#really the only thing that he would still be playing for in europe would be for his fans

[vitalverstappen]

To Be Your Muse - G. Russell

summary: as you and George navigate your relationship, you do the one thing you know how to: write a song.

pairing: George Russell x singer!reader

warnings: none

word count: 5.5k

masterlist

The lights dimmed. The crowd’s energy swelled, a crescendo of anticipation, and you could feel it in your chest - the electric hum that ran through Wembley Stadium. It was the last night of the European leg of your world tour. The opener had just wrapped up, and now, with every second that ticked by, the air was charged with an almost unbearable energy. 

You took a moment backstage, standing in the silence before the storm. It was always like that right before you stepped on stage - the strange, almost sacred pause between worlds. The rehearsals, the travel, the soundchecks, the fans, all of it building to your performances. You knew you’d be leaving Europe behind for a while, but that night? That night it felt like the whole continent was there, in that moment, ready to explode. 

The intro started, the low hum of the synth, the heartbeat of the drum pulled you forward, drawing the crowd closer to the edge. The lights flashed - blue, purple, white - and then, just like that, you stepped out onto the stage. The roar of the crowd hit you like a wave, the sea of faces illuminated by the lights, their arms raised, their voices joined together in that one collective sound. It was overwhelming in the best way. 

The second George saw you step onto stage, he felt it - the shift. The crowd exploded, and even though he wasn't entirely sure what to expect, there was an undeniable pull to the moment. It was all so big, so charged, like the buildup before the lights go out on the racetrack, and the engines start revving. He couldn’t help but be caught up in it. 

Lando and Alex, along with their girlfriends, had dragged him out to the concert. He wasn’t too familiar with your discography - only the songs that were played on loop on the garage playlist. Sure they were good. Really good. But here? In the stadium, with thousands of fans around him, George started to understand what all the fuss was about. It was something different. There was something real about it, about you. 

There was something about the way you moved, the way you owned the stage. Your presence was effortless, but you had this force about you, this intensity that pulled everyone in, making it impossible not to watch. 

As the night went on, he found himself not just lost in the music, but lost in you. There was a moment during one of the slower tracks, you were sat on a stool facing in George’s direction. The entire stadium was so quiet, so still, and all he could think about was how, for a moment, it felt like you weren’t just singing to the audience. It felt like you were singing to him - like there was something connecting the two of you in the darkness. 

Stop it he told himself You don’t even know her. 

But no matter how hard he tried to focus on anything else, he couldn’t pull his eyes away. His mind wandered to thoughts of the next time you’d be in town, or if there was any chance you might ever meet backstage, or what it would be like to talk to you for just five minutes, to really talk - not just about music, but about life, about anything. His heart skipped a beat at the thought. 

At the end of the night, you disappeared under the stage, along with any hope George had that he’d see you again. Wembley Stadium was still buzzing with energy, the echo of your last song reverberated in George’s chest like a memory he couldn’t shake. 

Lando was already tugging at George’s sleeve, urging him towards the exit. “Come on, mate, let’s go grab a drink. We’re all heading out to the after-party.” 

But George wasn’t listening. His thoughts were elsewhere. He stood still, rooted to the spot, surrounded by people filing out, but all he could see in his mind was you. How you commanded the room without ever seeming to try, how your eyes locked with his for just a brief, electric moment. The way you sang, like you meant every word. Like you were telling a story that only the crowd could understand. And George, somehow, felt like you were telling it to him.

Stop it. 

He tried to shake the thought from his head. You were just another performer. He was a racecar driver. There was no world where those two things overlapped. But as he moved toward the backstage area with the others, a strange sense of yearning crept over him. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t let go of the image of you on that stool, looking out at the crowd, as if searching for something. 

“George, you okay?” Lando’s voice broke through his thoughts. George looked up, blinking as if he’d just woken up. 

“Yea, just - just thinking” 

Lando raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything more, Alex chimed in. “Mate, you were loving it. We all were. Don’t tell me you’re getting all soft on us”

George managed a weak smile and nodded. They made their way through the backstage area, the sound of laughter and chatter filled the hallway, but George barely heard it. His eyes scanned the shadows, hoping to catch a glimpse of you - anything, really. It felt ridiculous. What was he even hoping for? That you’d be just standing there, waiting to talk to him? He wasn’t that naive. But still, he couldn’t help himself. 

He caught a few of the crew members milling around, but no sign of you. 

Lando shot him a look, as if sensing something was off. “You sure you’re good?” 

“Yeah, just-” George stopped. He was about to say something, but the words felt hollow. How could he explain that a moment of music, a few glances exchanged in the middle of a stadium, had left him feeling like he was on the verge of something that he couldn’t quite touch?

But then, just as he was about to leave, it happened.

The door at the end of the hall opened, and out you walked - head down, talking to one of the crew members, your expression still glowing with the afterglow of the performance. You donned an oversized hoodie now, but George still recognized the spark in your eyes. You looked tired, but content. The kind of tiredness only a performance like that could bring. 

George froze. His heart did that weird skip thing again. His mind blanked, the rush of adrenaline from the concert still flooding his veins. He felt completely out of place, like an imposter in a world he didn’t belong to. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. 

It wasn’t until you looked up and your eyes met his that everything stopped. For a moment, everything else in the room faded away. Your gaze lingered on him for a beat too long, and for that split second, he swore he saw a flicker of recognition, maybe even something warmer in your expression. 

He had to say something, but the usual charm and confidence he had behind the wheel, the jokes he’d throw around with Lando, had all vanished. All that remained was a sense of awkwardness that made him want to disappear. 

“Hey” he managed to say, his voice a little breathier than he intended. You stopped walking, your brow raising slightly as if surprised, but not displeased. 

“Hey” you said, your voice soft, but warm. “You’re uh, George, right? George Russell?” 

She knows who I am? George’s heart hammered in his chest. He nodded, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah, that’s me.” He let out a nervous laugh.

“It’s so nice to meet you. I’m a big fan” you said with a genuine smile, stepping a little closer

George felt his heart race, a mix of disbelief and excitement running through him. A big fan? Of him? The thought barely had time to register before he found himself stumbling over his words, trying to find a way to sound cool, relaxed - anything but the nervous mess he was. 

“Oh, uh, thank you! That’s… I mean, wow, I’m flattered,” he chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as if it might help him gather his thoughts. His mind was still reeling from the fact that you knew who he was. And you weren’t just being polite; you seemed genuinely pleased to meet him. 

“Of course, I’ve been watching for years” you continued, your voice light and friendly “I’ll actually be at Silverstone next week. Mercedes invited me.” 

George’s mind nearly short-circuited. Silverstone? He tried to play it cool, but the news hit him like a bolt of lightning. The last place he expected to run into someone like you was in the pit lane at one of the biggest events on the racing calendar. 

“Really?” he asked, his voice coming out a little higher than usual “That’s awesome. I’ll be there too” 

You chuckled, “I would sure hope so. But it’ll be fun, I think. I’ve been to a few races before in a few different garages, but this is my first time at Silverstone. The energy there is insane.” 

George nodded, his mind racing. You were already deep into motorsport culture, and for some reason, that made George feel a little more grounded in this bizarre situation. There was a connection, however small, that had nothing to do with the stage lights, or the cheering fans. It was shared experiences - racing, the adrenaline, the crowds, the atmosphere. 

“Yeah” George said, his tone settling as he found his rhythm again “It’s one of the best tracks in the world. It’s… home for us. The crowd there, the history, it’s electric.” 

“Sounds incredible.” you said, nodding. “I can’t wait to see it all in person. Your eyes sparkled. 

The crew member you had been walking with approached you, muttering something to you. Your eyes glanced down the hall, then to George, and back down the hall as you talked. When the crew member disappeared again, you turned to face him. 

“I am so sorry to cut this short, but I have to go.” you said 

George’s heart sank for a moment, the sudden realization that the conversation was ending hit him harder than expected. He’d only just found his footing, and now you were about to leave. But he quickly forced a smile, not wanting to let any awkwardness creep in. 

“No, no, of course. I get it” he said “You’ve got your hands full with everything. I didn’t want to keep you” 

You smiled, the warmth of your eyes lingering as you met his gaze. “Thanks for understanding, George. It’s been nice talking to you” The genuine sincerity made a reappearance in your voice, making George feel a little lighter. 

“Yeah, same here.” he replied, his lips curving into a grin “And hey, I’ll see you at Silverstone, yeah?” 

“Definitely,” you said, your smile widening just as much “Take care, George.”

You stepped back, turning toward the backstage exit, but not before giving him one last look - your eyes locking for just a minute longer, as though there was something unspoken between the two of you. Then, you disappeared down the hall, leaving George standing there, still a little stunned. 

Lando, having been watching the entire exchange from a distance, couldn’t help but nudge George with an amused grin. “Well, well, well. I didn’t know you had it in you” 

George blinked, coming out of his daze, and shot Lando a half-hearted glare. “Shut up.” 

Alex, who had been casually scrolling through his phone, finally looked up. “Mate, you’re definitely gonna need to find a way to talk to her again. That was smooth.” 

George rolled his eyes “Stop it. It was nothing.” 

Lando grinned wider. “That was definitely something, dude. You’re telling me you’re not gonna try to catch up with her at Silverstone? You know, maybe grab a coffee or something?” he teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

George sighed, already feeling his face heat up. “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. Not like I’ve got anything planned, right?” He tried to sound casual, but the excitement was bubbling under the surface. His mind was racing, replaying every word you’d just said, every glance, every moment of the conversation. 

“You two were practically flirting. “Alex said with a smirk, glancing at George from the corner of his eye

“Alex” George groaned, but he couldn’t stop the grin that crept onto his face “Just - let it go” 

Lando clapped George on the back “Nah, mate. It’s all good. You know you’re gonna be walking around Silverstone looking for her now.” 

======

The next week crept by, but before you knew it, you had just arrived at Silverstone. There was a palatable energy in the air, something that only equaled the moments before you stepped on stage. 

You walked through the narrow corridor between team garages, your eyes caught the branded uniforms of mechanics and engineers as they hustled to make final adjustments. The smell of fresh tire rubber mixed with the sharp scent of fuel made your pulse quicken. It was a whole new world, one you could only ever dream of getting a glimpse into. 

As you made your way to the Mercedes garage, you passed some familiar faces, including Lando and Alex, who waved at you with smiles. You smiled  and waved back, feeling a little less like an outsider there, a little more at home. You had spent time in the McLaren’s and Williams’ garages before, but today, you were headed to Mercedes. 

Lando caught up with you as you slowed your pace. “I was wondering if you were actually gonna show up” he joked with a grin 

“Yeah, I’ve just been getting my bearings. It’s always a little overwhelming first coming in” you admitted, taking in the busy paddock around you.

Alex, who had been with Lando, nodded in agreement. “It’s a lot to take in at first. You’ll get used to it.” His gaze flickered over your shoulder, a mischievous gleam in your eye “But you’re in for a treat. Wait until you see the cars on track” 

The chatter around you died down as you bid the drivers goodbye and good luck before stepping into the Mercedes garage. You immediately recognized some of the team members, their sharp focus evident as they worked. The garage itself felt like a well-oiled machine - every mechanic, every engineer, every piece of equipment working in perfect harmony toward one goal. It was like watching a live performance of a different kind. No stage, but the stakes are just as high. 

Your heart raced as you moved deeper into the space, finally spotting George near one of the cars. He was talking to an engineer, his hands gesturing as he made a point, his focus unwavering. Even in the middle of all the technical chaos, he seemed entirely calm, as if this was where he belonged. His helmet was resting on the table in front of him, and he was clad in his Mercedes team gear - sweat beading on his forehead from the heat of the garage, but there was a kind of coolness about him. 

He glanced up, his eyes immediately locking with yours. A brief flash of recognition passed over his features before his face broke into a smile, making your heart skip a few more beats than it should’ve. 

“Hey” he said, walking towards you, his steps purposeful but easy. “Glad you could make it. How’s everything going so far?” 

Your lips parted into a smile as you spoke “It’s been unreal. You said last week that Silverstone was on another level, it’s insane.” 

George nodded, his hands slipping into his pockets “I know exactly what you mean. It’s all part of the thrill though. The preparation, the team effort, the moments before you get in the car and the moment you step out of it. That's why I do this.” 

You couldn’t help but admire how passionate he was about it. It was the same kind of passion you felt for your own craft, but this was on a whole different scale. His eyes shined with an unmistaken fire, that made him seem so much more than just a racecar driver. 

For a moment, it felt like the madness of the paddock had paused. There was just you and George, sharing a quiet understanding. Then, the moment was broken by the sound of an engine firing up, the roar of a nearby car cutting through the air, and George’s eyes flickered to the noise. 

“Looks like that’s my cue,” he said, a little regret in his voice, though he smiled “I’ve got to head out for the last few checks before practice. But I’ll catch you later, yeah?” 

You nodded, your heart unexpectedly heavy. “Yeah, I’ll be around. Good luck out there George. I’m sure you’ll do great.” 

He gave you a quick wink and a thumbs up before heading toward the wall of computers on the side of the garage, and as you watched him go, you felt a rush of something - maybe admiration, maybe curiosity. 

======

 The day had been a whirlwind - so much to take in, so many new faces, and so much buzzing energy in the paddock. Most of your time was spent in Mercedes, watching the drivers as they sped on track, but took some time to wander the area, meeting with fans as you did so. It had been everything you hoped for, but there was one thing that had stuck in your head throughout the day. One person. 

George. 

You hadn’t expected to feel this drawn to him. Maybe it was the way he spoke to you like a normal person, or how passionate he was about racing, or the way his smile seemed to cut through the chaos. He was a racer, yes - but there was a depth to him that made you think there was so much more than what the cameras saw. 

As the day drew to a close, and the buzz of the paddock began to quiet, you found yourself in Mercedes hospitality. Your mind was still in awe of everything that you’ve seen. And then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted him. 

George was walking toward you, having traded his race suit for team gear. He looked tired, but there was something about the way he moved that told you he was never truly off the clock. 

He approached, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. There was a pause, as if the noise had all faded away, leaving just the two of you in the quiet. 

“Hey” he said, offering a smile that made your stomach flip. “I was looking for you earlier. Hope the practices were fun.” 

You smiled back, trying to ignore how your heart was suddenly beating a little bit faster. “It’s been incredible. Honestly exceeded all of my expectations.” 

“That’s good to hear,” he said, his eyes wandering out to the track below. Then, after a beat, he turned to face you again. His eyes locked with yours, a slight hesitation in his movements before he spoke again, as if he was weighing his words carefully. 

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask you…” his voice softened, and you could hear the slight edge of nerves creeping in - something you weren’t expecting from him. 

Your heart gave a little jolt at his words, that nervous edge in his voice making everything feel a little more real. He hesitated for a moment, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes flicking between you and the track as if he was gathering his thoughts. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you…” he repeated, drawing out the words as if they were a weight he had to work up to. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a half-step closer to you. “Since you’re sticking around for a few days, and, you know, it’s not often I get to ask… I was wondering if maybe… you’d want to grab dinner?” 

Your pulse quickened. You hadn’t expected him to ask you out - certainly not like this. Not so casually, with that slight edge of hesitation. But there it was, clear as day. 

You found yourself smiling before you even realized it. “I’d like that” you said, your voice feeling steady despite the rush of excitement. 

His face lit up with a grin you’d seen earlier - a little crooked, but so full of warmth. “Yeah? I wasn’t sure if I was being too forward…”

“Not at all” you reassured “I’m kind of relieved, to be honest.” You let out a small laugh, feeling a little less nervous now that he seemed equally uncertain. 

“Relieved?” he raised an eyebrow, a playful note returning to his voice

“Yeah, I didn’t know if you were just being polite or if you really wanted to spend time together” you admitted, suddenly a little shy under his gaze “But it sounds like you really meant it.” 

“I did” he said, his voice soft again, his expression more sincere now ‘I’ve wanted to ask you out since the first time I saw you at the concert. I just didn’t know if you’d be into it. I just didn’t want to make a fool of myself” 

You couldn’t help but to feel a swell of warmth at his honesty. There was something about the way he was laying it all out - no masks, no guard up - that made you like him even more.

“Well,” you said, taking a step closer and giving him a teasing smile, “you’re not a fool, George. I’m definitely interested” 

His grin widened, and there was a twinkle in his eyes that made your heart flutter just a little. “I’ll take that as a win then” he replied, his tone light but with an underlying sincerity “Alright, so… dinner after all this? I’ll be finished by eight?” 

“Perfect, I’ll be there” you replied, your stomach fluttering as you spoke, the anticipation filling the air. 

======

The relationship had blossomed into something you hadn’t expected, a mix of racing circuits and late-night songwriting sessions. With every date, every stolen moment, you felt a connection that went deeper than you could have imagined. George was everything you’d hoped for and more - kind, thoughtful, and passionate. You two balanced each other out, like two pieces of a puzzle. 

You’d always used music as an outlet, a way to process your emotions, your thoughts, your life. Fans always said your music was like a peek into your diary, so it wasn’t long until George found his way into your songs, though you were sure not to make it too obvious. You’d learned to weave little details into your lyrics - the way his eyes lit up, his passions, his love for the quiet moments with you.

George was sprawled on the couch, his legs hanging off the edge as he absently flipped through a magazine. The soft strum of your guitar filled the space between you two, the notes gentle but steady, like a heartbeat. You weren’t playing anything in particular - just letting your fingers wander across the strings as your mind drifted. 

You looked up at him, your fingers pausing on the strings as you met his gaze. His eyes were warm, those quiet depths that always seemed to be watching you with such focus, like he was trying to understand every part of you, even parts you hadn’t figured out yet. 

“You know” you began, your voice soft, but with that undercurrent of thoughtfulness you had come to expect from these late-night moments, “I wrote a song today”

“About me?” he raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued 

“Maybe…” you trailed off, biting your lip as you returned your gaze to the guitar, strumming a few notes absentmindedly 

“Yeah?” his voice had that playful edge, but there was something deeper in there too, like he knew what you meant. “Let me hear it” 

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you wanted to share it just yet, but then you’d remembered how he’d always support your music, how he’d never made you feel like you had to explain yourself. Slowly, you played the opening chords, the melody coming together easily, flowing out like it had been waiting for the right moment.

