slightly as you bumped into a table, a stray chair, and even a few club-goers who offered you amused or annoyed glances.
“Alright, I think you’ve had enough to drink for one night, darling,” came a familiar voice from behind, warm and steady. Before you could turn, a hand wrapped around your upper arm, steadying you, and the familiar scent of Daniel surrounded you, grounding you.
You turned to him with an exaggerated pout, his arm still holding you up. “I
 I’m definitely
 not,” you managed, words slightly slurred as you tried to shake off his grip, failing miserably. He chuckled softly, clearly amused.
Daniel’s gaze softened, his eyes roaming over you with a mix of tenderness and barely concealed desire. Your dress had shifted, one strap sliding off your shoulder, the hem hitching up to reveal more skin than you intended. He took in the sight, pausing for just a moment too long before swallowing hard and composing himself.
“Let’s get you sorted out here,” he murmured, reaching to fix your dress. His fingers brushed over your shoulder, grazing your skin, and he swallowed hard, the gentle touches sending a thrill through you. His hands moved lower, trying to straighten the hem, and his fingers brushed over the curve of your thigh, a touch that made you let out a soft, involuntary whimper. His eyes darkened, and he hesitated, looking like he wanted to pull away but unable to tear himself away from the way you looked at him.
“Mm
 feels nice,” you murmured, leaning into his touch, your gaze half-lidded as you looked up at him, lips parted slightly. You noticed how he tensed, his jaw clenched, clearly struggling to resist.
“Come on,” he said, clearing his throat, his voice a little rough. “Let’s get you back to the hotel.”
He led you through the club, supporting you with one arm wrapped securely around you. As you stumbled along, your hand brushed over his chest, lingering a little longer than necessary, your fingers tracing small patterns as you walked. He glanced down, swallowing, his throat bobbing as he tried to keep his focus. Along the way, you nearly collided with Max, who took one look at you and raised an eyebrow.
"I'm bringing your sister back to the hotel," Daniel explained, nodding toward you with a hint of amusement. "She’s absolutely hammered."
Max smirked, his eyes flicking between you and Daniel. "You sure? I can take her back if you’d rather stay. I know she can’t hold her liquor."
“Hey!” you interjected, stumbling slightly as you tried to regain your balance, waving off your brother with a slurred, “I-Ik ben niet eens d-dronken
” (I’m not even drunk). You gave him a half-hearted glare, rolling your eyes in exaggerated annoyance.
Daniel glanced at Max with a small, amused shake of his head. “I have no clue what she just said, but don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he reassured him. “I was planning to head home anyway, and besides,” he added with a smile, “our apartments are in the same building anyway, so it's no hassle”
Max nodded, giving you a quick pat on the shoulder before turning back to Daniel. "Alright, mate. Get her home safe."
With that, Max watched as Daniel guided you gently but firmly toward the exit, his grip steadying you as you leaned against him, too tipsy to resist.
When you reached the curb, he helped you into a cab, sliding in beside you. You leaned against him, head resting on his shoulder, your hand slipping to rest on his thigh, your fingers drifting ever so slightly higher, sending a rush of heat through him.
“You’re drunk,” he murmured, his voice low and strained, trying to keep his breathing even.
You looked up at him with a playful, tipsy grin, fingers tracing the fabric of his jeans. “So?”
He bit his lip, fighting a losing battle against his own desires, his hand covering yours to stop its teasing ascent. He’d never seen you this forward, this flirtatious, and though it thrilled him, it terrified him all the same. The line between you had always been thin, but tonight, with every touch, every brush of your skin against his, you were slowly erasing it.
When you arrived at the apartment building, you had began starting to sober up a tiny little bit. Still wasted obviously, but it seems as if you had a little bit more control over your own actions.
As you fumbled through your purse, your expression shifted from confidence to frustration as you realized your keys weren’t there.
“I
 I had them,” you muttered, searching again, only for the reality to settle in. “I must’ve left them with Carlos or Max.”
You looked up at Daniel with a mischievous glint in your eyes, swaying slightly on your feet. “Guess that means I’m staying with you?”
Daniel hesitated, his resolve weakening as he searched your face, taking in the way your lips quirked in that daring, flirtatious smile. He was already in too deep, the familiar ache in his chest too hard to ignore. After a moment, he let out a resigned sigh, offering a small, reluctant smile as he nodded.
“Yeah, alright,” he said softly, his hand brushing over your back as he guided you inside. “But you’ve gotta promise me you’ll go straight to bed.”
You leaned in, closer than necessary, your breath warm against his cheek. “We’ll see about that,” you murmured playfully, sending one last spark of heat through him as he led you toward his apartment, both of you caught in a delicate balance of desire, restraint, and the thrill of the unspoken between you.
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Daniel led you to his kitchen, pulling out a stool by the bar, gesturing for you to sit. But you had other ideas. Following him over to the sink, you leaned back against the counter, lifting yourself up onto it. Your dress slid up as you settled, exposing nearly everything to anyone watching.
Daniel turned off the tap, glass in hand, and was about to pass it to you when he caught sight of you. His gaze trailed over your bare thighs, and his breath hitched, eyes widening as he muttered, “Fuck.” His eyes lingered, and he dared to glance lower, noticing the smallest glimpse of black lace between your slightly parted legs.