The lyrics were simple, but meaningful. You’d written about finding someone who felt like home, even in the midst of a fast-paced, unpredictable world. About how, amongst the chaos and drama that both of your lives brought, you found someone who made it all fade into the background. 

When you finished, the room was still. George didn’t say anything and for a long moment, his expression thoughtful as he let the words settle between you two. 

“That’s… that’s really beautiful.” he finally said, his voice low, and for a second, you weren’t sure if he was talking about the song or about what it represented “Are you planning on releasing it?” 

“I mean, if that’s okay with you?” you asked

George’s eyes softened, and for a second, he just watched you, taking in the vulnerability in your question. The way you hesitated, as if unsure how much of yourself you were willing to share. It wasn’t lost on him. He knew how personal your music was to you, how every song was like a little piece of your soul, laid bare for the world to hear. 

He didn’t hesitate long before answering, his voice steady but filled with that quiet sincerity you’d come to adore. 

“Of course,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours “If that’s what you want. I trust you.” 

A wave of relief washed over you, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The idea of sharing something so intimate, especially something that felt so much like him, was scary. But George was different. 

You smiled, a soft, genuine smile that reached to your eyes “Thanks” you murmured, feeling the weight of his trust settle between you two. 

“Do you ever think of going public?” 

The question caught you off guard. You had been lost in the quiet, comforting silence of his trust, and now, just like that, he was pulling you back into a reality you hadn’t fully faced. The thought of going public - of letting everyone know about the two of you - was daunting. You had always been protective of your private life, and this felt like a whole new level of vulnerability. 

The question hung in the air, but there was no pressure in George’s gaze. It was clear he was leaving the decision up to you, giving you the space to think it through. 

“I don’t know.” You shook your head slightly, the uncertainty creeping in. “I guess I’ve always been protective of the things that matter most. When I have let the world in, they’ve torn it to shreds” 

George’s expression softened. He nodded, a small, understanding smile forming on his lips “I get that. I do.” His voice was steady, and there was an honesty in the way he spoke, as if he had been thinking about this too. “I guess what I’m asking is do we want to go public? Not just the world, but us?” 

“I guess that’s the question, isn’t it?” you said “Is it worth the risk?” 

“I think it is” George said without hesitation. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering. “Because whatever happens, we have something real. I’d rather go public with you than keep pretending that we don’t exist. But only if you’re ready, and if you want that too.” 

You felt a lump form in your throat at his words. He was right. What you had was real. It wasn’t a fleeting romance or something built on a facade. It was a connection you both had worked for, nurtured, and built in a world that often didn’t leave space for things like that. 

“I think we should do it when the moment feels right.” you finally answered “We shouldn’t plan anything. Almost a spur of the moment, when you know you know instance.” 

That moment came a few weeks later. The song had been released the weekend prior, and the buzz around it hit hard, like a wave, sweeping through social media and radio stations. Fans were left decoding the lyrics, trying to find who the muse was. The lyrics weren’t directly about George, but anyone who listened closely could see the thread of a connection, a quiet love that couldn’t be ignored. 

But amidst all the attention, you and George remained under the radar. You both carried on, your lives unfolding between race tracks, concerts, late night phone calls, and stolen moments that felt both intensely private and fiercely treasured. 

You were a guest on a radio show when you were finally confronted about the song. Most of the conversation was focused on your upcoming album, sharing tidbits behind the new songs and how your sound had changed over the years. But you knew deep down that the question was coming. It was only a matter of time. 

“So, there’s been a lot of buzz around your new song, ‘Call It What You Want’. Fans are already digging into the lyrics, trying to figure out who the song is really about. Care to share any insight?” 

There was a slight shift in the air, the pressure rising slightly. You glanced at the host, trying to maintain a calm demeanor. “Honestly, the song is more about a feeling than it is a specific person. It’s about finding someone who feels like home, someone who makes everything else fade into the background when you’re with them” You let the words linger, hoping they were vague enough to redirect the conversation. 

But the host wasn’t satisfied. She leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “Right, but you’ve been pretty open about your private life in your music before. And let’s be honest, we’ve all heard rumors. Is there anyone in particular?” 

The moment arrived. You could keep dancing around it, stay guarded, and continue to play the game, but something inside you pushed back against that instinct. 

You thought about George. About your relationship. A relationship formed in the shadows, not because you were ashamed, but because you both needed space to grow. You had needed time to see if what you had was something that could withstand the outside world. And now, it felt right. It was now about embracing what you had, regardless of the consequences. 

“I guess it's no secret that the song is inspired by someone in my life. I’ve been seeing him for a while now, and he’s definitely had an impact on the way I’ve been feeling lately.” 

The host’s smile widened, sensing the shift in the room. “Anyone we might know?” 

Your gaze softened, and you gave the slightest nod. “Yeah” you said quietly, your voice carrying the weight of the truth “It’s George Russell.” 

The host’s eyes widened, but she quickly masked her excitement with a professional grin. “Well, that’s a big revelation! George Russell, Formula 1 driver and now your muse. I think the world will have a lot to say about this.”

You chuckled softly, “Yeah, probably” 

Little did you know, across the world, George had the exact same pressure. It was media day in Singapore, and he was stuck in the media pen, surrounded by microphones and cameras. All of them were focused on him as he answered questions about his performance, the race ahead, and of course, the usual speculations about his personal life. But today felt different. There was a certain tension in the air that George couldn’t quite shake off. His mind kept drifting back to the interview you had done a few hours ago, and the confession you had made to the world.

“So George,” the reporter began, leaning in a little “We’ve heard there’s a new song out that’s got some pretty… intimate lyrics. Any comment?” 

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck “Yeah, that’s true. I’m very proud of her. She’s an amazing artist. It’s funny, because when she writes, it’s like she captures all the things I didn’t know how to say. The song… Call It What You Want… it’s definitely got me in it, but I think she’s explained how she feels about it.” 

“So it’s about you?” 

George shrugged, his grin a little shy, but playful “I think it’s more about us, the journey. We’re both in fast paced worlds, but managed to slow down and figure things out.” 

The reporter raised an eyebrow, “And you’re okay with that? Your relationship being a part of her music?” 

The grin broke into a full smile. “I think it’s beautiful, actually. I mean, it’s her art, her expression. And if I get to be a part of it, well, I think I’m lucky” 

You watched his interview the morning after, as you had long gone to bed when it was posted. But hearing him speak about your music like that made your heart swell with pride. It was one thing to write the songs, to pour your heart into them, but hearing George - your George - speak so openly about them, and about you, made it feel like it was all worth it.

[koalemosz]

thing is if leo wasn't the type of person he was to make this questionable decision I wouldn't love him so much. like he's not chosen any European club bc he loves Barca too much, u could see psg was just for wc training and at the end of the day he's a father & husband who wants what's best for his kids and not to ferry them around everywhere and that's what I love about him. he sacrificed himself so Barca players wouldn't be sold, he is finishing his European on top of the world and I'll always support him

[imaginaryf1shots]

Married? | Oscar Piastri

WC: 2.1K

Oscar x Wife!Reader

Summery: He never met to hide it, it's just the way he is.

Warning: none

Masterlist

Oscar Masterlist

It was always a known thing, there was never any doubt in anyone that knew him, Oscar has always been destined to be an F1 driver. It was written. Anyone that knows him knows this. And you've known him almost all your life. Before he went to Europe and before he started travelling around for Karting and racing in the Formula series. It seems like there was never a point in your life where Oscar wasn't in it. What started as playground friendship turned to crushing on each other, turned to liking each other and then turned into a relationship. Not high school sweethearts, more like six grade sweethearts. No one expected your relationship to last due to you being so young, and still growing up and developing. Yet, the distance only made you grow fonder of each other. Your relationship survived him moving to the UK for school and racing, it survived the time difference and all the growing up you had to do. Video calls are your thing, you're the kind of people to have it on for hours doing mundane things not necessarily talking but just having the feeling that the other was there.

Now when you became 18, the next step wasn't surprising to those around you. You and Oscar talked about it for so long, you finished school already, so what was stopping you? Nothing. With the help of your parents you both got married, and so you relocated to the UK with Oscar. 

You went to Uni and he was off racing. Coming home to you was always the highlight of the day for Oscar, he'd leave his bags by the door and search for you in the apartment before he'd just all but throw himself at you just wanting some love and attention.

You'd be sitting on the sofa folding some laundry, the TV playing, the door would open and close and you would be none the wiser. Oscar would follow the sound of the TV finding you engrossed in the show that's playing, your hands moving on their own as you fold his shirt. Oscar would move to the sofa and you'd gasp in surprise, finally noticing him before he threw himself on the sofa, his head in your lap, his face hiding in your stomach.

"God, Osc, you scared me." You'd say but smile nonetheless, Oscar would mumble a 'sorry' and you'd barely understand it. Your hands go to his hair and you run your fingers through his locks, scratching ever so slightly. Oscar would groan and you lean down to kiss his head. "How was the flight?"

"Long." You hum and just let him have his time getting what he needs. Now it's not often that he'd fall asleep like that, but the flight was long and he didn't get any sleep, he doesn't remember when it happened, but he falls asleep. You'd stay like that for an hour or two, the TV still playing but the sound is lower until he'd wake up. Once he starts waking up, he starts moving around, he moves to his back and slowly opens his eyes, blinking up at you.

"Hey sleepyhead."

"Hey, I didn't realise I slept."

"Yeah, didn't even give me a hello kiss or anything." You teased him, Oscar sleepily sits up and places a hand on your cheek before he presses his lips to yours, once, twice, three times before deepens it. You sigh in content. Happy to have him in your arms after almost a week.

Oscar didn't mean to hide it, he just didn't wear his ring, he lost it twice at races and since then he only wore it when he's not on a racing week. He's also not very talkative, he doesn't find himself sharing things about himself willingly, but if you ask he'll answer, you just have to prompt him. Maybe it was because he was a rookie, or because there was many things happening, but no one realised he was seeing someone in 2023, you've been to races, you didn't really like the limelight, not while you're still studying at least, so you'd go into the paddock alone, but you'd still be a guest of McLaren. Some people just assumed you're a family member (which is correct, but not how they thought) or just a close friend.

All of that came to an end when you finally finished Uni, and were free to travel more, and coming into the paddock with Oscar wasn't such a scary thing anymore. It all came with the fact that you got a new ring for Oscar and kind of 'proposed' to him with it in your living room, Oscar decided to try wearing his ring, he wouldn't have to take it off anyways. It's his wedding ring, and according to the rules he could keep it on.

It was a Grand Prix weekend, Oscar's family flew out for the race. You walked in with them, Nicole was by your side, a couple photographers took photos, manly because they're Oscar's family, not that they know about you. Getting into McLaren, someone tells Oscar that you're all here, you were back in Australia for 2 weeks, while he was at the factory working, it's more than you both had gotten used to in recent years. Oscar comes in and he ignores his family heading straight to you, you smile up at him and he leans in, giving you a hug and a quick kiss.

"Glad to know, you missed us." Nicole teased Oscar, and he went to hug her. She's always happy seeing how still in love you both are, it warms her heart. Her son is in a happy marriage while achieving his dream away from her. Oscar stands with you all as much as he could before he had to go back to work. You all made it to the hospitality.

"I heard Oscar's family is here." Lando walks in at one point, with a smile on his face, he greets everyone, stopping at you, seeing no similarities between you and Oscar. "I know I saw you before, but I don't know who you are."

"It's alright, I'm Oscar's w-."

"Girlfriend?" Lando cuts you off with a smile. "I knew he's in a relationship but he hasn't introduced you."

"No, I'm not-"

"Oh, are you not his girlfriend? I'm sorry."

"It's not tha-"

"I just want to meet his girlfriend, he never talks about anything unless you ask him and-"

"Lando, I'm his-"

"He seems like he's in a relationship, at least that's what I understood from him."

"I'm his wife."

"But I could be wrong and this is all a- wait... what?" Lando stops once he realises what you said, his eyes are wide while you just smile at him.

"I'm his wife." You say again, and his sisters all just giggle to themselves, finding it all very amusing. Lando looks at Nicole and Chris, as if he's waiting for them to say something, to say it's a joke, to deny it, anything.

"I told Oscar to just come out and say he's married." Nicole said shaking her head slightly, this is about to come out, and she knows Oscar will once again turn the internet on it's head.

"he's-you're-and." Lando looks to have malfunctioned. "I need a moment to come to terms with this."

Lando walks away in a daze, it leaves you all amused. You text Oscar telling him what happened with Lando.

Oscar didn't read your message, Lando walked in on him and his engineer while they were in a meeting.

"You-you- you have a wife?" Lando asked, and Oscar's gaze turned from confused to amused really quickly.

"Yeah." Oscar answered simply.

"What?" It was Tom's turn to be surprised.

"I'm married." Oscar held out his left hand showing his ring.

"I thought that was a family heirloom or something." Lando was exasperated.

"No, I lost one or two rings, so y/n, bought me a new one recently." Oscar explained.

"y/n? the girl you bring with you to races from time to time?" Tom asked remembering you, he saw you a few times, but there was never a sign that you're dating Oscar, never mind married to him.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"It just never came up." Oscar shrugged, leaving both men flabbergasted, astonished by the realisation.

"You're one of a kind, Oscar, seriously." Tom shook his head and sighed. "We have to get back to our meeting, this will have to wait."

It didn't take long for the news to travel, those that were in the hospitality and saw the whole thing go down with Lando went on and spread the news around. And Lando asked a few people if they knew, apparently only Zac knew, he thought Oscar wanted to keep it a secret so he said nothing.

The news took a while before it reached Williams.

"Mate, did you know Oscar is married?" Alex asked Logan, Logan frowned and looked up.

"Yeah." Logan answered as if it was a stupid question.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought it was a known thing, I don't know." Logan shrugged. "He's been married since he was 18."

"18!" This was an even bigger shock to the Williams driver.

"Yeah, the moment y/n turned 18, they got married."

"Wow."

And thus the news once again spread, this time the other way around, all the way back to McLaren.

By the time of the driver's parade almost everyone knew that the youngest member on track was married. Oscar was the last on the back of the truck/car thing. All eyes on the Aussie.

"What's... going on?" He asked as he moved down to an empty spot.

"Are you really married?" Charles asked.

"Yeah." It seemed like this was Oscar's favourite answer.

"So I have a daughter in law?" Charles asked and Oscar laughed before nodding. "Wow, they grow up so fast nowadays."

"And you've been married since you were 18?" Max was the one to ask, he's as curious as everyone.

"Yes, the month she turned 18, we got married, and she moved to the UK." Oscar informed them. "And before you ask, I knew her since we were like 5, and have been together since we were 10-11."

"That's crazy." George said to Alex next to him.

By the time the race was underway, a few cameras made it to the McLaren garage for a sight of you. As Oscar was leading the race, the camera flashed to you, with your name and Oscar Piastri's partner under it. The ones watching from home were left confused, but not for long. Oscar won his second race of his Formula 1 career in his 2nd season.

You made it to Parc Ferme, with his parents, his sisters opting to stay in the garage and not get squished. Oscar was the last of the top to make it back, he went to his team before he went straight to you, as always leaving his parents to be hugged after you.

"Congratulations, my love." You tell him, and he squeezes you tighter, the helmet is in the way, but you still kiss the side of it. Oscar then moves to his parents before he goes to get weighed and interviewed by Nico Rosburg.

"-and before we let you go, and not to take away from your win, I have to ask." Nico said and Oscar smiled, he knew what was about to be asked. "Set the records straight, are you married?"

"Yes, have been since I was 18." Oscar said and looked your way, and the camera panned to you, as you stood between his parents smiling with love and adoration for your husband.

"Well, it might be late, but congratulations." Nico said and patted his back, before Oscar made it to the cool-down room.

Cameras snapped a lot of pictures of you, as they waited for the podiums to start. It was obvious how familiar you are with Oscar's parents, and how they treated you like one of their daughters. The interaction was just filled with love and care. This has been going on for years, there's no denying it.

"I didn't know it would be such big news." You said that night, as you and Oscar cuddled on the Sofa, having a quiet moment in the hotel with his family.

"I knew." Nicole said.

"I did too." Chris said.

"Me too." Hattie said.

"Of course it would."

"Obviously."

"Noted." You said and Oscar smiled, kissing the side of your head. "Now everyone knows you have a wife."

"And everyone from your university knows you have a husband."

"You two are still as awful as ever." Hattie said and rolled her eyes teasingly.

"You should've been used to it by now." Nicole said and smiled at her family.

Main Taglist

@gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3 . @xoscar03 . @schniti-is-in-the-house . @lottalove4evelyn . @eywas-heir . @glow-ish . 

[hunterrrs]

another sidnate love fest on SC ("he could be 50 and i'd still slide over" - said by man who fucked that old man) (plus he loves mitchy SO MUCH and wants to do a timmies commercial with him, sid and marchy causing Trouble)

Q: I was actually gonna ask you, now that you’re the reigning MVP, you used to have to go over to Sid’s gym all summer long. It was the older one, you spent all this money for the new upgraded one. Now that you’re the MVP does he have to come train with you? How does that work?

A: No, no, it doesn’t work like that *laughs* (You’re still getting bullied?) Oh yeah. Still going to his gym. All good. He’s 20 years in the league, so… Yeah. I train with Batheson so I make him come to my gym. He makes me feel better about myself, so… that’s what I do.

Q: What did you say to Sid when he took 8.7, did you know that was coming?

A: Yeah, I mean *laughs* I remember, like, in July I was like, man, you’re not gonna sing for 8.7. Like c’mon. He’s like, ah, I don’t know, we’ll see. It’s so cool though, the legacy he’s leaving. How much money is left on the table and his desire to still win. He’s still taking less to try and get somebody else this year and next year.