Swallowing hard, he gripped the counter edge, his knuckles whitening as he fought the overwhelming urge to close the distance between you, his lips already tingling with the desire to claim yours. Forcing himself to look away, he pressed the glass into your hand, his voice husky and tight. “Drink this. It'll help,” he murmured, barely able to keep his composure. “I’ll
 I’ll go grab a shirt for you. So you don’t have to sleep in that dress.”
You downed the water in one swift gulp, letting your gaze drift back to him. The proximity hit you both, close enough for you to see the tension in his jaw and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. But what captured your attention most was the unmistakable bulge in his jeans, straining against the fabric, betraying the restraint he tried so hard to maintain.
A slow smirk crept across your lips as you reached out, letting your fingers graze his arm, traveling in a slow, tantalizing path up to his shoulder, then down his chest, inching ever closer to his belt. But before you could reach it, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist firmly. “We
 we shouldn’t do this,” he muttered, voice low and rough as he gently pushed your hand away, though his touch lingered just a second too long, his resolve wavering.
Undeterred, you hopped down from the counter, stepping forward until there was barely any space left between you. Confidence you hadn’t realized you possessed surged through you, and you reached out, cupping him through his jeans. He let out a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a moan, his resolve crumbling under the pressure of your touch.
Bringing your lips close to his ear, you whispered, your voice a hushed, sultry tease, “That’s what you say
 but your body’s telling me something else entirely.”
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Daniel forced himself to gather every shred of self-control he could muster, putting a few steps of distance between you before he turned on his heel, heading to his bedroom to grab a shirt from the closet. His mind raced as he moved. He wanted you—God, he wanted you more than anything—but he knew you were drunk, teetering on that edge where even a soft touch or glance was hazy with the thrill of it all. And as much as he ached to feel your lips on his, to let every longing he’d harbored for so long finally spill over, he didn’t want to take advantage of your current state.
Yet, you were making it damn near impossible to keep his composure. Every touch, every glance, every whisper made his restraint crumble bit by bit, leaving him clinging to the last threads of resolve.
When he made his way to the bathroom with the shirt in hand, he stopped in the doorway, noticing you struggling with the zipper of your dress, your back turned to him. The zipper was halfway down, leaving a tantalizing glimpse of your bare skin, and his heart pounded harder, fighting between propriety and desire.
“Danny, can you help me with the zipper, please?” Your voice was soft, but the note of longing was unmistakable, each word sparking something primal within him.
He hesitated, but before he could stop himself, he stepped forward, leaving the shirt on the sink, and positioned himself behind you. His fingers brushed your skin as he reached for the zipper, feeling the warmth radiating off you. You shivered at his touch, a soft, involuntary whimper escaping your lips that sent a jolt through him. He dragged the zipper down slowly, his fingers grazing your skin, unable to resist lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.
Once the zipper was down, you slipped the straps off your shoulders, the dress falling effortlessly down your frame, pooling at your feet. Daniel’s breath caught in his throat as he took you in, standing before him in nothing but your black lace lingerie. He clenched his jaw, feeling a wave of heat course through him, the last of his rationality slipping as his eyes traced over every curve, every inch of you laid bare.
You turned to face him, the look in your eyes a mixture of vulnerability and desire, a silent plea that tugged at the very core of him. Reaching up, you let your fingers graze the stubble on his jaw, caressing his cheek as you held his gaze. “Kiss me, Daniel,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, a soft, desperate invitation.
It was all he needed. His restraint finally shattered, and he closed the distance between you in a heartbeat. His hand cupped your cheek, fingers threading through your hair as he captured your lips in a kiss that was fierce, urgent, filled with all the pent-up emotion and longing he’d been holding back. You melted into him, pressing closer, every brush of his lips igniting sparks that spread through your body.
His hands slid down to the small of your back, then lower, gripping your thighs as he lifted you effortlessly, setting you onto the countertop of the bathroom sink. He stepped between your legs, his body pressing firmly against yours, grounding you in the heat and solidity of him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. The slight tug on his hair drew a low, guttural moan from him, his chest heaving as he leaned into you, lost in the feel of you against him.
His hands roamed over your body, sliding along your curves, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You gasped against his mouth, a sound that turned into a soft moan, each note pushing him closer to the edge of his composure. He deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips, exploring, tasting, savoring every second. You could taste the hint of whiskey on his lips, warm and heady, mingling with his natural, intoxicating flavor. Every brush of his tongue against yours sent a surge of heat pooling between your legs, each movement building the need that pulsed through you.
Daniel pulled you closer, his grip tightening as you felt his hardness pressing against you, undeniable, unmistakable. The sensation made you dizzy, your entire body responding to him, the ache between your thighs intensifying as you instinctively rocked your hips against him. His breath hitched, and he let out a soft, unrestrained groan, his head dipping to press heated, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down to the sensitive spot behind your ear. His lips left a trail of warmth, each kiss setting your skin alight, making you ache for more.
“Daniel,” you murmured, voice barely a whisper, breathless as you held him closer, “I need
 I
”
He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and filled with a barely contained fire. “Use my thigh, love,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, encouraging you, his words laced with both restraint and indulgence. The suggestion was almost too much, the heat in his eyes spurring you on, each word sending another pulse of arousal through you.