Q: As somebody who’s always looked up to him, he’s 37 now, he’s still doing it. That’s gotta not only amaze you but also kinda inspire you a little bit. Does that surprise you that he’s still doing it or not at all, knowing him?

A: Man, you should see this guy in the summer. My workouts are like a joke. The recovery summers I do, and he is just grinding. He just grinds. He loves it, I think. I think it’s also awesome, not that he wouldn’t be motivated having this Four Nations thing, and then the Olympics. So no matter what happens, he’s got two things to look forward to and be dialled in for and I think being the captain of Canada, I can’t imagine the pressure to be at your best. He’s ready. He looks amazing, All the guys on the ice, it’s amazing he’s 37. He doesn’t look 37.  (Because he doesn’t have kids!) *laughs* Must be the key.

Q: Did you actually have a cereal released in 2021 called MacKinnon Crunch?

A: I did. Frosted flakes. I picked the flavour though, I liked that. (Was that right before you got your deal with Tim Hortons, became a server at their restaurant?) That was 2015. (Do they have you do that same thing every summer?) We haven’t done that since then. We’ve always wanted to do one where we get Marchy in there just because we’re Nova Scotians, and he’s being a rat and messing up people’s orders, and we gotta like sit him down and tell him what to do. They haven’t done that yet. Marchy needs to be nicer on the ice to be more marketable.

Q: Would that be your dream line for the Four Nations? Yourself, Sid and Marchand?

A: That would be cool. (You’d play the wing?) Oh yeah. Yeah, I’m ready for the wing. Definitely. McDavid, Sid, one-two punch. And then everyone kinda figures it out. (In a room like that you’d essentially delegate to McDavid?) You’re not putting McDavid on the wing, that’s crazy! I don’t mind right wing, I’ve played wing, I’m comfortable there and I don’t know if those two have ever played wing. I’m sure they could easily figure it out. They’re two of the smartest players ever. But I think to have those two guys a one-two punch and then if I’m third line centre that’s cool, if I’m playing on McDavid’s right.

Should I tell Sid to go to the wing, do you think? (“I’ve been working at your gym all these years. I’m the Ted Lindsay winner and the MVP. I gotta get something out of this relationship.”) Yeah, I think he could be 50 and I’d still slide over. No problem. Being on a Nova Scotia line it would be really cool. I think we’d work well together too. The way Marchy plays he’s just gonna muck, forecheck, and then Sid’s Sid, and I can try to push the pace.

Q: You said you went to Europe this summer…

A: It’s just relaxing. Just get off the grid. I was definitely tempted to go to Worlds last year. Sid was bugging me and Schenner bout it. (Saying what, if you go, I’ll go?) Yeah. So we were all gonna go, but then I was just like man, I just played 105 games, just lost to Dallas. At this point I feel like I’m all in or it’s hard to go over there and like (Skate around and giggle.) It’s just tough.

Q: You skated in the summer with Marner, how’s he looking?

A: He looks awesome. You hear stuff that’s always negative, a lot of the time it’s negative and then you get on the ice with him and you’re like, how can anyone ever be negative about this? That’s why I think for me, I just admire how good he is because people chirp him a lot. Up in Vail he was sick. Him and McDavid were flying around together. It was so fun to watch.

Also, beloved health freak <3

I used to like going to Popeye’s Supplements as a kid with my dad and looking at protein powder and stuff. I don’t know. I’m just into it.

Q: We heard so much about you policing the food in the locker room. Are you still doing that? Are you still going on there, like no sugars, no sweets. Whit said you strangled Lehkonen because he ate a Snickers bar or something. Is that true?

A: Nawww, stop it. That’s not true *laughs* I’m trying to mellow a little bit for sure. I definitely see some shit and I get mad but I try to keep it to myself. I don’t know, you eat what you want but I just think when you’re at the rink, we’re the NHL, you’re a pro athlete, I think it should be healthy and good food. I just think the least you can do as a pro athlete is be in good shape.

[writingpastmybedtime]

Mine

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Bucky and Reader have to pretend to be husband and wife on a mission, even though they do not get along at all. Your classic enemies-to-lovers trope.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: none, although Bucky is hot as always.

A/N: Let me know, if you want a pt 2 to this ;)

You should have known better, really. Wearing a short black, curve-hugging, dress wasn’t going to go unnoticed by the Super Soldier whose gaze you wished to avoid.

Bucky and you had been tedious to each other for most of the time spent at the compound. It was common knowledge for the team that you two weren’t supposed to be on the same mission together. Unless they wished to witness your back-to-back nagging. Which, they did not.

That changed, however, when Natasha fell sick and you had to replace her on a mission pretending to be the wife of a Russian mobster, Ivan Sarkovich aka James Buchanan Barnes undercover. 

Needless to say, you did not go on this mission without letting out a fight. Tony shut you up quite quickly, reminding you of the innocent lives that would be harmed if you did not fall through with this mission. There was no one else to take Natasha’s place, but you. You sighed, before begrudgingly agreeing.  

So here you were, at a lavish Balkan hotel somewhere in Eastern Europe with the most exhausting and tiresome being to ever exist - Bucky Barnes. The bane of your existence. The man, with the most gorgeous blue eyes, the body of a Greek God on steroids, and hands you wish would do the dirtiest things to you. 

No one knew you had these kinds of thoughts and feelings towards the ex-Winter Soldier, however, it wasn't hard to hide them whenever he acted like a total ass towards you. You had put up a façade to everyone, not letting out your true feelings. Not when he couldn’t even be in the same room as you without snickering a rude remark.

Had he ever not acted indifferent towards you, perhaps you would not be in this predicament you were in right now.

Fortunately enough, Bucky had already gone downstairs to play poker with the people who you were investigating. 

Ruslan Nikolaevich was a Russian man, behind a drug cartel that had been shipping new kinds of supplements in New York, mainly appealing to teens and young adults. They sold it under the premise of protein, however, it was nothing similar of the sort, except for the look of it. 

You and Bucky had to gain information about the next possible drop-off - the location, the recipient, and the lot. You were supposed to join your dear husband downstairs in five minutes, playing the ever-clingy happy, and satisfied wife.

Smoothing down your dress and taking a last-minute look in the mirror, you deemed yourself good to go. Perhaps your dress was a bit much, but without a second thought, you left the safety of your hotel room. 

Walking towards the men sitting at the poker table, you held your chin high and only looked at Bucky. He was wearing an all-black suit, the one that you thought fit him the best. The one that you wished he would wear when he’d do the most dirty things to you. 

Bucky looked up from the table, as if hearing your thoughts, and his eyes fell on yours. A smirk graced his lips as you neared and he patted his lap, an indication for you to take a seat. 

It was totally normal and mostly expected of the Russian mobsters to have their wives and eye candies sitting on their lap - a way to show off. So, as expected of you, you took a seat. Right on Bucky’s deliciously firm thighs. 

“I thought you wouldn’t come, with how long you took,” Bucky nuzzled into your neck, making a shiver go down your spine. You smirked, placing a seductive hand on his jaw, playing with the slight stubble there. 

“What kind of a wife would I be, if I did not show up to support my perfect husband?” You raised an eyebrow and Bucky chuckled darkly, before placing his lips on your temple and focusing his gaze back on the game. 

“I wish my Maria would still look at me the same way your девушка looks at you,” a man with a thick Russian accent said, looking over at you with a longing gaze that made Bucky place his vibranium arm over your waist as if to pull you closer to him and protect against the Russians that eyed you in a way that made his blood boil. 

Bucky chuckled, to not let on, that he was disturbed by Maksim’s looks. 

“If you’re willing, you could also share your сладостью with the others,” Maksim was eyeing you up and down, and you were now second-guessing your dress choice.

“Gentlemen,” Bucky chuckled darkly, before throwing his cards on the table. “I’m afraid this sweet thing is not for share, for I have intended her all for myself tonight.” 

The men at the table groaned but still looked at you with lust-filled eyes, a certain jealousy towards Bucky Barnes, no, Ivan Sarkovich. 

“I think it’s time we took our leave, my девушка seems to be getting tired of our manly chit-chat and boyish games.” With a nudge to your waist, you feigned a believable yawn and clung to Bucky, playing the ever-attaching wife. Bucky wished good night to the gentlemen at the table, before guiding you towards an elevator.

When the elevator doors closed and you could finally take a breath, letting go of the fake act, Bucky stepped in front of you with a hard look. 

“Are you out of your mind to wear a dress like this in front of them?” 

You looked down at your dress, picking invisible lint off of it. 

“Do you have any idea, what kind of a position you put me in? The things they whispered,” he took a deep breath, closing his eyes, as if to calm himself. You did not understand the Russian language the way he did. Which also meant that you had no idea what kind of vulgar things they had said about you. 

You saw his hands shake on the railing on the wall, that he’d gripped, his knuckles turning white on his right hand with how hard he was gripping it. 

“Fuck, doll-” he looked at you then, his baby blue eyes a shade darker, before he suddenly gripped your jaw and made you look up at him. “You only belong to-” He was cut off by the elevator doors opening and he nonchalantly let go of you, walking off to your shared hotel suit.

You followed him, still ashamed and, confusingly enough, a little bit turned on by his demeanor. He’d never acted this way before. And what was he almost about to say?

As you shut the door of the suit, you immediately felt his breath on your neck. A gentle, but rough hand moved strands of your hair off your shoulder, before chuckling deeply. 

Bucky placed his forehead in the crook of your neck, before letting out a deep breath. His hands then found their way to your waist, pulling you closer to himself. 

“Y/N, do you have any idea, what you do to me?” You felt his lips move on your skin, which made you shudder and the most obscene thoughts filled your head. He whispered your name again.

“If I had known any better, I’d think you got jealous when poor old Maksim made that suggestive comment,” you finally whispered, your forehead resting on the door. Bucky pressed himself closer to you, leaving you sandwiched between him and the brown wooden suite.

“Only I can make comments like that about you. No one else.” He kissed the side of your neck, your head automatically falling on his shoulder. It was as if you had no control over your body; you only moved on his accord.

“You’re mine.”

[racinggirl]

promise

Lando Norris Fic - requested

My inbox for requests

a/n: Oh my godness I'm back y'all! It's been so long! It's the first request of hopefully many to come. So far my inbox is empty again, so don't hold back to send in some requests, one, or more. You can even send some anonymously! I hope you will like this story, and keep reading to find some little extra's I added, because I loved making AU's as well. Let me know your thoughts, tips, tops, anything really. It keeps me motivated to write more, so any form of feedback is very welcomed! Now, sit back, relax, and enjoy this fic 🧡

‘’Promise.’’ You linked your pinkie finger with the 5-year-old curly haired boy, giggling as the both of you were running around the playground, hiding from his mother.

‘’Come on, I’m nearly 25 already! I can easily go on vacation on my own!’’ You had always wanted to go on a road trip, preferably with a partner on your side, but that hadn’t been the case yet. So, you decided to go alone, because why not? You were old enough to look out for yourself, even though your parents weren’t too keen on the idea of their daughter traveling around Europe on her own.

‘’The world has changed, Y/N, it’s not safe to go on your own.’’

‘’But-…’’

‘’No, you’re not going on your own, end of story.’’

You groaned at your parents’ reaction and went to your room, frustrated, upset, but somehow you got their point. They weren’t wrong, the world had changed, and wasn’t that innocent anymore. Wherever you were watching the news, reports about murder, drunken drivers, kidnappers, it was all out there.

‘There’re more crazy people out in the world than there are behind bars’ was something your father would say, and he wasn’t wrong.

However, you wished you would have been able to do what that curly haired boy did. Sometimes you were jealous of him, jealous of how he travelled all around the world, going from one country to another, flying from Finland to Australia to Bali and back to his new home, Monaco.

Him and you met when you were karting in Bristol, the both of you loving the sport more than ever. However, karting wasn’t a girl’s sport, at least not to the world at that age. That’s why you moved on from it, where he pursued his dream career, you were only there to cheer from the side lines.

You hated learning, studying, it’s something you never were good at, or at least, not in school. Whenever you saw the data on the karting track, you’d spent hours trying to understand every piece of data that was coming through.

You begged your parents to let you go to engineering school, university. They didn’t want you to, it wasn’t a ‘girl’s thing’ to do, but after you refused to do anything else, they eventually agreed on letting you go to engineering school.

4 years later, and you had your engineering degree. You couldn’t be happier, because right now it meant you might do something you’d actually enjoy. Even if it wasn’t a ‘girl’s thing’ to do, you loved it.

‘’Hey’’ you smiled as you brought the phone close to your ear, lying in bed as you checked the time.

‘’Hey, did you see?’’

‘’Oh yeah, I did.’’ You laughed, looking up at the ceiling. ‘’You were flying! Pole position baby!’’ You giggled, smiling even harder when you heard him on the other side, repeating the final three words of your sentence.

‘’You still have to come for a race someday, you know?’’ His deep voice was ringing through your ears, and it immediately made your chest feel warm, it always did, he always did.

‘’Mhm.. I know, and I will, when my parents finally let me.’’ You sighed, playing with the ropes of your hoodie.

‘’You’re almost 25, when will they ever let you do your own things?’’

‘’I don’t know,’’ you sighed heavily, ‘’when I’m 40?’’

The sound of his laugh made you sit up straight, your cheeks turning a light shade of pink as you heard his laughter.

‘’Nah, I’ll have you kidnapped by then.’’ He smiled, causing you to giggle next. ‘’They’ll destroy you when you do that.’’

‘’Good thing I have my bodyguards, then.’’ And that made your heart feel a thousand times warmer. He was never one to brag about his success, never. He always was very modest, very gentle, and never liked it whenever people talked about the amount of money he had, or how famous he was. That’s why you clicked so good. You knew each other from when you were 3 years old, and he knew you liked him as a friend, and not because he was a driver.

‘’I asked them if I could go on a road trip, alone.’’ You quietly said, hearing how he fumbled around on the other side of the line. A soft ‘hold on, I’m busy’ made you smile, knowing he told whoever was there to wait, because he was talking to you.

‘’And let me guess, they wouldn’t let you go alone because the world is dangerous.’’

‘’Yep, exactly.’’ You sighed but sat up straight when you heard him gasp.

‘’Lando, what did you do?’’

‘’Nothing.’’

‘’What are you thinking?’’

Silence…

‘’Lando?’’

‘’Come with me.’’ You could hear his grin through the phone, and he could hear your brains working overtime because he immediately started to explain himself. ‘’You won’t be alone, you’ll be with me, my team, my crew.’’ He said. ‘’You can travel the world with me, I might even be able to work around some things here to have you here for some sort of internship, so you won’t have any expenses, and you’ll be able to come to the races with me. Your parents know me, I’m not a stranger.’’

You wanted to say yes, you wanted to give in because honestly, it was a great idea.

‘’But, and these aren’t my worlds, but you’re famous, Lando, and you-…’’

‘’I’m still the same Lando from 20 years ago.’’

‘’I know, I know that, but my parents don’t, you know how they are…’’

You hated the fact you just basically told him you couldn’t go with him because he was famous, and you hated that word as much as he did. Your parents were always so fond of him, they loved him, but they also always made sure to tell you that he had a lot of money, was very well known around the world and that most famous people weren’t the same people they were before they had the money. They’d say that the fame got to their heads, but it wasn’t the same with Lando. He had always been that giggly, funny, sweet, and caring boy, but simply because he wasn’t around during Christmas dinners, or the traditional ‘start of spring’ picnic, they assumed he felt too good for those kinds of things. You explained to them that he was just busy, that because of his job, the start of spring was in the middle of the start of the season, and that he simply couldn’t make it. But they were your parents, stubborn as always.

‘’Y/N?’’

‘’Hmm, sorry, what?’’ You said, hearing him chuckle on the other side of the phone.

‘’Let me talk to them, okay? Let me try to convince them, because honestly, you wouldn’t be the only one to benefit from that decision.’’ He whispered, causing your cheeks to heat up again.

‘’Okay.’’

‘’Lando?’’ Your parents were surprised to see him at your front step. He promised you he’d come to talk to your parents, and he always keeps his promises.

‘’Y/F/N, Y/M/N, it’s been a while, it’s good to see you again.’’ He was always very polite. Calling your parents by their first name was something you always did; you did the same with Adam and Cisca.

It was a good conversation, you occasionally tried to mix yourself into it. A reassuring smile from the curly haired boy made you confident enough to speak up to your parents, and this time, with success, because only a few weeks after your conversation you were packing your clothes.

One year. For one year you’d join Lando with his journey around the world. You had no idea how he did it, and especially this fast, but he had managed to give you an internship position at McLaren, meaning you could come along to the races, the dream scenario for every Lando-girl out there.

‘’You’re the best, you know?’’ You laughed, placing your phone on the bed as you zipped up your suitcases. Instead of living here in London with your parents for a year, you and him both decided it would be the best if you would live in his apartment near Woking. It was still close to home, and to the factory.

He was the best one could imagine, and you knew he was, because he was always there, and he always kept his promises.

You put your phone away and collected the things you had to before ordering a taxi to head straight to the airport. You had been living in his apartment for almost 2 weeks now, and things were good, they were great. He occasionally came to Woking for work, but also to spend time with you. You were best friends ever since, and nothing could ever change that.

The moment you arrived on the airport you felt it again. Those feelings you have been trying to ignore the moment they appeared again, the moment your brain wandered off and thought of him. He always made you feel that way, but you ignored it, always. It might sound cliché, and you hated thinking about it because in every romance book it got romanticized. Having feelings for your best friend never worked out great, except in those books.

But reality is, you’re not living in a book, you’re living in the real world, and it was dangerous. Feelings weren’t mutual all the time, and you didn’t want to find out if it was the case this time because you didn’t want to get your heart broken, so being friends made you be close, feel good without the heartbreak ending it.

It went quick, you got in the jet and 1 hour and a few minutes later you were already back on the ground. He was right, it was faster. Of course he was right, he always was, and that made you fall for him even more, how silly it may sound.

He had texted you, saying he was waiting in his car because of the fans wandering at the airport. Someone spotted his car on the way here, and the FBI agents they are, they immediately put one and one together. He was picking up someone, or his girlfriend, something most fans would say.