You didn’t hesitate, shifting your hips to grind against his thigh, a soft moan slipping from your lips as you felt the friction, your panties already damp against his jeans. Daniel’s hands gripped your waist, guiding you, his own breath coming faster as he watched, the sight of you losing yourself in the pleasure unraveling him bit by bit.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice rough as he pressed a kiss to your temple, his hands urging you to move, encouraging every motion. “Been wanting this
 wanting you
 for so damn long.” He buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin as he spoke, his voice shaky, every word spilling out in a way that only fueled the fire between you.
“Seeing you with Carlos tonight,” he murmured, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear, “it drove me crazy. Couldn’t stand it. I wanted to kill him for touching you” He paused, lifting his head to look into your eyes, his gaze raw, vulnerable, every wall he’d built around himself now shattered. “I’ve wanted you like this
 needed you like this
 for so long.”
Every word, every touch, every heated gaze pushed you further, his encouragement spurring you on as you moved against him, feeling the delicious friction, the warmth spreading through you as you both succumbed to the intoxicating pull of each other.
Daniel’s breathing grew ragged as he watched you move against his thigh, each roll of your hips sending a wave of heat through him. The way you looked at him, with that mixture of need and adoration, was undoing him in the best possible way.
Your breathing came in shallow, needy gasps as you looked up at him, eyes heavy with desire. “God, Daniel
 you have no idea how good you look right now,” you murmured, your voice thick with arousal.
Your soft moans and whispered praises only fueled him more, each one pushing him to explore, to give you everything you were craving. His gaze darkening even more as he captured your lips in a searing kiss, pouring every ounce of pent-up desire and affection into it.
Without breaking the kiss, he slid you back a little on the counter, his hands gripping your hips firmly. You gasped as his fingers traced the edge of your panties, his touch light but electrifying, and he paused, his gaze meeting yours as if asking for permission.
You gave a small nod, your breath catching as his hand slipped beneath the lace, his fingers brushing over you, his touch igniting every nerve ending. His breath hitched when he felt just how wet you were, a low groan escaping his lips as he murmured, “God, you’re soaked.”
The words sent a thrill through you, making you arch into his touch, craving more. His fingers moved with deliberate slowness, exploring and teasing, drawing out your reactions, each moan and gasp fueling his own desire “The way you make me feel
 God, it’s like you know exactly what I need.”
Your words lit a fire in him, a spark that deepened the hunger in his gaze as he pulled you closer. His lips curved into a smirk, fingers dipping lower as he murmured, “Yeah? I think I could get used to hearing that.”
He watched you intently, captivated by every expression, every sound that escaped your lips as he continued, building the tension higher with each movement.
You clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as his fingers moved with perfect rhythm, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. He whispered soft words of encouragement, his voice low and full of affection. “That’s it, love
 you’re doing so well. Let go for me,” he murmured, his tone both comforting and enticing.
And then, as his touch pushed you over the edge, a wave of pure ecstasy washed over you, and you cried out his name, your body shuddering as he held you through it, his gaze never leaving yours.
Once you came down from your high, your hand started making their way to Daniel's jeans, intending to return the favor, yet your movements where halted once again by his fingers around your wrist "I won't be able to hold back if you continue" he mumbled, his lips pressing soft kisses against the skin of your neck.
"Maybe that's the point" you whispered seductively.
He shook his head "As much as I would love to, I'm not sleeping with you while you're drunk" he whispered as he pressed one last kiss against your cheek, before he pulled away, grabbing the shirt that was still on the sink with his free hand, assisting you to pull it over your head "We'll talk about it tomorrow, and then we'll see"
As if the post orgasm haze started to kick in, you felt yourself getting tired, giving yourself over to the Australian driver as he carefully lifted you off of the sink and carried you over to his bedroom, placing you down onto it.
He was intending to get up and sleep on the couch, just in case you wouldn't remember things tomorrow, or worse, remember it, but regretting things. But the soft plea that left your lips stopped him in his tracks "Please, stay with me?"
It was as if his legs moved on their own accord, slipping into the bed next to you, feeling you crawl into his arms, your head resting on his chest. Once he noticed you were sound asleep, he grabbed his phone from his pocket and send Max a quick text:
Daniel: Your sister is sound asleep btw, she's crashing here, since she apparently forgot her keys or something.
Max: Figured as much indeed, Carlos came over and handed me her keys, said she forgot to take them before she left. Max: Thanks for letting me know, I'll torture her tomorrow about her headache ;)
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As the soft morning light filtered through the curtains, you stirred, feeling the gentle warmth touch your skin as you blinked awake. It took a moment to piece things together, the room unfamiliar, the quiet hum of an unfamiliar space settling around you. When realization dawned, it hit all at once. This wasn’t your apartment—this was Daniel’s.
Your eyes widened, and you scanned the room, momentarily panicked. But the bed beside you was empty, the sheets cool to the touch, which brought a small wave of relief. Sitting up slowly, you took a breath, glancing down to see yourself dressed in one of Daniel’s shirts. The soft fabric brushed your skin, and you realized, with a sudden blush, that you were only in his shirt and your lingerie.
Heart pounding, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, trying to clear the fog of last night’s hazy memories. The details were elusive, flashes of warmth, laughter, and maybe
 something more. You felt oddly refreshed, but the lack of clarity gnawed at you. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself to find him, needing some answers.
Moving carefully down the hallway, you made your way to the bathroom, hoping to splash some water on your face, collect yourself before facing him. You twisted the doorknob, assuming the room would be empty. Instead, steam filled the space, and you froze, the faint outline of a figure behind the frosted shower door capturing your attention.
Your gaze locked on the silhouette, recognizing Daniel immediately—the shape of his shoulders, the familiar line of his back. A rush of heat flooded through you, your mind replaying a rush of emotions from last night, and you pressed your thighs together instinctively, trying to banish the sudden surge of desire. You knew you should turn around, slip out quietly, but you were rooted to the spot, utterly transfixed.
Before you could retreat, Daniel turned off the shower, reaching for a towel and wrapping it low around his waist before stepping out. His gaze landed on you, his mouth curving into a smirk, droplets still trailing down his chest and abs. His dark hair was wet, small drops sliding from his curls, and the steam radiated off his skin, casting him in a hazy glow.
“Well, good morning to you too,” he said, his voice a rich, low rumble, his signature smirk making your pulse race. “If you wanted to see me naked this bad, all you had to do was ask. No need to sneak up on me.” His tone was teasing, though his gaze held a hint of something deeper, something almost daring you to respond.
Your cheeks flushed, and you raised your hands to cover your face. “Oh God, I’m so sorry,” you stammered, feeling a mix of embarrassment and that same lingering heat from last night.
You heard him chuckle softly, and when you dared to peek through your fingers, he’d already dried off and slipped into a shirt and a pair of boxers. He stepped closer, gently pulling your hands away from your face, his expression softened, a trace of warmth in his morning-rough voice. “No need to be so shy, darling,” he murmured, the words filled with a quiet affection that sent a shiver down your spine.
You glanced at him, unable to ignore how close he was, feeling both relieved and oddly disappointed that he was now dressed. You couldn’t deny how good he looked, fresh out of the shower, the lingering scent of soap and warmth filling the space between you.
But the question weighed on your mind, and finally, you managed to ask, “Please tell me we didn’t
?”
Daniel’s gaze softened further, his eyes flickering with an understanding smile as he placed a steadying hand on your shoulder, letting it linger for just a moment before he replied. “If we slept together? No, we didn’t.”
A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slipped out in relief. Before you could fully process it, though, Daniel added, “But I’m also not gonna pretend that you didn’t try to
 and I’m definitely not going to act like nothing else happened.”
His words hung in the air, and you felt your breath catch, a wave of both nerves and arousal coursing through you. “Oh God,” you mumbled, lifting yourself onto the countertop by the sink, feeling a little dizzy, staring at the floor as you tried to piece together what he meant. “What did I make you do?”
Daniel leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze steady and entirely too knowing as he took in the expression on your face. “You didn’t make me do anything, darling,” he said softly, his tone gentle yet firm. “It takes two to tango.”
The words lingered in the quiet, settling over you with a weight you couldn’t ignore. He shifted, stepping closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “Let’s just say
 this isn’t the first time you’ve sat on that countertop in the last 24 hours. Although, last night it was for
 different reasons.”
As soon as he said it, memories rushed back in vivid, unfiltered flashes—the feel of his hands, the press of his lips, the way he held you as if he’d waited forever to do so. Your cheeks flushed deeper, the weight of those memories flooding you, the reality of what had happened leaving you breathless.
“Oh God,” you murmured, looking down, struggling to meet his eyes. The blush deepened, and you tried to banish the embarrassment, but it was impossible to hide the way your body reacted to just being near him, recalling every detail of last night.
Daniel watched you, his gaze contemplative, and he let out a small sigh, pressing his lips together before speaking. “Look
 you were drunk. I’d had a bit to drink too. I understand if you regret it” His voice was steady, but there was a subtle tension underneath, as if he was holding something back.
You took a deep breath, fiddling with your hands as you struggled to find the right words. "Yeah, about that.." you said, taking a deep breath before continuing "There might be a slight problem to that"
Daniel studied the way you were acting, unsure of what to expect “We can pretend it didn’t happen, if that’s what you want. That's no problem” he offered, though his tone held a hint of something unresolved, something unsaid.
Finally, you looked up at him, your gaze meeting his, the sincerity in your expression clear. “Well
 I guess the problem is that..” you whispered, voice barely audible at first, but then you gathered your courage and continued, “I don’t regret it, Daniel
 not at all.”
The words hung in the air between you, thickening the silence, every hidden feeling and unspoken desire now out in the open. His eyes widened slightly, the guarded expression slipping as something raw and vulnerable crossed his face.
Daniel's eyes softened at your words, the vulnerable confession drawing him closer, dissolving any remaining space between you. He stepped forward, situating himself between your legs once more, just like he had done last night, but this time you were both sober.
His presence warm and steady, grounding you in the intimacy of the moment. His hands reached up slowly, one gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing a soft line along your skin, the other tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze was deep, intense, and full of affection as he looked into your eyes, his face only inches from yours.
"Good," he whispered, his voice low and tender, “because I don’t regret it either.”
Without another word, he closed the distance, his lips finding yours in a gentle, unhurried kiss. There was no urgency, only a steady, deliberate affection that conveyed every unspoken emotion he’d held back. His kiss was soft and careful, full of warmth, each touch of his lips conveying the depth of his feelings as he held you close.
When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, and you both shared a quiet, contented breath, wrapped up in the warmth of the moment. But the tenderness only fueled the lingering desire that had simmered between you both, and with a sudden burst of confidence, you grasped the collar of his shirt, pulling him back to you.