‘’Hey.’’ You smiled as you embraced him in a tight hug, he smelled good, he always did. A mix of Dior Sauvage and his own scent made you inhale his scent deeply. It felt like home. You explained him that mixing 3 very expensive perfumes wasn’t making him smell 3 times better, he used to mix most of his perfumes until you made that comment. He asked which one you liked the most, and ever since you mentioned Sauvage all he wore was that. But you never noticed the reason was because you mentioned it, you always thought he simply liked that fragrance the most.

‘’Hey, how was the flight?’’ He opened your car door after helping you put the suitcase in his trunk, the real gentleman he was, and hopped in the driver’s seat.

‘’Amazing, the most relaxing flight I’ve ever had.’’ You sighed, putting on your seatbelt before looking over at him, how he started the car and drove out of the parking garage.

You talked more, about the flight, about how things were at the apartment, his apartment here in Monaco, you even talked about your plans these next upcoming days.

‘’We’ll go to London tomorrow.’’ He whispered. The both of you were laying on his couch in his apartment here in Monaco. Instead of watching TV, you had moved the couch so you both could see the harbour, and the sun setting in the ocean.

The couple of weeks you had been here were the best you ever experienced. You did many things, from shopping to karting in Italy, a day at the beach in France, simracing and even streaming. You made chat very clear you were best friends and nothing more, but when people in chat started to ask about his feelings, and about yours, he told you, quietly, to not answer and ignore them, whatever that might have meant.

‘’Really?’’ Your smile grew wider when he mentioned that. It would be your birthday in 2 days, and you always spent your birthday at home, with your family and friends. Last year he couldn’t make it, as the season started the day your birthday was, but this year he made his way around it. Your birthday was on Tuesday, so Wednesday you’d both fly with his jet to Bahrein for the first race of the year.

‘’Mhm, I wouldn’t want to break your birthday tradition.’’ He smiled, his lips placing a tender kiss on your temple. You were lying when you said your feelings towards him hadn’t grown these couple of weeks with him in Monaco. Everything he did gave you tinglings in your stomach and you couldn’t help ignoring them anymore. You surrendered to the fact you had a crush on him, you liked your best friend, and it was the best feeling ever.

‘’Happy Birthday!’’ Your parents were waiting in the living room when you entered the house. They decorated the entire room with balloons, garlands, and pictures from your first till your 24th birthday.

‘’Smile!’’ They held the camera out in front of you, and you immediately felt an arm wrapped around your shoulder. This caused your smile to grow even wider.

‘’Happy Birthday, beautiful.’’ He whispered in your ear, pressing a kiss to your temple as his scent immediately went through your nose.

‘’Thank you…’’ You whispered, looking into his bright eyes and immediately looking down after, trying to hide the fact you were blushing because of his actions.

Later that evening, after you spent time with your family and friends, you and Lando went back to his apartment. You got many gifts, and you couldn’t be happier about this day.

‘’How was your day?’’ You felt the vibrations of his deep voice going through your entire body, leaning against him as you were seated on the couch of his apartment.

‘’Amazing.’’ You smiled. ‘’Couldn’t be better.’’

‘’Oh, but I think it can.’’ He reached for something in his bag, and once he got the box, he handed it to you. ‘’Happy Birthday, beautiful.’’ He whispered again, watching how you opened the box slowly.

You pulled the black coloured leash that was hanging from the side of the box and gently placed it on the table in front of you. You lifted the lid and grabbed the small bag inside of the box.

‘’Lando.’’ You gasped, touching the velvet bag and opening it slowly. Tears were burning in your eyes at this point, because you realised he made all this effort to get the perfect gift for you. And he succeeded because it was more than perfect.

‘’This is way too crazy.’’ You whispered, feeling how he moved your hair to the side, helping you clipping the silver Swarovski necklace around your neck.

‘’Look inside.’’ He said, tucking some hair away from your face with his fingers, causing your nervousness to grow even more.

You opened the necklace and smiled when you saw the picture inside. It immediately gave you flashbacks, because even though you were only 4 and 5 years old, it was the brightest memory you had from the two of you.

FLASHBACK

‘’Dating is stupid! Kissing is stupid!’’ You laughed when you were seated on the swing, holding tightly when Lando pushed you carefully.

‘’I know! My mommy and daddy kiss when daddy comes home from work and it’s so weird!’’ He laughed, making sure you wouldn’t fall from the swing.

‘’Lando! Y/N! Come on, it’s time to go home!’’ You heard Cisca calling for the both of you, and you jumped off the swing immediately.

‘’Come on, run!’’ He held your hand and while the both of you laughed, you ran to the playground, hiding from Lando’s mom. ‘’Shhh..’’

You stayed there for almost 5 minutes, which seemed like an eternity when you’re just 4 years old. ‘’I have an idea.’’ The curly haired boy smiled and held your hand tightly.

‘’Okay, tell me!’’ You giggled.

‘’When we’re both 25 and we’re still single, I’ll ask you to marry me.’’ He smiled, causing you to giggle and laugh, him doing the same. ‘’Okay!’’

‘’Lando! Y/N, come on we have to go, it’s getting dark!’’ You ran away again, running around the playground as you linked your pinkie finger with him. ‘’Promise’’.

END OF FLASHBACK

After he clipped the necklace around your neck, he took a hold of your hand and grabbed the second box in his bag. He kneeled in front of you, a smile on his lips as he opened the box with one hand.

‘’Marry me.’’ He whispered. ‘’Not now, don’t worry. But one day. You know I am a man of my word, and I still remember that day so well.’’ He smiled, looking at your necklace and then back into your eyes. He always maintained eye contact with you, and it made you feel safe and secure, because you know you can trust those eyes.

‘’I’ve been counting the days till your birthday, knowing that the day you turned 25, I was able to ask this question. I’m lying when I say I was hoping you wouldn’t find someone to be by your side, because, and maybe I’m being selfish, but I want to be that man. It’s too fast to immediately ask you to marry me, because I can’t force you to say yes, but God… Y/N. See this as a promise ring. See this as a promise ring that we’ll be together, that I’ll be the man in your life that makes you the happiest you’ll ever be.’’

Tears were streaming down your face as you listened to every word he said. Every word chosen so carefully yet so chaotically, because this is the moment you knew you weren’t the only one feeling this intense love for him. He felt it for you, too.

You answered him by cupping his cheeks with your hands and doing the one thing you have been dreaming of doing for almost 22 years. You kissed him, his lips moving on yours almost instantly caused you to smile against his lips, him following your movements. This kiss was something else, something that made all the butterflies in your stomach explode with fireworks, like they were all holding a fairy light and lighting them all at the same time.

‘’I love you, Lando, I always have, and I’m so glad I can finally say it out loud now.’’ You giggled, feeling his hand reaching for yours and the ring slipped around your finger so effortlessly.

‘’I love you too, and I promise I’ll get you a proper engagement ring.’’ He whispered before pressing his lips on yours again, firmly, full of love.

2 years later

[sansaorgana]

Hey Lily, how are you? I've be following you for a while and I love your posts (hotd, dune, mota...). Your stories are amazing, with a lot of details and its look like the original character - its incredible.

I would love to see Feyd, Gale or Benny as a devoted husband with baby fever. Like, he can't see his wife next to other kids, baby clothes, toys or anything without think about get her pregnant.

He acts like a pregnan woman with desires and have a attack when don't have what he wants.

Just if you feel confortable, of course. Sorry for my english, it's my second language. Kisses and hugs from Brasil!

hello, sweetheart! 🥰 thank you for this request. it was so fun to write Buck and Benny with a baby fever 👶🏻👶🏾 I decided to write for the both of them (each one of them has their own little story and a bit different approach to the subject since they differ a lot from one another). I didn't include Feyd because it was more difficult for me to imagine + I don't feel very inspired to write for him lately (and I still have fics to write with him so I gotta rewatch Dune 2 soon hehe 😏)

I had to close my requests for now because I got so many 🙏🏻

GIFS: (x) // (x)

BUCK CLEVEN

Ever since he came back from Europe, Buck had only one thing on his mind – getting you pregnant. Well, starting a family with you to be exact but weren’t they the same thing?

You had been planning it even before his departure and now the war was over, he was back and with a strong need of distraction and a new purpose in life. It was not like you didn’t want that – quite the opposite, you had been daydreaming of him coming back home to you and giving you a little baby for the whole time he had been at war. But that man… Your man… He had the worst baby fever you had ever seen, you swore to God.

It was adorable, really. How he would come back home from work late to you pacing around the living room or kitchen – worried and overthinking – but oh, it was nothing serious… He just had to stop by that store with baby clothes. They had cute overalls on a mannequin by the window and he decided to buy them “for later”. Typical Buck.

You had a few boxes in your attic already with baby clothes and toys ready. Even a crib because it was on sale and good quality. Buck was fixated on the idea of having a baby with you. But he wasn’t pushy, no.

However, he had read all the books about fatherhood and pregnancy he could find in the local library. And he started to watch your diet a little – telling you to add more of this or that, which could increase the chances of pregnancy. He changed his own habits, too, although he had always been a clean and healthy man – no drinking, no smoking and all that.

You were invited to a barbecue at the neighbour's house. They were living across the street – Michael and his wife Pat. They had three kids running around and you could already see Buck’s dreamy gaze as he watched them play. 

And then their youngest – little Evie, around two years old – climbed onto your lap and hugged you. She was a sweet and cuddly baby and you chuckled at her sudden affection before wrapping your arms around her and pulling her closer to bop her nose and baby talk to her sweetly as she giggled.

“You’d be a good mum,” Pat pointed out with a smile. “Aren’t you two planning to have children of your own?” She asked. She was a bit of a nosy woman but Buck answered before you even managed to open your mouth.

“We’re working on it, Pat,” he nodded at her with that sweet smile of his.

“Oh, really?” She smiled widely. “Well, good luck!” Pat seemed to be excited. “This street needs more of the little ones to run around!” She added and sat next to you to tickle little Evie on your lap. “Come on, Evie, come back to mummy. Leave auntie (Y/N) now, you must be giving her an insufferable baby fever,” she pointed out and took her daughter from you.

“Me? I can handle that,” you giggled and pointed at your husband. “Buck, though…” You laughed and he rolled his eyes. You spotted a slight blush creeping up on his cheeks. “He’s crazy about it,” you explained.

“Really?” Pat widened her eyes as she looked at you and then at Buck. She turned her head around to make sure Michael couldn’t hear her as she lowered her voice. “Well, you’re lucky, darling. Most men aren’t... They don’t care that much.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, furrowing your brows. “Michael seems to be a good father.”

“Yeah, he is, but, I mean…” Pat sighed. “He’s not very present in it, if you know what I mean. Most men like the idea of having babies but not the babies themselves, if you get me. It just looks so good when you can brag to other men that you have a bunch waiting for you at home. But changing diapers or playing with them is a different story.”

You moved uncomfortably on your seat. Buck couldn’t hear your gossip either, engaged in a conversation with the seven years old son of Michael and Pat – Victor. Looking at him, though, you couldn’t imagine that he would be a father like Pat had described. No, your Buck was different.

“Gale is not like that,” you told her. “I am sure of that.”

Pat only nodded at that, a hint of sadness on her face. You sighed and turned around to squint your eyes at Michael who was now scolding their eldest daughter Mary about something. You suddenly liked him much less.

After the barbecue, you packed some leftovers that Pat had insisted on you to take and you went back home to spend the evening with your husband. The moment you put the bowl with food inside your fridge and closed the door of it, you felt Buck’s hands wrapping around you from behind. He placed his chin on your shoulder and started to caress your abdomen as if there was a baby there already.

“You looked so angelic with little Evie on your lap,” he whispered into your ear with a loving smile. “I want to have a daughter with you,” he kissed your cheek.

“You were so sweet with Victor,” you chuckled at that. “I want to have a son with you.”

“We won’t ever agree on that,” Buck sighed, playfully. “I’m afraid we must have both.”

“Mhm, a pair of each,” you teased back and placed your hands on top of his.

“You think you can give me four?” Buck asked, more seriously this time, leaning in to have a better look at your face.

“I can give you as many as you wish, Gale,” you assured him with a nod. “As much as my doctor says that is safe for me, at least,” you fixed yourself. “Honestly, I can’t imagine anyone else being the father of my babies. I can’t wait to have a family with you,” you added with a sweet smile.

Buck nodded and kissed your cheek one more time before moving away slightly and leaning on the wall. You turned around and furrowed your brows.

“What’s wrong, darling?” You asked, You could feel that something was off.

“Is it weird?” He asked. “That I want it so bad? I don’t want to… I don’t want to make you feel pressured,” he sighed and looked down.

“It’s not weird, baby, it’s sweet,” you approached him to cup his cheeks and force him to look up again. Once he did, you cracked a smile at those beautiful baby blue eyes and leaned in to kiss along the tiny scars scattered all over his face. “About the pressure…” You chuckled while shaking your head. “Well, we have five boxes up in the attic, all filled with toys and clothes. And even a crib. Jesus, Buck…” You rolled your eyes playfully. “Who wouldn’t feel the pressure? I feel like you’re pressuring yourself a bit too much as well, huh?”

A short silence occurred and you could see in your husband’s pretty eyes that he was contemplating something before looking down with a sigh.

“Sorry… I just… I want the baby with you… So bad. One would be enough, just one and I’d be the happiest,” he confessed and you couldn’t help yet another chuckle because his words were almost whiny. He was acting like wives usually would and you simply found it cute and adorable.

“I’m gonna give you a baby, don’t you worry, honey,” you played along and rubbed your nose with his, giving him a sweet promise that husbands would usually give their wives.

Buck looked up, his eyes filled with love and the sparkles of excitement.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too, darling,” you kissed his forehead. “You’re the best husband I could have asked for and soon you’re gonna be the best daddy, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Buck chuckled and pulled you closer by your waist to kiss your forehead as well and rub your back. “By the way, I heard what you and Pat were talking about. I’m gonna change diapers, don’t you worry.”

“Oh,” you laughed at that. “What a relief.”

Indeed, it was. But it was no surprise either. Buck was just the sweetest and the most devoted husband you had ever met.

And he was all yours.

BENNY CROSS

You were at one of those big stores with clothes for everyone and for literally every occasion, looking for something cheap but presentable for your husband. You swore, Benny had only five pieces of clothing and you just were sick of washing them over and over because they were getting so dirty from the grease and mud all the time.

Or blood from the fights. But that was another story.

“And this?” You asked for the tenth time as you showed him a nice polo with stripes. It looked pretty proper and you already knew what he would say.

“Nah,” he shook his head without even looking properly. “I ain’t a square.”

“Benny,” you sighed at him, putting the shirt back. “You need some nice clothes, too,” you scolded him.

“Well, I might need ‘em but I ain’t gonna wear ‘em,” he shrugged his arms and walked away, uninterested.

He didn’t even want to be there. In his eyes, his wardrobe was perfectly fine and he didn’t need anything new. You sighed. You wouldn’t win with him.

“Can we at least get you a new pair of boxer shorts? I hate the grey ones,” you whispered to him. “You know, the ones with fucking holes. I want to throw them away,” you gave him a scolding look.

“Alright,” Benny rolled his eyes and he followed you to the section with underwear.

He picked some black ones and turned around to give them to you but you weren’t there anymore. Cursing under his breath, he looked around to find you and then he froze at the sight of you standing in the middle of the section with baby clothes. He squeezed the new pair of boxer shorts in his hand and walked up to you.

“Hey, you got lost, baby?” He asked you with a smile.

You looked pretty mesmerised by a tiny pink dress in front of you. You reached your hand out to feel the soft fabric and you smiled.

“Oh, it’s so cute, Benny… It’s so adorable,” you told him and he swallowed thickly.

At first, he was a little uncomfortable with that comment. He knew what it meant when women were getting like that and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for his wife being like that, too, but then he looked at the dress himself and he froze. He blinked a few times, very slowly, as his heart picked up its pace.

That was a very cute dress indeed.

“Come on, what do we need it for? It ain’t like you gonna fit in it,” he tried to make a joke about it.

“I can buy it for Tammy,” you looked up at his face.

“Who’s Tammy?” Benny asked, scrunching his nose.

“The girl I work with for years and been telling you about since we started dating. She’s had a baby girl recently,” you rolled your eyes.

“Never heard of ‘er,” Benny shrugged his arms.

It was no secret he was sometimes simply not listening when you were telling him stories about your work or friends. Not even because he found them boring but he was just getting so lost in the way you looked that he was just ending up staring at you lovingly instead and dissociating completely.

Also, why would he care about some girl who wasn’t you?

“I’m gonna get it for her,” you decided and took the dress with you. “Got those boxers, Benny?” You asked him and he showed you the ones he was holding in his hand. “Okay,” you nodded and cleared your throat. “Let’s go pay for those.”

A week had passed and Benny noticed something while opening the wardrobe each time in the morning – the little pink dress was still there. Folded neatly on top of your clothes and waiting for you to finally take it to that girl you had mentioned. What was her name? Ronnie?

“Kitty…?” Benny scratched the back of his head. You were still in bed since you had a day off and he was getting ready to meet with Johnny.

“Yeah, baby?” You mumbled with your eyes still closed, cuddling Benny’s pillow and breathing in his scent.

“What’s that baby dress still doing ‘ere?” He asked and looked at your sleeping form.

“I ain’t giving it to Tammy, I decided,” you informed him. “It’s too cute to give it away. And it wasn’t cheap either. It’s better to save it for one day when we have a daughter of our own,” you added casually and turned around. Your eyes were closed but you still felt too embarrassed to be facing him at that moment.

You had never discussed the matter of having babies before.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Benny closed the doors of the wardrobe after getting a top he wanted from it. “I didn’t want you to give it away anyway,” he shrugged his arms and you opened your eyes at his words before slowly turning around as you rested on your elbow.

“Wait, really?” You asked.

“It’s too pretty for Ronnie’s daughter to have it,” Benny shrugged his arms. “Should be our little princess havin’ it.”

“It’s Tammy,” you rolled your eyes with a sigh.

“Yeah, yeah,” Benny nodded and leaned in to give you a short peck on the lips. “I’m gonna go now, yeah? I’ll be back later.”

“Yeah, be careful,” you nodded at him and watched him leave the bedroom.

When he left, you giggled to yourself and hid your face in the pillow.

In fact, you kept smiling all day long at Benny's words about your little princess. You even found yourself caressing your tummy a few times although you weren’t pregnant yet. In fact, you didn’t even know what he had truly meant by that. Would he want to have a baby with you… soon? Or just… one day?

You had no idea how to start this conversation when he’d be back home but you didn’t have to because he came back with a small package and handed it to you without a word.

“What is it?” You raised an eyebrow at him but he remained silent, with his hands inside the pockets of his leather jacket.

You opened the package and widened your eyes at the brown baby corduroy overalls that were about the same size as the pink dress hidden in your wardrobe upstairs. You looked at your husband questioningly.

“Been thinkin’, what if the baby turns out to be a boy after all? We have to be prepared for both possibilities,” he explained, casually.

“Benny…!” You squealed and jumped onto him, throwing your hands behind his neck. “Oh, Benny, you’re bein’ serious, really? You want a little baby with me?” You looked into his eyes and bit on your lower lip.

“Yeah,” Benny nodded, cracking a smile. “Why not?”

You froze at that question as you took a step back and folded the baby overalls carefully before placing them on the kitchen counter.

“What?” He asked, studying your face carefully with his curious, baby blue eyes.

“Why not is just… Not enough, you know?” You looked up to see his face. “I only want to have a baby with you if you really, really, want it, too.”

Short silence occurred and you noticed Benny’s hands moving nervously inside the pockets of his jacket.

“I do, kitty,” he assured you but he lowered his voice. Talking about his emotions was not a strong asset of his. In fact, it was no asset of his. “When I saw ya at the store staring at that baby dress… Dunno, something clicked in me, you know? I can’t stop thinkin’ of a little you crawlin’ around the house since then,” he confessed as his cheeks flushed crimson red.

“Oh, baby,” you gasped and approached him again to cup his face in your hands. “Alright, that’s enough, I believe ya,” you assured him. You didn’t want to push him to share more of these thoughts because you knew it wasn’t easy for him. “But you know that when we have a baby… Some things will have to change, right?” You asked, anxiously. You weren’t sure what his reaction would be.

Benny, however, grabbed your wrists gently and leaned in to place a kiss upon one of them and then turned his head to do the same to the other.

“I know, baby. It’s about time,” he whispered, looking deep into your eyes.

He had been mentioning for some time now that he wasn’t enjoying the direction the club was going into. He just wanted to drive with those guys and feel free, have fun. He didn’t like the new, heavy stuff. Having a baby would be a good excuse to finally leave them. He had even been discussing this with Johnny earlier that day.

And he didn’t need the club to have the sense of belonging anymore because he had you. And the little family you would start soon.

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST || BENNY MASTERLIST

[jack-ackles]

i have waited long enough to say this but LORD DEBLING IS AN ASSHOLE.

i cant fucking take all these tweets and "opinions" saying penelope should've ended up with debling and that debling is better than colin

all those people can go and (i can't stress this enough) fuck themselves!!!!!

A man in his mid forties looking for a bride in a room full of eligible women in the age group 18-22

He was looking for a wife in the room full of girls who wished for a good match, loving and dashing husband.. but HE wasn't looking for "love" as he would always love nature more.

He wanted to marry asap so that he could leave for his tour, which also meant:

he wanted a wife who would basically be his housekeeper and look after his estate.

which probably also mean, since he doesn't have a family, he would leave for his tour but not before getting his supposed wife preggo so that he will have an heir to continue his legacy in case something happens to him. that's why he was looking for a wife urgently this year.

he was looking for someone LOYAL? but when did he ever give any hint that he would not cheat? he was the one to roam the world meet thousands of people.. no promise of being loyal himself but wanted to leave a wife behind him to take care of his properties AND be alone waiting for him?

The way he didn't need more than one hint that penelope was in love with someone else to cancel his proposal makes me sickkk, not a chance, no understanding, just a direct assumption that she WILL cheat behind his back.. its a proof he just wants a housekeeper and someone to make and look after his heir, NOT. A. WIFE!!!

Also, lets look at this from penelope's angle.

to all who think lord debling is in the race and there is a debling-penelope-colin love triangle are sadly mistaken and once again i blame media illiteracy of people.

the only reason pen even looked at debling's way was because she gave up hopes of LOVE and a happy fulfilling life. When she realized if she wants freedom from featheringtons for rest of her life she needs to get out there and marry someone from whatever options she can get,to fit in society. she gave up on waiting for colin to love her back, she gave up on colin (and thus, the first polin kiss). And the first, only and best option she got was lord debling.

And as for colin..

When he said "I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington", The intent behind his words was not to belittle Penelope but rather for his friends to know that the nature of their is relationship as friends only.

(ofcourse this is obvious because colin could never say bad things about penelope.. evrr!! but once again.. media illiteracy! or should i say colin haters)

saying colin is a rake who "slept around half of europe".. colin is 22 or 23 years old. trying to fit in society. trying to find a purpose, trying to find intimacy and not feel distant. he is young, he was single, young, didn't have realization of his romantic feelings for yet.

but people are acting like debling in his mid forties did not sleep around.. he literally travels all the time, colin is still half his age. And also, in the show nothing implied he would stay loyal while on tour after being married.

colin didnt realize pen was in love with him so as his friend, a man, he always kept his distance respected her boundaries as a woman. He interacted with pen very less at the balls and events because he is seen as an eligible suitor in the eyes of society and it wouldn't help pen get suitors. in season 3, he hears pen and wants to help her (selflessly as he did with others) to get a suitor - but started realizing his feelings.

but the day he realizes his feelings for pen he didn't play around like other MLs, went straight away to pen, managed to come on right time to stop debling's proposal, he didn't play around.. just confessed his feelings then and there!

i am 101% convinced that whoever keeps saying pen should've ended up with lrd debling really wants her to live a miserable, lonely life even after the show keeps telling us she wants a loving, fulfilling life after what she has to go through with featheringtons.

wanting penelope to end up with old ass debling who is distant detached over a young tall and handsome man who is also her bestfriend, who she also loved ever since she first saw him?.. its cruel. its simply HATE.

"colin couldn't match her intellect"

"colin will definitely end up cheating"

"who would want to marry a rake over a rich smart explorer who would be gone for years and you could live a life like jane austen"

"it felt like throwing the fat girl a bone"

stfu. gtfo. kys. fys.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Revenge

Summary: Scared to end up alone you hang on to your marriage of 15 years to your cheating husband, continuing to play the perfect wife. But then you meet Dave York, your husbands boss, on one of his work events and things take a very surprising turn....

Pairing: Dave York x fem. Reader

Wordcount: 5.5k

Rating: E

Warnings: infidelity, angst, forced cucking (cheating husband has to watch his wife have sex with one Dave York), smut (unprotected sex, oral f receiving), Cum play, public fingering, use of the word whore, intense eye contact, flirting like woah

A/N: I worked on this for four weeks and I'm super proud of it. Please let me know what you think. Some people might recognise the scene at the bar from the movie Shame.

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You would be lying if you said you did not imagine yourself in this situation before. 

Sitting with an attractive man at a bar, flirting. Maybe even something more…

Many lonely nights in the bed you should be sharing with your husband left your mind wandering to what life could be like if you had married a man who respected and loved you. 

Though you were pretty sure Calvin did love you in the beginning, maybe he even loved you now. In his… own way. It just changed somewhere between moving into your first real home together and you getting a job that paid more than his. 

You just weren’t enough to… satisfy all his physical needs anymore, hadn’t been for a long time. It was an open secret that he was cheating on you, you just weren’t brave enough to leave him, even though you could. You had the job, the friends, the money. You just… did not know how to be alone. 

Which was a stupid thing to think because you spent the majority of your relationship being alone. 

It came to a point where you weren’t even mad or hurt anymore, whenever you found stains of lipstick on his shirts that you for some reason still washed for him. 

It was… easier living this lie than separating from the man you had been with for the last fifteen years. You loved the life you had built together. You just wished you weren’t so miserable and lonely living it alone. 

You hadn’t slept with Calvin since you found out about the first time he cheated on you, which was almost eight years ago. He said he was sorry, begged for your forgiveness, which you granted him. But you told him that you wouldn’t sleep with him before he would prove that you could trust him to be honest and faithful with you. That, and a clean bill of health.

He never did. 

You were more like roommates at this point. And even though you did not know the exact extent of his infidelity, you still played the perfect wife for him whenever he needed you to. 

You looked away when he flirted with women much younger than you when you were out. Which wasn’t often. Only when there was something from work or something your friends had invited you both. 

It was one of those work events he insisted you accompany him, leaving you sitting alone as soon as you entered the place at the bar. 

You were about to call it a day when a man sat down next to you.

Calvin was off somewhere while you were sitting in a darker corner at the bar, enjoying your martini as he, his boss Dave York, introduced himself to you, inviting you for another drink

There was something in his eyes when you told him your name. A glint of interest when he learned that you were the wife of Calvin Miller. 

You learned that Dave was recently divorced and had moved into an overpriced penthouse that felt too empty and sterile. His wife had fallen in love with another woman and because he did not want to stay in the way of her happiness, he had let her and his two daughters move all the way to Europe while he stayed back. 

Dave York was… charming, hot and had something dangerous about him that made you only more interested in him. It was the first time in a long time that you felt like someone was really interested in you and what you had to say. 

You saw Calvin across the room, talking to one of the serving girls who was blushing furiously as she looked at him while he tried to charm his way into her pants. 

Sighing you closed your eyes, taking a sip from your drink, breathing in deeply, finding Dave looking at you. 

“You know he’s fucking himself through the whole city right?” he asked. 

You nodded.

“I know he’s cheating frequently, I just.. Chose to ignore how many women exactly he fucks as long as it doesn’t happen in our home.”

Dave sucked his bottom lip in, intrigued. 

“You don’t mind?”

You shrugged. 

“Part of me does. Sometimes I feel like a coward for not leaving him. I know I deserve more. I deserve someone who loves me and respects me. Who asks me how my day was, who notices when I got a new hair colour, who…. Fuck I just feel so lonely sometimes.”

“So why don’t you leave him?”

“Honestly?” you whispered, sucking your bottom lip in. Dave nodded, turning in his seat to lean a little closer towards you. You smelled his aftershave, allowing yourself to take a deep breath before you answered him.  

“I don’t think I know how to live on my own, and staying where I am even if it sucks is… easier? We met in highschool, got married before we got out of college. I have spent my whole adult life with him. Fuck… I never even had sex with anyone other than him,” you chuckled humorlessly. 

“Do you want to?” Dave asked and you looked up. 

“Do I want what?”

“Have sex with someone else?” 

His hand came to rest on your knee and you shivered, your eyes on his hand. His fingers were softly squeezing just above your knee. You felt each of his fingers on you, only separated by the thin material of the silk dress you were wearing. You looked up, your lips parting. 

“Dave…”

“He doesn’t deserve you, you know? If I had you in my house, in my home, in my bed?” he leaned in closer, his lips brushing over your ear and your eyes slipped close. Unintentionally you parted your legs, your dress revealing a glimpse of your inner thigh and you shuddered as he took this as an invitation, his fingers slowly running up your inner thigh.

“I’d make sure your pussy is the only one I’m fucking. I might be an asshole, but I’m a loyal asshole,” his nose brushed over your neck as he seemed to inhale your scent, his fingers slipping deeper between your legs which seemed to part even wider for him with ease. 

“Did he ever go down on you?” he hummed, his fingers brushing over the soaked fabric of your lace panties. You released a shuddering breath, closing your eyes. 

“I bet he hasn’t treated this pussy properly. I’d make sure you’d soak my face every single day when I had you in my bed, my kitchen counter, my desk…” his fingers hooked into your panties, pulling them to the side. 

“Look at me,” he whispered and while your eyes opened he slowly pushed two of his fingers inside of you. A part of you knew that you were in a public space, yet looking into Dave’s dark eyes made you feel like you were the only two people on the planet. 

He slowly moved his fingers, your body screaming in pleasure from the way his fingers seemed to know just how to touch you, while you tried to keep a straight face as he kept looking at you with dark eyes. 

“I like to slip my tongue deep inside of you,” he hummed and you couldn’t help but gasp as his fingers pulled out of your pussy, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. You looked down at his fingers, your eyes following them as he brought them up to his lips. You could see them glistening with your juices, while he brought them up to his mouth sucking them clean. 

“Just when you’re about to cum, licking you clean before I finally give you my big cock,” he tilted his head to the side, looking at you as he licked his lips with a filthy smirk. 

You jumped in your seat when an arm sneaked around your middle from behind, your eyes leaving Dave’s to find Calvin standing next to you, glaring at you before he looked at Dave. 

“I see you met my wife, Dave,” he said. 

“I did and It’s Mr. York to you, Miller,” Dave said bored, picking up his drink to take a sip, keeping his eyes on you. 

You were still flushed, your brain trying to get back to speed. 

“How come you are here with your wife and not in the bathroom getting your dick sucked by one of the college waitresses, Miller?” Dave asked.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Dave,” Calvin said, letting go of you to grab your drink, chugging it down himself. Dave looked amused at you and then at him, his face hardening. 

“Come on, we’re all friends here, don’t lie in front of your wife,” he said. You risked a glance at Calvin who looked at his boss with his lips parted in shock. 

Dave looked at you then, a silent challenge in his eyes. 

“I love my wife,” Calvin said and you snorted. His head snapped to look at you. 

“You sure have a funny way of showing it,” you rolled your eyes and Dave laughed. 

“Tell you what, why don’t you go back to whatever cunt you were after and I keep your wife company,” Dave said. 

“With all due respect, Dave…” Calvin began to talk but Dave shot him a dark look. 

“Call me Dave one more time and see what happens, Mister Miller,” he threatened and you felt Calvin stiffen beside you. Interesting. 

He took a deep breath before he looked at you. 

“I was gonna head home,” Calvin said, looking at you with a question in his eyes. You turned your head to look at Dave. You didn’t want to leave. And you knew Calvin only lied about going home because he either didn’t find someone else to fuck or… because he had a weird spurge of jealousy now that someone was giving you attention and felt like he had a claim on you. Which a silly part of your brain made you feel powerful. 

“I’m sure Dave can give me a ride later?” you asked, with an eyebrow raised. Dave chuckled, one of his hands coming back to rest on your knee. 

“Of course I can, Sweetheart.”

When Dave drove you home a couple hours later, Calvin wasn’t home. Not that you were surprised. 

Dave and you had spent the whole evening talking. And flirting. Call it needy and years of neglect, but fuck you wanted him. 

You invited Dave in for a drink and he followed you into your home. 

Sitting beside him in your living room you sighed. 

“I feel so… Fuck I don’t know. Weak? Silly? Worthless? Like a fucking victim, even though I have everything I need to just…. Live my own life and don’t let him humiliate me like that.”

Dave sighed. 

“Ending a marriage is not easy. Feelings aren’t something you can’t just turn off. You’re not worthless. You are… fucking perfect,” Dave said and you turned your head to look at him. 

“I want him to feel how humiliated he makes me feel,” you said. 

“What are you thinking?”

You sucked your bottom lip in, blaming the idea forming in your head on your slightly tipsy brain. 

“Are you free on friday?” you asked, a plan forming in your mind. He narrowed his eyes. 

“I can be.”

You nodded, sucking your bottom lip in. You took both of your glasses, setting them down on the coffee table. Dave watched your every move as you got up, coming to stand between his legs. 

You didn’t know if it was the drinks you had or the way Dave York had given you his whole attention for the last hours, but you just wanted to feel something. Or someone. 

“It’s our anniversary,” you said quietly as you slowly settled down into Dave’s lap, straddling him. His hands came to rest on your upper thighs immediately, his hands pushing the skirt of your dress up, as your hands rested on his shoulders. You closed your eyes, your skin heating under his intense gaze. 

“I haven’t been fucked in eight years,” you whispered, moaning when you felt Dave’s hands wander over your body, squeezing your ass, pulling you closer towards him. You gasped as your clit rubbed just right over his growing bulge. 

“And… And I think I want you to fuck me while he has to watch,” unintentionally you began to move your hips against him. He smirked. 

“Eight years?” he asked and you nodded. He hummed.

“Can I touch you?”

“Please,” you whispered and he suddenly pulled at the belt of your wrap dress, the fabric falling open. 

“Fuck me,” he uttered under his breath, the green lace lingerie you were wearing driving him wild. One of his hands came back to squeeze your ass, while his other hand palmed one of your breasts. 

“Can you cum like that? Just with your needy little clit rubbing against me?” he asked and you moaned, your head nodding. 

“Then make yourself cum,” he said, before he leaned in and sucked on your nipple through your bra. 

“Fuck,” you cried out, rubbing yourself against him. 

“That’s it, you want me to fuck you in front of your cheating husband? Then cum for me,” he snarled, slapping your ass.

“I’m gonna… Fuck I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, throwing your head back as your orgasm rolled through your body, making you shake against Dave. He helped you ride it out before you felt his hand in your neck as he pulled you towards him, crashing his lips against yours in a deep kiss. 

“When should I be here on friday?“ He asked and you smiled. 

Like every year, Calvin invited you for dinner for your anniversary in your favourite restaurant. 

Or more like, in the restaurant he thought was your favourite restaurant. 

He had given you the silent treatment since you decided to spend the evening with Dave instead of him, and you weren’t complaining. 

Something had changed since that night. You changed. 

He bought you a gift (a new vacuum cleaner, my god were you lucky), kissed you on the cheek and then ordered your dinner for you as soon as you sat down in the restaurant. 

You were quiet all evening, letting him vent about work and about how lucky he was to have you as his wife, smiling like the obedient little wife you were for him. 

Whenever he got up for a smoke, or to the bathroom or to order new drinks from the blonde bartender you reached for your phone, texting with Dave. 