This time, the kiss deepened, your lips moving in sync as the restraint melted away, giving way to something more fervent, tinged with longing. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you even closer, his fingers splaying against your skin. The gentle intimacy turned heated, your mouths exploring, tongues teasing as the passion escalated with each passing second. You could feel his breath hitch as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groaned softly against your lips, sending a shiver down your spine.
Without breaking the kiss, your lips began to wander, trailing a path from his mouth to his jaw, where you lingered, pressing soft, teasing kisses that made him shudder under your touch. You could feel the subtle stubble against your lips, the warmth radiating from his skin as you moved lower, planting slow, lingering kisses along his neck, tasting the faint hint of his cologne mixed with his natural scent. Each kiss seemed to draw a deeper, ragged breath from him, his chest rising and falling as he leaned into every touch, unable to hold back the quiet sounds of pleasure escaping his lips.
You let your hands roam freely, exploring the strong lines of his shoulders, fingers tracing down the curves of his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt. His pulse thrummed beneath your touch, quickening with each passing second. He swallowed hard, his breathing growing heavier as you continued, savoring every inch of him.
“God, Daniel,” you whispered against his neck, letting your lips brush the words over his skin. “You have no idea how good you look like this
 or how good you feel.” Your voice was soft but laced with genuine admiration and a suggestive edge that had his grip on your waist tightening.
“Fuck
” he muttered, his voice thick with need as your words and touch clearly had an effect on him. He tilted his head back, giving you more access, his eyes closing for a moment as he absorbed the sensations.
Your lips brushed his ear, and you could feel him shiver as you whispered, “I’ve wanted this for so long, wanted to feel you
 just like this.” Your words spilled out as you continued trailing kisses, his low groan fueling your confidence as you let your hands drift lower.
You let your fingers slide down his torso, tracing every line and curve of his body with deliberate, teasing slowness. Your hand finally ventured to the waistband of his boxers, and you pressed your palm against him, feeling the unmistakable hardness through the fabric. His breath hitched, a deep, guttural sound escaping his throat as he instinctively pushed into your touch, his fingers digging into your waist.
“God, you feel incredible,” you murmured, palming him gently, feeling his arousal grow beneath your hand, hardening with each brush of your fingers. “I’ve wanted this for so long, Daniel
 wanted to know how you’d feel like this,” you admitted, voice a mix of admiration and desire.
“Shit
 you’re
 you’re killing me here,” he managed, his voice a strained whisper as he looked down at you, his eyes dark and filled with unrestrained want. His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer, his breathing growing heavier as he lost himself in every touch, every word you murmured against him.
You continued your slow, deliberate movements, letting your fingers trace along his length through the fabric, a satisfied smile crossing your face as he groaned in response, his hips pressing into your hand. “God, you look so good like this,” you breathed, meeting his gaze for a moment, taking in the way his face was flushed, his expression filled with raw, unfiltered desire.
“Keep talking like that, and
 fuck, you’re gonna drive me insane,” he rasped, his voice low, rough with need, his hands gripping your hips with more intensity, clearly unable to resist the effect you were having on him.
Emboldened by his reaction, you slipped a hand inside the waistband of his boxers, your fingers wrapping around him, and his entire body tensed, a shuddered moan escaping his lips as he exhaled sharply. As you started running your thumb along his length, savoring the way he twitched in your hand, his face contorted with pleasure as he bit his lip.
“God
 that feels so good,” he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked down at you, his expression a mixture of awe and arousal. His hands roamed up and down your back, and you could feel the effect of every touch, every word, as his breathing grew heavier.
Between breaths, you whispered softly in his ear, “I want you, Daniel. All of you.” The words tumbled out, filled with a raw honesty that made him draw back just enough to meet your gaze.
In one swift, effortless motion, he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to his bed. He laid you gently onto the soft sheets, hovering over you as his lips met yours once more, igniting the same passion that had brought you here. Each kiss was heated and lingering, hands tracing and memorizing every line, every curve, savoring every moment that had led to this.
As his lips left a trail of kisses along your collarbone, your breaths came faster, and the anticipation tightened around you. But then when Daniel started removing your panties, you felt a familiar wave of nerves rise, and your voice trembled slightly as you spoke.
“I
 uh
” you began, hesitating, feeling vulnerable but needing him to know. “I’ve never done this before.” The words left you in a shy, almost apologetic murmur, your cheeks heating as you admitted it. You lowered your gaze, fidgeting slightly under his gaze, before adding, “I mean, I’ve done
 other things. Just
 never got to, well, this part.”
He paused, taking in your words, his expression softening instantly. Cupping your face gently, his thumb brushed along your cheek, his gaze reassuring and kind. “Hey, there’s no pressure here. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he whispered, his voice steady, genuine. “We can take it slow. Or
 we can keep things just like this.”
You bit your lip, the vulnerability still lingering as you met his gaze. “You’re not
 disgusted, or something?” you asked, feeling a wave of self-consciousness bubble up. “I mean, I probably won’t be
 any good. You’re
 you know
” You trailed off, your face warming as the words left you.
He let out a soft chuckle, leaning forward to kiss you gently, his lips reassuring as he lingered for a moment before pulling back to look you in the eyes. “Disgusted? Not even close,” he murmured, a faint smile on his lips. “And I promise you, that thought never even crossed my mind.” His thumb brushed along your cheek again, his gaze warm and encouraging. “Honestly, it doesn’t matter to me. Not at all.”