It had been six days since you met him and the lust you were feeling for him was almost overwhelming. Maybe it had to do with you being sexually frustrated, but the way he talked to you made you want to be his good girl, eager to please him however you wanted to. 

He was very attentive, sending you gifts every single day while Calvin was in the office. You were working from home, surprised when Monday rolled around and a bouquet of red roses were delivered around lunch time. 

The next day it was a bracelet. 

The day after that lingerie. 

Part of you was overwhelmed with the attention you were receiving, while another part just wanted to let you enjoy it. 

You were rational, you knew whatever would happen with Dave York would not have a future. He wanted to fuck you, and you wanted to be fucked. Badly. 

And who were you to argue about your husbands boss being the one to fuck you brains out as a little… revenge?

You rolled your eyes as you saw the waitress slip Calvin his number after he went to pay. 

You had an AirBNB booked and most of your clothes and stuff already moved there yesterday. Earlier today you met with an divorce attorney. 

This was happening. 

You would be leaving him. Tonight. 

After he watched you being fucked by his boss. 

The only concern you had about the plan you set in motion was how you would make Calvin stay. But Dave had only told you that he’d make sure he would, not telling you how exactly he would achieve it. But you trusted him anyway. 

You had done a lot of thinking this last week. Maybe you had just needed someone to confide in, to tell you that you were worth more than being just a silly little wife. 

Healing from these last years would take a while, but you were ready to take your life back. 

Starting today.

You had told Dave that you would leave the backdoor unlocked, so you weren’t surprised when you found him sitting in the armchair next to your bed in the bedroom when you made your way upstairs after coming back home. 

Calvin was downstairs, picking a bottle of wine most likely in the hopes to get you drunk so he could try to get into your pants later. 

He tried this every year, some weird sense of martial duty coming over him. Not that he ever succeeded. 

And you had to give it to him, at least he did not spend your wedding anniversary fucking another pussy. 

“Hey,” Dave hummed, getting up as he walked over to you. 

“Hey,” you smiled, nerves kicking in as your head tilted down, watching your feet nervously. 

“You look beautiful,” he said and you couldn’t help but sigh. You had decided on a new dress, black, with a zipper in the front that ran down the whole length. You wanted do look pretty. 

For Dave.

You felt his fingers tilt your chin up, his eyes finding yours. 

“Are you still sure about this?” he asked. You took a deep breath before you nodded slowly. 

“Just… Just nervous. It’s been a while…. And…. I don’t know about him… here”

“We can get out of here. Just say the word and I’ll leave.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” you brought a hand up, resting it on his chest. He covered your hand with his. 

“I want you to….” you pursed your lips, unable to say those words. 

“You want me to fuck you?” he whispered with a small grin. You nodded. 

“I want to fuck you too. Been thinking about your pussy since last week. Tasted so fucking good. You just need to decide if you want me to fuck you here, with your soon to be ex husband watching, or if I should take you to my place and make this pussy, my pussy, weep for me,” you felt his breath on your face as he whispered those words, your knees getting weak. 

“How… How about… both?” you finally asked with a shy little smile. 

He kissed you then, his lips pressing against yours for a quick but powerful moment. You whimpered. 

“Greedy,” he hummed with a smirk.

“Where is he?” Dave asked as he slowly led you to your bed. 

“Getting wine to make me drunk enough to fuck him,” you snorted and Dave rolled his eyes. 

You yelped when he pushed you against the mattress, hovering over you immediately, his eyes darkening. You parted your legs and he settled between them. Your eyes fluttering shut as you felt his weight on top of you.

“Pathetic little fucker,” Dave hissed before he kissed you again. 

You melted against him.

His tongue invaded your mouth, playing with yours, one of his hands running up your thigh.

“Dave,” you gasped, clutching the sheets as he kissed down your jaw. 

“You smell so fucking good,” he hummed, softly sucking on your neck. his fingers playing with the front zipper of your dress, pulling it slowly until the pink lace he had gifted to you was revealed beneath. 

“What the fuck is going on in here?” you heard a yell, following from a bottle shattering on the floor. Dave did not stop pulling at the zipper, his eyes on yours, until your bra was fully visible, the delicate lace hiding next to nothing. 

“I’m about to eat your wife’s pussy,” Dave said and you could not help but moan as he lowered his head, his lips kissing the soft skin above your tits. 

“You can’t… What the fuck…” Calvin cursed and you caught his eyes when he rounded the bed, now standing so he could look at you. 

“Sucks to be on the other side, huh?” you asked him, hearing Dave chuckle, before he pulled at the lace, his lips closing around your left nipple, making you arch your back against his chest. 

“You’re… you’re my wife,” Calvin argued and you moaned as Dave sucked. 

“Happy fucking anniversary,” you moaned, your hands unclenching from the sheets to bring them into Dave’s hair, pushing him against your tits. 

“I’m… I’m not gonna watch this,” Calvin said in disbelief, intending to turn around and leave.

“You sit right there on that chair and watch me fuck your wife, Miller,” Dave hissed, voice dangerously low, turning his head to look at Calvin who stopped in his tracks. 

You pussy clenched at his tone.

“Or what?” Calvin asked, not looking back. Dave found your eyes, kissing you quickly before he got up from the bed, walking over to Calvin. 

He leaned into him, whispering something against his ear. You saw Calvin clench his fists as he took a deep breath before he slowly turned around and walked over to the chair Dave had apparently put there just for him. 

Calvin’s eyes found yours and he clenched his jaw as he sat down. 

“Now, where were we?” Dave asked and you turned your head to look at him. Slowly he unbuttoned his dress shirt, pushing it off his shoulder, revealing his broad chest. Your eyes lingered all over his body, the prominent outline of his cock confided in his pants making your mouth water. 

Funny that just a week ago you had not missed sex at all, when now you could not wait for the man in front of you to ruin you. 

You sucked your bottom lip in as you looked up at him.

“Calvin, what was I about to do before you interrupted us?” he asked, his eyes not leaving your body. 

There was no answer, until a dark look came over Dave’s face, breaking eye contact to you only briefly to look at you husband. 

“You wanted to… eat my wife’s pussy,” he said quietly and Dave’s eyes lit up as he looked at you. 

“That’s right,” he said, before his hands wrapped around your ankles, pulling you down towards the end of bed. He leaned down, his hand pulling at the front zipper of your dress, parting the fabric. His lips following the zipper with every inch of your skin it revealed to him. 

“Like unwrapping a gift,” he said, kissing your stomach. He helped you get out of the dress, throwing it aside, before he got down on his knees, pulling each of your legs over his shoulders. 

Dark eyes found yours as he leaned closer towards your pussy, taking a deep breath. 

“When was the last time someone ate this pussy?” he asked, his fingertips coming to gently trace the pattern of the by now see through lace hiding your cunt from him. You were obscenely wet for the man kneeling between your legs. 

“Years,” you sighed. 

“Shame,” Dave tsked, kissing your inner thigh. You closed your eyes as his lips wandered up your thigh, almost to where you wanted him most when he kissed back down, starting the same pattern on your other thigh. 

“Dave,” you moaned. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asked, raising his eyebrow in a silent challenge as he looked up at you. 

“Make me cum,” you said and he grinned.

“With pleasure.”

The moment Dave’s tongue slipped through your folds felt like the world shifted. He did not tease you, his tongue dipping inside of you while his nose moved over your clit had you moaning out wantonly. You fought the urge to throw your head back and close your eyes, keeping your eyes trained on the man who had you on the edge of an orgasm without even really having started. 

The moan coming from his mouth as he tasted you for the first time was downright pornographic and a memory you’d replay often in the future.

He moved his tongue between your folds before he went higher, his tongue flicking over your throbbing clit.

“Fuck,” you moaned out, your hands hesitantly reaching for him, one of his hands grabbing your wrists, pulling them closer towards him, your fingers disappearing in his soft hair. You scratched your fingernails over his scalp and he sucked your clit between his lips with a groan. 

You were sure you were dripping on the sheets, your legs crossed behind his shoulders as you moved your hips against his mouth. 

“I’m close….” you whimpered, your lips parted as you panted for air, your eyes closing for a moment before they snapped open when Dave slapped your thigh. 

“Look at me when I make you cum,” he grunted. 

With your eyes trained on him, your hand in his hair and his mouth on you it wasn’t long before he made you cum, your thighs shaking around his head as he continued to lick you up, giving you by far the best orgasm of your life while you moaned out his name. 

He gave your pussy one last kiss, before he got to his feet.

“Ready for my cock?” he asked. 

Slowly you sat yourself up, getting on your knees on the bed in front of him, pulling him down towards you, so you could kiss him. Your hands found his belt, unbuckling it.

“How do you want me?” you mumbled against his lips, eager to have him inside of you. You felt his lips twitch into a smile against yours, his hands unclasping your bra behind you, pulling it off your shoulders. 

One of your hands finally slipped into his pants, pulling his cock out. 

You tried to play off your surprise, but Dave saw your eyes widening. He pecked your lips. 

“Don’t worry sweetheart, we gonna make it fit,” he winked.

You risked a glance down to his hard cock. He was not much bigger than your husbands, but much thicker. Precum pooled on the angry red tip, and you bent down before you could stop yourself, your tongue licking it off, moaning as you tasted him. 

“Fuck,” Dave moaned and you looked up at him, seeing his eyes fixed on you. 

You had his whole attention and you were loving it. 

“Some other time sweetheart,” he said warmly, one of his hands cupping your cheek.

“Now I want you on your back so I can watch those perfect tits shake when I fuck my pussy,” he said. You shivered before you slipped back towards the center of the bed. Dave took his pants, boxers and socks off before he joined you on the bed. You parted your legs for him as he came to kneel between them, his hand lazily pumping his cock. 

You had discussed protection in the week leading up to today, coming to know that Dave had a vasectomy years ago. With him getting tested regularly and you not having had sex with anyone in a long time you had given him the freedom to decide if he wanted to use condoms or not. 

A big part of you was happy he didn’t because you wanted to feel him. All of him. 

He nudged his tip against your folds, moving it over your clit repeatedly. He reached for a pillow, your husband's pillow, propping it under your hips.

“You’re dripping for me sweetheart,” he grinned. You sighed, your hands coming to play with your nipples. 

Slowly his tip slipped inside of you and you stopped breathing for a second, enjoying the delicious stretch of his length parting your folds. 

“Shit Baby…” you moaned, sucking your bottom lip in. 

Ever so slowly, giving you time to adjust his cock filled you.

“You’re so fucking wet. Perfect just… fuck just perfect,” he praised you, groaning when his hips met yours, his cock completely inside of you. 

You felt so fucking full. 

“Move,” you whined.

“You’re such a whore,” you heard another voice, your eyes blinking as you registered your husband's voice, having completely forgotten about him. 

You found Dave’s eyes on you before you turned your head to find Calvin obediently sitting in the chair Dave had pulled for him. 

You took a deep breath before you turned your head to look at Dave again. 

“At least I’m your whore then,” you said to Dave and he grinned before he bottomed out and thrusted back into you. You cried out. 

He snapped his hips against yours, his hands grabbing your hips as he pumped into you. You threw your arms back, grabbing the headboard. 

Sex had never felt like this. Yes, you did not have much to compare it to, but fuck that was what you missed? He ruined you, slowly, with every thrust inside of you, with every brush of his fingers on your body. He watched mesmerized as your tits shook with every thrust, before his arms pulled you up against him, into his lap, your chest against his. You crossed your arms behind him, your hands on his neck as he fucked up into you. His hands helping you move on top of him. 

“Whose pussy is this from now on?” he asked, his voice dark. 

“Yours Dave, fucking yours,” you moaned.

“Fuck yes,” he grunted, slapping your ass. Your pussy clenched around him and you watched him cock his eyebrow. 

“You like that huh?” he smirked, doing it again and you moaned. 

“Maybe you are my little whore after all,” he hummed against your ear, thrusting into you. He continued to slap your ass until you exploded around him, crying out as he fucked your through your orgasm. 

It wasn’t long before he twitched inside of you, warmth filling you as he moaned against your lips. 

Both panting against each other's lips you smiled, letting your hand fall against his, before he leaned down, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth, making you clench around his cock. 

“That… That never happened before…” you said and he frowned, looking up at you. 

“I never came when he fucked me,” you clarified and Dave’s jaw twitched before he kissed your lips. 

“I should kill that fucker for how he treated you,” he mumbled against your lips and for reasons you had to unpack at another time, the thought made you clench around him. 

“Interesting,” he mumbled, giving you a wink.

“You came inside of her? What the fuck?” you rolled your eyes back as you heard Calvin exclaim. 

“And he made me cum. Twice. Guess it was not my fault you couldn’t after all,” you said without looking at him. 

Dave chuckled, before he helped you off, his cum dripping into the sheets. He slipped his fingers between your legs, pushing his cum back into you, before he brought his fingers up, holding them out for you. You sucked them clean for him, moaning at your combined taste.

But as much as you wanted just to lay back and enjoy the afterglow, you did not want to spend any more time than necessary in this house. 

Dave helped you out of bed, helping you into your dress before he got back into his clothes, pocketing your ruined panties and bra. 

He gave you a small smile, taking your hand.

You walked towards the bedroom door when you stopped and turned around. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Calvin screamed behind you and Dave turned around faster than you could notice, his hand stopping Calvin’s wrist before he could reach you. He yelped in pain and Dave let go, stepping between you and your soon to be ex husband. 

You took a deep breath, putting a hand on Dave’s shoulder who looked at you over his shoulder. You gave him a small nod, before you stepped to the side, still close enough, so he could intervene. Calvin was still looking at Dave with what you think was terror in his eyes. 

“Did you think I would stay by your side while you fucked your way through the country forever? Humiliate me like that? I loved you. I wanted to spend my life with you, but you threw that away. And he helped me to see that. It’s embarrassing how long it took me. So we’re getting divorced, Calvin. You can keep the house and I keep my dignity. And my money,” you said. 

Calvin looked at you now, his eyes filling with tears. 

“Don’t you love me?” he asked, his voice small. 

You took a deep breath, looking at the man you once loved so much. Feeling nothing. 

“Not anymore,” you said, giving him a small sad smile before you took Dave’s hand. 

Dave gave Calvin one last look before he grabbed your purse and led you out of the house.

[theragethatisdesire]

"ti penso ogni giorno" - eren x reader - 18+!!!

first fic! kind of threw this together while traveling and had no beta readers, so please be nice to me. i've been spending some time in the italian countryside and got a little inspired.

pairing: reader x eren jaeger

wc: 7.5k (jesus christ)

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut (duh), consensual hook-up, unprotected sex, rough sex, vaginal fingering, biting, dirty talk, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, princess), slight breeding kink (if you squint) crying, multiple orgasm, creampie, aftercare

**title means "i think about you every day" in italian :')

Standing on top of this mountain looking over unfamiliar fields, you don’t remember a time in the recent past you’ve felt so at peace, the quiet fluttering of the sparrows easing the ever-present ache in your heart.

It was a tasteful ceremony. A small church in the middle of the Chianti region, in a little town with a name you couldn’t pronounce, decorated with so many candles that the room was sweltering, even with the breeze wafting in from the hills. Mikasa and Jean’s little girl, Clara, had played the role of flower girl perfectly; you hadn’t seen her since she was a newborn, and there she was, toddling down the aisle on fat little three-year-old legs. Historia and Ymir were beautiful brides, practically unchanged over the years, still as consumed with each other as they had been in college.

Even now, you distinctly remember a drunken night when Ymir promised Historia that she would take her to Europe one day, and here she was, marrying her beloved blonde in the heart of Italy. Another memory surfaces, parallel to that one, of someone looping an arm around your waist as you watched college-Ymir make her declaration, a whisper in your ear of the same promise. You pack that up and tuck it away as soon as it surfaces, scratching at your elbow.

“What are you doing out here?” Mikasa’s voice is behind you, drawing closer. You smile down at Clara, holding her mother’s hand and wobbling out into the grass.

“Just thinking,” you sigh, swishing your wine around in its glass, “I should come back in and join the party.”

“They just finished the champagne toast, but you haven’t missed the first dance,” Mikasa agrees.

You take Clara’s other hand and reluctantly allow yourself to be led back into the thick of things, the two of you swinging the little girl between you. Her shrieks of joy make you smile in spite of yourself, calming the nerves fluttering around in your stomach. Years had passed and things had changed, you and everyone else around you included.

It was a gorgeous reception, even more beautiful than the ceremony. They’d chosen a huge stone patio outside of the massive villa they’d rented, covered by columns of stone arching up to form a roof and dripping with flowered vines. It was exactly what you would’ve chosen, so beautiful it didn’t need decoration. Simple, natural, Tuscan.

“He didn’t bring a date,” Mikasa murmurs to you as you enter the terrace, scanning the room for Jean. She didn’t need to specify who “he” was; you had seen him at the ceremony, longer hair than you remembered, two rows ahead of you. Even if you hadn’t, the sad truth was there was really only one “he” for you, and Mikasa knew that.

“What do you want me to do with that?” You respond, trying and failing to mask your discomfiture with irritation.

“Whatever you want,” Mikasa shrugs, vague as always, scooping Clara up onto her hip and striding across the tented reception to Jean. You watch her go, watch Jean take Clara and kiss Mikasa, envy and self-pity clawing at your heart.

Ymir and Historia chose a slower song than you expected; it must be Historia’s doing that they were doing a first dance at all. Ymir had made it exceptionally clear during the bachelorette trip that all of the frills were to make Historia happy, and she was mostly looking forward to the honeymoon. The memory makes you snort into your empty wine glass, until you catch a glimpse of green eyes across the room.

Eren’s suit is more expensive than anything you knew he owned, sharp at the corners and resembling something your boss’ boss would wear. Mikasa had mentioned months ago that Eren and Zeke’s business was really taking off, but you find yourself wondering if these were the clothes he wore now, or if it was a splurge. He’s staring at you, no surprise there. Breakup aside, Eren’s the most possessive person you’ve ever known, and anything that was his is always his, at least from his point of view. That was part of the problem, you reflect, tracing your red fingernail around the rim of your wine glass.