You took a steadying breath, feeling his words soothe the nerves that had crept in. A smile tugged at your lips as you looked up at him, heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and newfound confidence. “I don’t want to take it slow,” you admitted softly, voice barely above a whisper, but the words full of determination. “I want it to be with you, Daniel. I’ve
 I’ve thought about this more times than I dare to admit,” you confessed, the warmth of your cheeks betraying the shyness that lingered, but you held his gaze.
His eyes softened at your words, a slow smile spreading across his face as he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Then I'm all yours,” he whispered, his voice filled with affection.
Without another word, Daniel leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was deeper, hungrier, every ounce of restraint between you both slipping away. His hands roamed up your back, pressing you firmly against him as your bodies melded together, the heat between you palpable. His lips moved over yours with an urgency that matched the rhythm of his heartbeat, each kiss filled with the passion that had built up over all this time, all the unspoken moments leading up to this.
Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer as you felt his quiet groan against your mouth, his own hands exploring your curves, fingers tracing your waist and pulling you flush against him. His body hovered over yours as his gaze met yours, filled with both desire and a lingering tenderness that made your heart race.
His lips found yours again, and you welcomed him with a fervor that matched his own, your mouths moving in perfect sync as the kiss grew deeper, more intense. You could feel his body pressing into yours, the weight of him grounding you, making the moment feel all the more real. His hand traveled down your thigh, lifting your leg to wrap around his waist as he settled between your legs, his hips pressing against yours in a way that made your entire body ache with anticipation, before slowly but surely entering you inch by inch.
Between kisses, his hands caressed every inch of your body, learning and savoring every curve, every response he drew from you. His mouth left a trail of kisses along your jaw, down your neck, lingering on the sensitive spots that made you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he continued his slow, intoxicating descent. Each kiss, each touch seemed to stir something deeper within you, the desire building to a crescendo with every shared breath.
“Fuck
” you whispered, your voice soft and laced with longing, and he looked up at you, a question in his gaze, waiting for any hint of hesitation.
But you only pulled him closer, guiding him to you as your hands roamed his back, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch. He leaned down again, his lips finding yours as the kiss deepened, turning into something that went beyond words—a culmination of everything you’d both been holding back.
In that moment, every barrier fell away, and you lost yourselves in each other, the moment filled with soft murmurs, quiet laughter, and the tender, passionate intimacy you’d both waited far too long to share.
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Note
hiii, for a prompt could you maybe do something where Derek and Stiles think they're being subtle and hiding their relationship but are terrible at it and everyone around them knows they're together?
thank youuuu <3
(Okay so this turned out a bit longer than I was expecting but hope you enjoy!)
5 times the pack know about Derek and Stiles and 1 time Derek and Stiles find out
Lydia quirked a brow at Stiles' flushed look as he followed Derek out of the kitchen. No one else seemed to notice that they had disappeared in there for twenty minutes. Stiles shot a guilty smile at Lydia and reclaimed his seat between her and Scott as Derek sunk into the armchair by the window.
"So, did you have fun?" Lydia asked whispering, smirking when she saw Derek jerk from the corner of her eyes.
"Um, what are you talking about? I was just having a snack," Stiles nervously giggled, eyes flicking from Derek to Lydia.
"Mhm, a snack," Lydia drawled, turning her head to stare at Derek pointedly, who had been staring at them intently, suddenly whipped his neck around and glued his eyes to the tv.
She turned back to Stiles and smirked, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that?" Stiles grumbled, pouting at her.
"Your fly is open," she said.
Stiles gasped and smacked his hand down on his crotch, making the rest of the pack stare at him. Lydia noticed Derek blush as Stiles hastily pulled his zipper up, stuttering out excuses as they all giggled at him.
Derek suddenly growled at the pack, "Enough, focus on the movie."
Lydia giggled and turned her attention back to the movie.
Isaac groaned when he heard Stiles' muffled whines and whimpers coming from the loft as he parked his car. He smacked his head against the steering wheel, accidentally blaring the horn.
He then heard Stiles and Derek’s muffled freak out and waited for them to pull themselves together before heading inside and up the stairs.
He opened the sliding door to the loft and rolled his eyes when he found the two of them sitting in opposite corners of the living room, Stiles flicking through his phone and Derek holding a book on his lap.
"Isaac," Derek rumbled in greeting, turning a page.
"Hey, man! What's up?" Stiles asked, a tad too enthusiastically.
Isaac grinned sarcastically and slowly slid his eyes down Stiles body to his crotch and said, "Nothing much."
Derek growled lowly, suddenly stopping with a cough when Isaac turned to face him.
"Anyways, I'm gonna go take a nap. You two enjoy," Isaac smirked. "By the way, your book is upside down, Derek."
Derek sputtered and accidentally threw the book off his lap, making Stiles burst into giggles. Derek’s grumpy expression immediately turned soft and fond and he gazed adoringly at Stiles who continued to make fun of him.
"Idiots," Isaac mumbled under his breath, heading up to his room.
Being Derek’s right hand, Boyd had gotten to know Derek a lot better. They had become fast friends once the lingering threats to their lives had gone away. They shared an easy comradarie, maybe because they were similar in a lot of aspects.
And because they spent a lot of time together, Boyd knew something was up with Derek. The man had never seen Derek act this way before and he was getting concerned.
They were at their weekly Alpha-Right hand catch up session and Derek kept chuckling and blushing at his phone. Blushing. Until a few months ago, Boyd had never even seen Derek genuinely smile. And now he was laughing so openly.
When Derek's attention drifted to his with another notification, Boyd asked, "Girlfriend?"
"Uh, what?" Derek asked, caught off-guard. "Well, kind of."
"Kind of?" Boyd quipped.
Before Derek could answer, his phone lit up with a call notification. Derek smacked the phone to his chest but not quick enough, because Boyd saw the picture of Stiles and his number saved as 'baby love♄'.
Boyd grinned as Derek swiftly accepted the call and put it to his ear. The volume on the phone was turned low enough that Boyd couldn't hear what the other person was saying, but he could tell that it was definitely a guy and definitely Stiles.
Derek spoke in hushed tones, humming more than speaking with words. But Boyd did catch the 'ok, baby, see you soon' from Derek.
When Derek put his phone down, Boyd gave him a knowing look and asked, "Need to go somewhere?"
"Yeah, sorry, dude. I'll see you later," Derek replied before making a hasty exit.
He had even started picking up on Stiles' vocabulary, Boyd thought with a sigh.
Before turning into a werewolf, Erica had had a huge crush on Stiles, she still did a little bit. Don't get her wrong, she absolutely loved Boyd but Stiles would always be someone special to her. He was the one who saw her as more than just her epilepsy, treated her like an actual human being unlike the other kids at school. It was even better now that they were best friends. Batman and Catwoman.
Erica adored him and adored spending time with him. She loved that Stiles was up for anything, going shopping, getting manicures and even trying on sexy underwear with her.
Which is why she was feeling neglected now that Stiles had started cancelling on her a little more. Not every single time, but now instead of hanging out every evening they only got together 4 to 5 times a week. Erica knew she was being a little ridiculous but how dare someone steal her best friend.
When Stiles declined her invite to go get frozen yoghurt and visit their favorite thrift store, Erica decided to find out for herself what was keeping him so busy.
She ran to his house and upon noticing his beloved Jeep in the driveway, grinned ferally. She quietly went to the side of the house, scaling the building and tip toeing over to his window.
The sight before her almost made her fall off the roof. Stiles was on his hands and knees on the bed, a growling, beta shifted Derek behind him, pounding into his ass while gripping his waist tightly.
Erica was slightly concerned that Derek didn't even seem to notice her. She was also furious that Stiles cancelled on her for just a fuck. She was about to barge into the room, privacy be damned, when Derek draped his body over Stiles', continuing his thrusts as he grunted, "Mm, love you, baby. Look at you, doing so well for me, taking me so well like you were made for me. Tell me, baby love, were you made just for me?"
"F-fuck, Der, yeah, just for you. Love you, love you, love you, don't stop, please."
"I'll give you what you need, baby," Derek crooned and that's all Erica needed before she slunk off back to her place. Nobody needed to know that she jumped Boyd as soon as she got home.
While Peter and Derek were not as close as they once had been, he still knew his nephew pretty well, had practically raised him himself since Talia was frequently busy as the pack alpha.
He had known the instant he had met Stiles that he was someone important, even in his feral state his wolf hadn't wanted to hurt Stiles, could already feel a pack bond with him. And the first time he saw Derek and Stiles interact, he instantly knew why. Stiles was Derek's mate. Now, he was just waiting for the two to catch up.
Although, he had a sneaking suspicion that they already had. On multiple surfaces across the loft. Peter wrinkled his nose as he took a seat at the dining table in front of Derek, Stiles humming and cooking in the kitchen. The open floor plan allowed Stiles to be visible and Peter amusedly watched as Derek's eyes remained glued to Stiles' shaking ass as he danced around.
"Have a good morning, nephew?" Peter grinned slyly.
"The usual," Derek mumbled, finally tearing his eyes off Stiles.
"I can smell."
"What?!" Derek and Stiles exclaimed at the same time, whipping around to stare at him.
"I said, I can tell," Peter smirked, watching the two unsubtly give each other looks of relief.
Stiles then pranced out the kitchen with three plates balanced in his arms, announcing, "Breakfast!"
He first set a plate full of eggs, bacon and waffles in front of Derek. Instinctively, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Derek's cheek, freezing in shock afterwards.
He giggled nervously and stood straight up, and Derek's rapidly reddening ears did not escape Peter's notice. He then placed a plate in front of Peter and after a little hesistance, leaned down to place a swift kiss on Peter's cheek as well.
Peter's eyebrows flew to his hair at the action and Derek let out a menacing snarl, tamping it down with a sip of his coffee.
"Trying out a new tradition. This is what they do in Europe, you know," Stiles stammered, taking a seat next to Derek and stuffing his face with food.
"I think we should tell the pack about us," Stiles rushed out, tensely waiting for Derek's reaction.
They were lying in Derek's bed, naked and sweaty, Stiles sprawled on Derek's chest.
"Me too," Derek quietly agreed.
"Really?!" Stiles exclaimed.
"Don't sound so shocked. I can't handle you giving them cheek kisses anymore," Derek grumbled, arms tightening around Stiles. "Your cheek kisses are mine, all mine."
Stiles patted his chest and giggled, "At tonight's pack meeting then?"
"Yes, please."
They laid in bed until they heard the pack start to arrive. As they dressed, Stiles put on Derek's henley instead of his own t-shirt, drowning in the material.