The first dance concludes and amidst the applause, waiters begin circling the room with hors d'oeuvres, little bits of smoked salmon and crudite platters. After the travel and ceremony, you’re ravenous, and you begin weaving your way through the crowd to track down a tray with carbohydrates on it.

You’re halfway through stuffing a croquette into your mouth when Armin interrupts you, chuckling. “Hungry?”

“I only flew over this morning,” you excuse yourself, dabbing at your mouth with a cocktail napkin. Armin doesn’t care, you know that, but after the last few years of cocktail hours with the most influential magazine and website owners in the world, manners are second-nature.

“At least it was a short flight. You came from…Belgium?”

“Moscow,” you shrug, “four hour flight into Milan, two hour train, hour long car service.”

“Car service?” Armin cocks an eyebrow. “Haven’t you gotten fancy over the years?”

You blush, embarrassed. “Did you fly from the states?”

“Shanghai, actually.” Armin’s face shows it, still puffy from the flight. “I don’t even know how many hours, just that it was long.”

“I’ve made that flight,” you say, empathizing, “not a fun one.”

“I was able to throw some miles from my company card into it and get first class, though, it was the nicest-”

“Can I join you two?” Your heart drops. You knew he was watching you, he’s always watching you, but to be so bold as to interrupt a conversation, speak to you here? Now?

“Sure, Eren,” Armin steps to the side to make room for Eren at the high-top table you’ve found yourselves gathering around, “we were just catching up on our flights over.”

Eren nods, masterfully collected as he smiles politely at you. “I actually had business over here, so I left New York maybe…a week ago, now? It wasn’t bad at all, our company card covers first-class flights.”

Some strange mix of annoyance and being impressed swells in your throat. You take a swig of wine to swallow it, not trusting yourself to resist throwing out a snarky comment or alternatively inquiring about where this first-class-covering business card came from. You don’t owe him the satisfaction. Armin nods politely, but you can see the tension in his smile. The history between Eren and you could stretch for miles of scorched earth, and it’s no secret. You imagine that earth, black and smoking, half-finished houses with white picket fences smoldering down to their foundations.

“So,” Eren breaks the silence, turning to you, “where did you come in from?”

“Moscow.” One-word answers, minimal detail, you assure yourself in your head. He won’t get his claws in you this time if you don’t let him.

“Moscow is beautiful,” Eren sips the bourbon that you had considered throwing in his face when he approached, “but a little cold this time of year, isn’t it?”

“It was very nice, actually,” you can’t help disagreeing for the sake of it, “I was only in town for a few days covering a story, anyway.” Shit. You’ve betrayed yourself already and revealed a detail. Eren’s smile curls up over his cheeks like a cat that’s found a trapped mouse. You kick yourself inwardly.

“Hear that, Armin? Our little bookworm is still writing.”

You roll your eyes at the old nickname from college, earned by your constant pleas to stay in for a comfy night instead of a frat party. You had read over 350 books in college, breaking your four-year goal by at least fifty. Eren used to beg you to tell him the stories you read before bed like a child, because he couldn’t be bothered to read the actual book and it sounds so much more interesting when you read it, baby. And up until the last three years, you had obliged him. Now, the only person you read to sleep is yourself.

“I made a career out of it,” you snip, “so yes, still writing.”

“Clara’s getting into the wedding cake- I don’t see Mikasa, shit, one sec-” Armin’s sentence is cut short by the speed with which he darts away from the pair of you, running off towards a table on the other side of the room. You don’t necessarily blame him, but you seethe anyway, vowing to repay him for abandoning you.

“Career, hm?” Eren hums pleasantly. “Work’s going well, then?”

You snatch a second glass of wine off of a passing tray, wanting more than anything to walk away from him, but you both know your feet won’t move. Getting a nice buzz going is your only option, at this point. You take a healthy swig, shrugging. “I enjoy it, and it pays.” 

“That’s a beautiful dress,” Eren murmurs, quiet and thoughtful. You blush and frown all at once.

“Says the one wearing a $6,000 suit.”

“Is it?” Eren fingers his lapel. He looks amused, and you want to smack the faux-bashfulness right off of his face. “I honestly didn’t know.”

“Your work must be going exceedingly well, then,” you glare, seeing right through him. The facade falters for just a moment, a critical moment: Eren almost looks sad.

“The business took off about a year ago,” he’s not looking at you, focusing on something in the distance, “so I’m traveling almost constantly now. I hardly see Zeke, my only company is usually just my assistant or a flight attendant. I love visiting a new city every week, but it’s…”

“Lonely?” You finish for him before you can stop yourself. He nods, looking surprised.

“Your work keeps you on the go now, too?”

“I switched over to a rolling travel schedule two years ago, when Rolling Stone started their global music column. It ended up being super popular and I’m the lead journalist, so I’m basically running all over the world listening to the weirdest music you can imagine. They had me head over to Berlin one time to cover the ‘rising alien punk scene’; it was…really something.” You pull a funny face at the memory, Eren laughs, a deep, real laugh from the belly. You can hear yourself rambling, revealing, but you can’t stop. It’s so natural that the realization of falling back into yourself, the self that loved Eren, is making your skin crawl. You should walk away, look for an out-

“Have you explored the grounds at all?”

Eren’s question snaps you out of your moment of clarity, back into his magnetic field. “The grounds?”

“This house,” Eren gestures to the villa that Ymir and Historia have rented for their closest friends, “sits on over a thousand acres of vineyard. The best wine in the world.”

“I can tell,” you examine the legs on your glass of red, provided by the vineyard itself, “it’s not my usual French, but it’s incredible.”

“Snob,” Eren grins at you. You have always been a picky wine drinker, Eren used to joke that you could pass a sommelier test without even taking the course. “So, the grounds?”

He offers you an elbow. You look at it, weighing but not really weighing your options, and slip your arm through his, feeling the rapid thudding of your pulse. You’re fairly sure if anyone looked closely at your neck, they’d see the frantic heartbeat insistently pushing right under your skin. You tell yourself it will only be a short walk, just a few minutes, because you do want to see the grounds, even if it’s with the last person you should be spending any time with. You hope that you’ll be able to sneak out without catching Mikasa’s eye.

Eren tugs you along, prattling on about the history of the vineyard, entirely unaware that you’re not listening. This Eren is so different from the Eren you left in New York, but still similar, still feels like home. His nose and jaw have only grown stronger with age, but his eyes still have a youthful glimmer, even if they seem sharper and more intense than you’ve ever seen them. It’s unlikely that he’s physically grown even taller between 23 and 26, but his presence makes him seem like the tallest man in the room. He’s self assured, confident, and in charge, in a manlier, more mature way that you’ve never seen before. A heat simmers in your stomach as you admire the curve of his strong neck, and you want to swat your own hand, tell yourself to settle down. It’s just a walk.

“I think I could die happy here,” Eren says, looking over the view you’ve approached, about a half mile from the rest of the party now. You chuckle.

“A beautiful view and some good wine is all it takes?”

“That’s most of it, these days,” Eren shrugs, “but I do need cable. And-”

“A television, a gym, at least one case of shitty domestic beer in the house at all times,” you count off on your fingers.

“For starters,” Eren concedes with a shy grin. “And a wife.”

Those last two words cause your heart to stop altogether. You look around, realizing just how far you are from the villa, how alone you are with him. The sun is setting reluctantly around you both, sinking slowly, holding onto the landscape with an iron grip.

“That would be nice,” you stammer, “f-for you, definitely.”

“Want to explore this building over here?” As if nothing out of the ordinary happened, Eren points out a smaller home down the hill from you both. “It’s really cool inside.”

You trudge along beside him, having kicked off your heels and left them at the reception long ago, and a fresh wave of anger kicks up in your chest. It was just so quintessentially Eren; drop a bomb, and then act like nothing happened. It reminds you that there are aspects of Eren you can’t stand, and that reminder instills you with the confidence to seclude yourself with him in the charming little stone house.

It is really cool. No window panes in the entire bottom floor, just the fresh vineyard air rolling in. There’s a little kitchenette, some various odds and ends of sofas and chairs sprawling across the clay-bricked floors. A huge table, clearly made for workers’ lunch breaks over the centuries, squats in the middle of the bottom floor, and racks of wine cover the walls. You break away from him to pick up a bottle or two, examine the label, brush off some dust.

Eren grants you a few moments to yourself before you sense him behind you, closer than you want to consider.

“Anything good?” He says, peering right over your shoulder from the sound of it.

You turn around before you can regret it, chest to chest with him. He’s hunching his head to make the best eye contact with you he can, the way he’s always done. You focus on breathing normally, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing how his proximity still affects you after all these years. “A ‘92 vintage Chianti. They actually talked about this wine in my sommelier course; I didn’t even realize this was the same vineyard.”

“You took the course?” Eren smiles crookedly, an endearing grin that you’ve always loved. You smile despite yourself.

“Yeah,” you admit quietly, “I took the course.”

Eren grins wider, and thankfully leaves you there, striding across the room to shuffle through the kitchen drawers. When he returns, he’s holding a wine key and two glasses. You cock your head, confused.

“It’s supposed to be the best, huh? Crack it open.”

“Eren…” you trail off, holding the bottle gingerly, “this bottle has to be over a thousand dollars. We can’t do it.”

“Did I forget to mention this is my bunk for the trip?” He smiles again, his prominent canines glinting in the sunset light streaming in, gesturing around the room grandly; your knees nearly buckle at the sight. “Bedroom’s upstairs. Ymir and Historia said any of the wine’s up for grabs. It’s the owners’ fault if they left the good stuff out for us to get into, and it’s on my tab anyway.”

You’re nearly speechless, not only that Eren got an entire house to himself (he’s always been the spoiled brat of the friend group), but that he tricked you into coming here, with him. When you fail to respond, he takes it simply as more reluctance to open the bottle, and he grabs the bottle from you and starts to dig the corkscrew in through the top.

You let a few beats pass, considering your options as he pours the wine. When he finally hands you the glass, you give voice to your thoughts, testing the waters. “Why did you bring me here?”

“Because you love wine and the house is cool,” Eren shrugs innocently, taking a sip, “damn, that’s good. Try it.”

You hold your glass stock-still in your hands. “We’re done with…what we used to do, you know. That’s not what’s going on here.”

The air sparkles with dust; Eren’s demeanor stutters, a small frown working its way onto his face. “Just try the wine, babe.”

Your heart flutters, your stomach sinks, your memories with Eren shriek from the back of your mind. The pet name is too familiar, too easy, and it brings a cold chill over you. As you’re prone to do, your panic comes shooting out coated in snark.“Babe? Yeah, no, I’m done-”

“Sorry, sorry– it was a mistake, force of habit,” Eren’s already apologizing as you’re talking; you hate how he can still anticipate your reaction before you can give it. He grabs your wrist as you turn to leave, rolling his eyes, “a mistake. Try your wine, you don’t know when you’re going to stumble across that again.”

You let him hold your wrist, enjoying the pressure of his strong hands into the delicate flesh of your arm despite yourself. You look between him, the wine, the room several times, as if you’re weighing your decision. You know what you’re going to choose, but maybe you can pretend that he doesn’t know, too. Eren’s willing to play along, eyes wide and pleading.

Without breaking your gaze, you carefully taste the wine. Damn him, it is good. It has a complexity of flavor and a depth to it that’s incredibly rare, even in the French countryside wines you tend to favor. Even though you fight it, you smile at him and offer your glass for him to pour more.

The bottle passes quickly, both of you settling yourselves in chairs at the kitchen table, discussing old friends, new friends, reminiscing on the college years when you were both a little happier and a little less sane. You hardly notice the sun setting further, the smallest bits of twilight leaking into the corners of the sky.

“Your teeth are so red,” you giggle, head spinning. The wine was delicious, delicious enough for Eren to pop open a second bottle, but God, was it strong. You aren’t sure how you’ll manage the walk back up to the reception- is the reception even still going on?

“So are yours,” Eren pinches your cheek, giggling drunkenly along with you.

“God, you’re right.” You place a finger onto your teeth, rubbing frantically at the wine stains to no avail. Eren reaches a wobbling hand out to pull your fingers out of your mouth, shaking his head. He frowns and shakes his head, childlike.

“Don’t take them off.”

“The wine stains?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? They make teeth look dirty,” you laugh again, trying to shove your finger back into your mouth where Eren’s holding it.

“I…okay, maybe it’s weird, but I always thought it was kind of sexy when your teeth were all red from wine,” Eren blushes, and it’s so childishly endearing that you can feel your heart swell.

“Really?”

“I never told you that?” Eren looks astonished, chuckling under his breath. “It drove me crazy back when we were together. You’d go to Historia’s, or Sasha’s, or whoever’s and down a bottle or two of red and come stumbling back into that crappy apartment in Harlem-”

“-the one with the mean bodega lady outside!”

“Yes!” Eren snaps his fingers, pointing at you excitedly. “Anyway, you’d come waddling back in, hair a mess and wine all over your teeth, your lips would be bright purple, and you’d always be so horny-”

“Eren!”

“It’s true! You’d ride me for an hour before you knocked out.” Eren sipped his wine, smiling in a private way that you felt was just for you.

“An hour seems like a bit of a stretch,” you murmur, looking down into your glass. You’ve almost finished your wine and you shouldn’t have any more, the reception is waiting for you and you’ve been gone with Eren long enough that you’ve been missed at this point. When you pull your head up, Eren looks different. It’s a familiar face on a new man: his eyes have a mischievous glimmer in them, the sunset winking at you through his green irises.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips; your mind wanders to that tongue, those lips. Mentally, you dance over what you know those lips and tongue can do, how they feel on your mouth, your neck, between your legs. Your wine-addled mind tries to shake the persistent thought. Eren reaches a hand over to your mouth, absentmindedly rubbing a thumb over the corner of your lips.

“Still think it looks sexy,” he mumbles, half-drunk and half expecting a stern reprimand from you. His eyes search your face, curious of your reaction. It’s the moment you’ve been running around the world from for the last three years, finally coming to fruition here in this little house. 

You embarrass and surprise yourself simultaneously: tears well in your eyes. You want him; you’re drunk and beautiful and desperate for him in the beautiful countryside of Italy, but he’s so bad for you. They’re tears that have been waiting behind your eyes, tears of frustration and desire.

“Why are you crying?” Eren asks, furrowing his brow. You know he knows, he understands you and your emotions better than anyone. You’re angry with him, angry that he knows the source of your tears before you open your mouth.

“We’re done, Eren,” you fail miserably to steel your voice, “we can’t do this anymore, remember? It’s not good for us.”

“It’s been three years, baby,” Eren responds, still rubbing his thumb over your lips, “three years of growing. We’re different now– I’m different.”

“No,” you sniffle, feeling like a child. Whether he’s changed or not is still up for debate, but your sore heart can only take so much. He’s so beautiful, soaked in sun and wine and temptation, simpering at you. Your resolve is weakening by the second.

“Yes,” Eren insists, “it’s me. You belong to me, you know you do.”

“Eren–”

“You always do this, always try to run from me, but I’ll always find you,” he murmurs, “I’ll go to every corner of the earth if I need to. I’ll always find you because you’re mine.”

You’d love to say that he leaned in, he grabbed your face and pulled you to him, but you’d be lying. It’s you who leans forward ever so slightly, catching your chapped lips in his and kissing him tentatively. You wouldn’t be lying if you told anyone that he sighed into your mouth, ready to feel your body under his hands again. You wouldn’t be lying in the slightest.

Eren allows you a few tentative kisses, a few pecks against his lips, familiar and new all the same. Once you’ve had your fill of shyness, your obligatory ruse of unassuredness, he reaches for you, scooping you into his lap. You straddle him, whimpering at the friction of his already-growing bulge against your clothed cunt. He has to push your dress up to allow you room to spread your legs over him; you’re wearing a slinky little silk number, a gorgeous deep brown against your tanned skin, but not cooperative for lap-sitting.

Eren’s tongue is practically down your throat, teeth nipping at your bottom lip when you have to pull away for air, hands roaming your now-bare thighs.

“This dress,” he pants between kisses, “is so fucking perfect on you. Look so good for me.”

You sigh into his mouth, running your hands through his hair. Off to the side of your mind, you realize you may have knocked his hair out of its bun, but the dark locks feel so soft in your fingers, you can’t bring yourself to apologize for it. He’s wrapping his hands around your ass; Eren always loved your full hips, and it seems that that fact hasn’t changed.

Your hands find their way to his neck, his shoulders, his chest. He’s grown stronger over the years, definitive muscles rippling under your fingers, but the broadness he’s always possessed is still there. He’s large compared to you, twice as wide and at least a head taller, and you loathe to admit it, but it turns you on. You love the way he manhandles you, the way he pushes and pulls you exactly how he wants you, the way he grabs your hips hard enough to bruise, rocking them against his own.

A particularly well-placed thrust of his hips against yours elicits a wanton groan from you, spilling into his mouth. Eren moans back, moving away from your lips to mouth his way down your throat.

“Gonna sit you up now, okay?”

He stands, knocking the chairs aside on his way up, to set you on the table, the perfect height for him to grope at you, pull your dress this way and that.

“Wanna get this thing off, will you let me?”

You hesitate, or try to, at least. His hands are dizzying, flying all over your body and squeezing at just the right spots as he nibbles on your earlobe. “But, the reception–”

“Sh, sh, sh. We’re so far away, baby, they’ll never even know, yeah?” Eren goads you and you’re putty in his hands, the rapidly-shrinking rational part of your brain growing quieter with each kiss, each pet. He manages to wrench your dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but a stringy pair of panties. Eren steps back to look over you; you resist the urge to cover yourself. You know his routine.

“Fuck,” Eren breathes, palming your tits, “you’re perfect, do you know that? So beautiful just for me, aren’t you?”

You flush pink from your chest to your forehead. Even after years of love and war and running, his bedroom talk still gets to you. Eren loves to tell you what he thinks of you, and you’ve never managed to grow accustomed to hearing it.

“Say it.”

“Hm?” You hum, preoccupied with his mouth pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses around your breasts, even pausing to suck a bruise into the side of your left.