"You look so cute in my clothes, you should only wear these from now on," Derek rumbled, hugging Stiles' back to his chest.
"Whatever you say, big guy," Stiles whispered, baring his neck for Derek to scent mark.
"Mm, good boy," Derek mumbled, kissing the edge of Stiles' jaw. He pulled away and grasped Stiles' hand in his own, starting to walk them downstairs with a, "Let's do this, baby."
They figured Derek's Henley on Stiles and the hand holding would be enough for them figure it out, so they simply stood in front of the tv in the middle of the living room.
The entire pack gave them weird looks and Jackson snarked, "You guys are blocking the fucking tv, get out of the way."
"Uh, hello?" Stiles flailed, frowning at them. He exaggeratedly gestured to their intertwined hands and exclaimed, "Can you guys not see us?"
"We can but we can't see the tv," Isaac complained.
Derek and Stiles turned towards each other with matching baffled looks on their faces. "What is going on?" Stiles whispered and Derek just shrugged in response.
"Um, excuse me," Stiles said, when the pack started talking to each other, ignoring the two of them standing in front of them. "We're trying to tell you we're dating? We love each other?"
"Are you telling us or asking us?" Peter snickered.
"This is huge deal! What the fuck is wrong with you guys?!" Stiles shrieked. He pointed at Erica and screamed, "I thought you would at least pass out!"
"Uh, I can try holding my breath if you want," Erica teasingly offered.
"You don't believe us?" Stiles asked, hurt lacing his tone. Derek immediately pulled him closer, wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders.
"We already know, its not a big deal," Lydia rolled her eyes.
"This is not the reaction I wanted, at least one of you should have fainted!" Stiles grumbled.
"I'm pretty sure Scott doesn't know and he's walking up right now...," Isaac drawled.
As soon as the door opened to a beaming Scott, Stiles pulled Derek into a searing kiss, tongue licking into his mouth immediately as Derek's hands slid down to just above his ass.
Stiles pulled away when he heard a thud and looked at the entryway to see Scott laying unconscious in a heap. "Better," Stiles happily sighed.
"Brat," Derek fondly grunted, picking Stiles up and carrying him to the couch, sinking down between Erica and Lydia with Stiles secured in his lap.
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loaksullysslut · 2 months ago
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the boys wrapping their tails around you in different situations 😋
NETEYAM WRAPS HIS TAIL AROUND YOU PROMPTS
1. Protective Reflex
You’re walking through a crowded Metkayina gathering, and Neteyam sees a few unfamiliar warriors eyeing you too long. Without saying a word, his tail wraps tightly around your waist as he steers you closer to him, gaze sharp, jaw clenched.
2. Calming You Down
You’re panicking after a mission gone wrong—Neteyam crouches in front of you, places a hand over your heart, and his tail slowly coils around your leg, grounding you.
“Breathe. I’m here. You’re safe.”
3. During Sleep
He’s half-asleep beside you in the hammock, but his tail finds you anyway—curling protectively around your thigh like muscle memory. Even unconscious, he needs to know you’re close.
4. Right Before Battle
Tensions are high. He looks at you from across the group, walks over in silence. His forehead touches yours. His tail coils around your waist firmly, like a silent promise.
“Come back to me.”
5. Jealousy
Ao’nung is being a little too charming, and Neteyam’s eyes narrow just slightly. He doesn’t interrupt—but his tail slips around your ankle like a warning flag. Subtle. But primal.
6. After You Get Hurt
You’ve got a nasty cut on your arm, and he’s trying to stay calm while treating it. His tail wraps tightly around your waist while he works, as if anchoring you to him in case you drift away.
7. When You’re Cold
During a late night on the cliffs, the breeze is sharp. Without a word, he steps behind you, pulls you into his chest, and wraps his tail gently but securely around your hips like a scarf.
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LO’AK WRAPS HIS TAIL AROUND YOU PROMPTS
1. Flirty & Teasing
You’re sitting beside him in the sand, trying to focus on the task at hand—but Lo’ak’s tail keeps brushing yours, coiling loosely around your calf every few minutes, smirking when you flinch.
“What? I didn’t do anything.”
2. Claiming You at a Party
A Metkayina boy is flirting. Lo’ak slides up behind you, slips his tail around your waist so casually it feels like silk, and leans in, resting his chin on your shoulder.
“She’s taken.”
3. In Battle
Bullets are flying. You slip. Lo’ak grabs your arm—and his tail wraps instantly around your leg to keep you upright as he pulls you behind cover. Adrenaline’s high, but he still protects like instinct.
4. Worried about you 😋
You come back from a mission late, bruised and smiling. Lo’ak is furious—until he breaks, hugs you so tight you can barely breathe, and his tail coils around your waist like he’s terrified to let go.
5. Playfighting
You and Lo’ak are sparring and talking shit—and he cheats, using his tail to trip you by the ankles.
“Oops. Didn’t see that coming, huh?”
6. Swimming
You’re diving together, the ocean pulling you apart—and his tail wraps quickly around your arm underwater, tugging you back with a playful grin and a flash of teeth.
7. Horny
You’re arguing. He’s staring at your mouth. His pupils are dilated. His tail curls slowly around your thigh without warning, pulling you closer. His voice drops.
“You need to stop talking before I do something stupid.”
lmk if you guys have any suggestions for me to write about im comfy with almost any subjects
smut for my freak girlys ( or boys ofc)
angst
fluff
and more
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