“Say you’re beautiful, tell me how pretty you are for me.”

This part is new; Eren has always loved to talk to you in bed, but your participation in the dirty talk has been minimal until now. Your blush grows even deeper. “I’m beautiful, beautiful just for you.”

“Good girl,” Eren purrs, allowing you to pull his head closer to your chest. His tongue swirls around one nipple. He closes his lips around it, sucking hard, and you moan openly, pulling him closer. Eren grins, letting his teeth pinch down on it. “You still like when I play with your tits, hm?”

“Yes,” you hiss, too caught up in pleasure to address his smugness.

“Know you baby, know you inside and out. These tits are mine,” a hand wanders down to your cunt, swiping across your panties and feeling the wetness that soaks them, “and this pussy’s mine too. You might not love me anymore, but your body– oh, she loves me.”

You have no way to respond to that, no way to address what those words do to your brain. Chagrin as you might be to admit it, he’s right. Eren was your first and only adult relationship, fucking your body into submission for years and training it, training your cunt to respond to him and the way he liked to touch you. He’s pushed and prodded you into his perfect little fuckdoll, and you let him and you loved it. You loved every second of it, and god does it feel good rushing back to you now, finally under his hands again after years without.

Eren nudges your panties to the side, rubbing quick circles over your clit, just the way you like it. A long, heady whine leaks from your lips, your hips urgently roll towards him.

“Missed me? Is that it?” Your eyes are closed, but you can hear the smug grin on his lips. Eren loves when you’re needy for him.

“Mhm,” you indulge him in the hopes you’ll get what you want, and you’re right. A long finger sinks into you, instantly curling to press into the spongy spot within your walls that has you swooning, clutching desperately onto his shoulders.

“That’s it, feels good doesn’t it?”

You pull at his suit jacket, fumbling with the buttons on his collared shirt. “Want it off, want to see you.”

Eren relents, pulling his hand from you to step back and strip his shirt and jacket. He is as muscular as he feels; you drag your eyes over his strong chest, his defined abs, and the deep V leading down below his belt. You briefly remember all of your post-college friends, girls that had never known Eren, teasing you that he was your hottest ex. You had blushed, but you understand. He’s like a Greek statue, glistening with sweat from the evening heat, every crevice of him on display just for you. It sends a fresh wave of heat pulsing through your body, and you pull him back to you, relishing in the feel of his hands on you.

“Want me to make you cum, is that it?” Eren’s amused, sinking two fingers into your heat. You croon, nodding desperately. He chuckles, moving his fingers against the spot inside of you. “I’ve got you, don’t worry baby. Gonna make you feel good.”

You nod again into his shoulder, attached to him wherever you can find the space, grasping his body and pulling it to yours. You wish you had the capacity to be ashamed of your need, laid bare for him to see, but you don’t. All you can think about is his fingers moving in you, gaining speed and bringing you closer to an embarrassingly fast orgasm.

He slides a third in, just to be safe, and you’re so wet that your pussy accepts it willingly. The stretch makes you pout, push at his chest. “Too much, Eren–”

“Gotta get you ready for me,” he huffs, his arousal getting the better of him, “get you ready to get fucked. Cunt’s tight after all these years, isn’t it? Gotta work it open.”

That does a lot to your hazy brain; you bite deep into his shoulder, moans coming faster and louder as he works his fingers in you. The bubble is building in the pit of your stomach, your hips are canting towards him.

“Eren, Eren I–”

“I know, I know,” he coos, fingers curling inside you even faster, “my girl needs to cum, doesn’t she? You want to cum all over my fingers, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you cry into his skin, biting and moaning alternatively. Your head’s spinning; you can’t remember the last time you felt this good. You’re no nun, not by any means, but Eren knows your body, crafted it to respond to him, to his hands and mouth and cock, and your body is rejoicing at the feel of him on and in you again. You can’t hold it, you know you can’t, you’re moments away now. “Eren, I’m going to cum, I’m gonna–”

“Do it, baby,” he growls into your ear, his fingers working even faster, thumb moving up to swipe at your clit, “give it to me, want to hear you cum.”

Your body convulses and you’re cumming hard, with Eren the first one of the night always goes that way. Eren knows it, pulls you close against him and works his fingers in you, helping you ride it out. He’s practically purring into your ear, telling you what a good girl you are, cumming all over his fingers like that, and you eat it up. You cry into his flesh where it’s secured between your teeth, rocking your hips into his hand desperately.

Your orgasm begins to fade, and you find the presence of mind to shove at his fingers, begging for a reprieve. “Give me your cock, want it in my mouth.”

“Is that what you need?” Eren’s already helping you onto your knees, gentle, but needy. “Need my cock in your mouth?”

“Please,” you say eagerly, adjusting your knees to a comfortable position on the dirt floor, easily unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down his legs. He steps out of his shoes, kicking his pants off, strong thighs twitching under your nails as you softly scratch down them. A groan rumbles in Eren’s chest at your enthusiasm, he places a hand on your head, running through your curls.

“Can’t be for too long, ‘kay?” Eren pants, hissing when you press a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock. “Still gotta fuck you, feel you cum on me.”

You hum your approval, popping him fully into your mouth with a satisfied moan. You’ve always loved taking him in your mouth, the comforting weight of him on your tongue. You’re getting impossibly wetter, feeling the heat gather between your legs as you bob your head up and down on him, listening to his satisfied little grunts and groans above you.

Eren rubs a hand over your cheek, mutters his approval, thrusts his hips forwards unwittingly a few times. You gag when he does, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. You’ve taken him like this so many times, even with his impressive size, you love the feel of him pressing back into your throat until you choke.

“Fuck, fuck, baby it’s– it’s too much,” Eren indulges in a few more thrusts into your throat before grabbing your hair and urging you off of him, “need your pussy, okay?”

You’re not going to argue with that, letting him pull you to your feet, an anticipatory smile cracking across your face. You’re drunk on the wine and sex and him, babbling nonsensically. “Wanna feel you, Eren, need you.”

“I’ve got you, gonna make you feel so good, princess.” Impressively, Eren scoops you off of the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist. He walks you both over to the wall, pressing you up against it. “Gonna make you mine all over again, yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

It’s a loaded question, but you’re so captivated by him, all you can do is murmur your agreement, tell him you want to be his because at least for now, you do. Eren’s magnetic, the man you run from so you don’t get lost in him, but tonight, you’re willing to drown. You’re begging for it.

The stone wall is rough against your bare back, but the head of Eren’s cock rubbing through your folds distracts you, a promise of what’s to come.

“Please, please put it in, Eren, I need–”

“My girl needs to be full, doesn’t she?” Eren’s smirking at you, slipping the tip of his cock in. Even the stretch of that alone is enough to make you moan, digging your nails into his back. “There you go, gonna fill you up, make you all better.”

You nod into his shoulder, the weight of your actions catching up to you as he presses himself into you, fills you entirely. Eren’s your kryptonite, he’s a drug, he’s an overwhelming presence, you can’t think straight around him. Before coming to this wedding, you told yourself you’d stay away, but you can’t help it. Everything about him is like he’s sculpted just for you, your body yields to him so easily you think you might be made just for him too. His skin, salty and sweaty from the summer air, is delicious under your tongue.

He’s moving now, fucking up into you desperately, like he loves you and like he wants to break you. You jolt in his arms, helpless to do anything but take and take and take everything he has to give you.

He smiles against your open mouth, placing a sloppy kiss over it. “Does that feel good?”

“Feels so fucking good,” you whimper, letting him manhandle you. Eren’s always rough with you, always riding the line of too much, and you love taking it. You love letting him push you to your limits.

“Missed my cock in you, didn’t you? This cunt was made for me,” Eren huffs, “made just for me. Mine, isn’t it?”

You don’t indulge him with an answer, loathe to admit that your cunt is made for him, but you feel yourself clench down around him, more of your wetness soaking his lower stomach. Eren chokes out some mix of a moan and a breathless laugh, fucking up into you harder. “What a perfect answer, baby. You love it, I know you do.”

“I love it,” you agree, simpering against him as your willpower fizzles out to nothing. You’re reluctant to believe it, but there’s another orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. Your body responds to him in a way it responds to no one else, clinging to him and growing wet for him and tightening around him.

Eren’s digging his hands into your hips, moving you up and down on his cock more so than actually thrusting. He’s panting against your ear, hot and heavy and in tune with your own gasps. He nudges his mouth down to plant sloppy kisses around your shoulder, just at the crook of your neck in the sensitive spot that he knows you love, remembers even after all these years. 

“Been too fucking long, baby,” Eren says, “gonna cum soon.”

You nod into his neck, cunt tightening around him at the prospect of his cum inside you. Just the thought of it sends your mind into orbit; a little fantasy forms in your hazy head of him fucking you like this every night, like he used to, a child with your curls and deep, green eyes-

“Gonna let me cum in this perfect cunt, aren’t you?”

As usual, Eren’s right in line with you– the synchronicity makes you moan again. “Please, please–”

“Gotta cum with me, alright? You can do that for me, can’t you?” You can, you will, but you’re so close to the edge when you try to respond your words are jumbled together. Even so close to his own release, Eren snickers at you. “My sweet girl’s all fucked out, can’t even talk.”

“Need your cum,” you manage, “please, Eren, m’close.”

Years ago, through strenuous games of overstimulation and denial, Eren trained your body to wait for him, you can’t cum unless he does and you know it. Your only option is to beg, hot shame warming your face. Eren remembers, just like you do, it makes him grin, feral and dangerous in the early evening light.

“Need my cum, baby? Needy, so needy, so beautiful,” he’s starting to slur, you know he’ll finish soon, “gonna cum in this perfect cunt of yours, never let you keep it from me again. Maybe I’ll knock you up, hm? Can’t run from me with my baby in you.”

Your watery eyes fly open at that, the logical part of your brain long-quieted, and you moan loud for him again, just the way he likes. Eren’s thrusts have grown sloppy, he’s grabbing you so hard now you know you’ll be left with Eren-shaped bruises on your hips.

Eren finally cums in you with your name on his lips, long and deep, keeping his cock fully seated inside you. It triggers your orgasm, a toe-curling wave of pleasure coursing through your body, straining your sore muscles. Eren’s mouth is pressed against yours and all you can manage is a whimper, feeling his cum warm your pussy, leak out around from where you’re both still joined together.

All the energy’s been pulled from your body now; you slump against his shoulder and whine when he slides out of you. Eren places you gently on the floor, presses a soft kiss to the top of your head before leading you upstairs on shaking legs. It smells like Eren up here, the pricey cologne he favors and the scent of well-loved sweatshirts intoxicating you. There are no words between the two of you as he leads you to the bathroom, helping you sit on the toilet seat as Eren rummages around for a washcloth to clean you.

“We need to go back to the reception,” you say weakly, wincing as Eren rubs the cloth over your cunt.

“What do you think?”

You frown, confused. “About?”

“Us, again,” he’s avoiding your eyes, focusing on his work between your legs. You’re not surprised he waited until you were disarmed to ask, brain still muddled and dizzy.

“Eren–”

“I am different now,” he finally meets your eyes, gaze alight with the burning, too-hot-to-touch love you know so well, the only love Eren knows how to offer, “got a therapist like you were always asking me to. I meditate every day. I’ll be so good to you, you know how good I am.”

He is good to you, you remember it well, your own tendency to flee was what broke you up in the first place. You’d left his heart shattered on the sidewalk of your apartment back in New York City, overwhelmed with commitment and unwilling to give his flaws the same grace he gave yours. You’re opposites: he’s hot where you’re cool, angry where you’re distant, argumentative where you’re cold. You sigh, head feeling heavy on your shoulders.

“Do you know what you’re asking of me? What about the lives we have now?”

“We’d make it work, line our schedules up together” the corner of his mouth curls, you want to kiss him again, “we’re always able to figure something out.”

You hate yourself for it, you want to run from him, get a car to the airport right now. You also want to pull him into your arms, feel his heartbeat against yours, kiss that hesitant smile on his face and never stop. “I…can I sleep on it?”

Eren’s face lights up, a kid on Christmas morning. He’s always been so expressive in these quiet moments; unreadable in a crowded room, but when it’s just you and him, his heart’s always been on his sleeve. He can’t help it. “Yeah, just sleep on it.”

You get yourself as put-together as you can, wipe the mascara from under your eyes, slip the dress back over your shoulders and concede one more kiss to Eren. It’s slow, long and languid, tongues slipping over one another, the desperation now cooled into a sense of homecoming. 

You hold hands as you climb the hill back to the reception. Your knees wobble, and it makes Eren laugh, makes you blush. He’s still going on about the villa’s history, and you’re half-listening, admiring the stars above you both. The reception is still going on, albeit a bit more subdued than earlier. Some guests have trickled out, finding their beds, but your friends are still seated around a table, drunk and laughing.

Connie’s the worst, of course, leaning on Jean and regaling everyone with a tale about their Midwestern childhood together; Mikasa’s buried under Clara, who’s sleeping soundly in her lap; Ymir and Historia are alternating between listening and kissing one another; Sasha’s struggling with a corkscrew and a tricky wine bottle, Armin attempting to help her.

Your face warms as all eyes turn to you, rumpled and suspicious and late. Mikasa raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her face.

“Where have you two been? You missed the garter toss,” Ymir nudges Historia conspiratorially.

“Just touring the grounds,” Eren answers coolly, pulling the empty chair beside Mikasa and offering it to you. You sit, grateful to be off of your shaking legs.

“It’s so beautiful here, thanks for putting us all up…” you accept the glass of wine Armin is offering over your shoulder, tipping it in the happy couples’ direction. Historia murmurs a quiet ‘you’re welcome’, the entire table exchanging knowing glances. You scowl, being left out of a joke is one of your pet peeves. “What?”

Jean grins lewdly. “Nothing, just…I don’t think Eren’s room is as far from the main house as you two think it is.”

[lady-raziel]

I'm angry. I'm really, really furious right now. I am absolutely livid that when the stakes are so high-- not just for Americans at risk from project 2025, not just for people in Europe being threatened by Russia, not just for people in Palestine, but for pretty much widespread global stability-- that the elites of the Democratic party would dare, would have the fucking gall to let Joe Biden run for a second term in the first place, and then when the magnitude of their own hubris is revealed, would not correct the mistake. And even worse, now, after what we've seen over the past two weeks-- that many of them, including some of the most progressive, would look out upon the people who they claim to be champions of, the diverse and varied America who will suffer at the hands of the conservatives' agenda--and they would EVER dare to say that YOU are wrong to point out the truth before your own eyes.

After the NATO press conference, where Biden absolutely had to prove he was not on the decline, and resoundingly failed to do so, I was appalled to go on Twitter (I'm still not calling it X, sorry) and see favored Democratic insiders claiming that the performance I had just seen was GOOD. That I should be PROUD of this. That I should WANT to vote for this.

How dare you. How dare you say that I should be proud, should wholeheartedly endorse the candidate at the head of a party who, time and time again over the past 30+ years, has only ever chosen to raise up its own aging elites, and occasionally younger people if they met the right demographics to portray the image of the "diverse party of the people."

No. It became evident a long time ago that you only ever cared about yourselves and consolidating your own power. Time and time again you have destroyed the chances of any candidate that strays beyond what you consider the bounds of acceptability for yourselves. There were good candidates in 2004-- and instead, the Democrats gave us John Kerry and handed the Republicans another four years of Bush. Hillary Clinton first ran for president in 2008-- had Barack Obama not been so compelling, had the idea of having the first African American president been so appealing, would you have allowed him to stand a chance? In 2016 you again and again ignored what the average person had to say, ignored concerns that had been brewing for decades that your commitment to "diversity" only mattered if it could be wielded against conservatives and used to prop yourselves up, and destroyed Bernie Sanders' campaign in service of an elite no one wanted.

The seeds of Donald Trump had been brewing for a long time, and instead of doing something about it then, you rested on your laurels and held on to your power instead of raising new people up to move the mission forward. And now, when the situation is MORE CRITICAL than it has EVER been-- still you refuse to listen. Still you refuse to change. Biden literally said in that press conference they aren't listening to polls anymore--is there ANYTHING that will get you to see that you are fucking this up???

So no, Biden campaign surrogates on my Twitter feed, DNC donation-prompt texts, endless barrage of emails one after another-- I see no reason to my proud of this. For many of us, this election as well as the last one was ALWAYS a strategic calculation to prevent worse things, empower local-level candidates, and allow a party structure to exist in some form in hopes of change. This was ALWAYS a dispassionate choice made with the full knowledge of complex situations in order to play the long game.

How dare you say I too should wholeheartedly believe the emperor is dressed in robes of splendor when he and the rest of you have lain bare for the longest time, while those of us trying to keep things from getting worse have to convince the rightfully angry people who still care to ignore the nakedness of who you are--to prevent people cloaked in blood from taking the reins. Shame on all of you, honestly. I wish I could say that this might be a learning moment for the Democratic elite, but I have little hope, and I expect to hear you pontificate on end regarding how "young people just don't understand the political process and that's why we lost" as we all go down together.

Fuck you.

[sgiandubh]

Good morning, Vietnam: Second hand

Good morning, Vietnam ahem, Outlander Fandom,

It is a rainy morning somewhere in Eastern Europe and I thought it was high time for a new audio:

I also think it's high time to remember a simple, common sense thing, really.

When a second hand player utters something outrageous, relayed by second hand trolls, the only logical reaction to it must be second hand embarrassment.

All we know (?) until now is that June Brunette went ballistic on some Antis/Onlys who took things a step too far across the discernment line and engaged with her. Who in their right mind would do such a thing? Who, aged 12 and above, would expect an honest answer or reliable info out of it?

Nothing consistent of those heated exchanges has emerged yet. Across the street, they suddenly play the #silly mimosa pudica game: let's be respectful and let's, by the same token and by all means, ventilate shit to oblivion, in the guise of 'well thought' posts. With NO substantial evidence. Funny, that.

What do we have, ultimately? A rude woman, whose claim to fame is her ambition to enlighten The World about the difference between deodorants and antiperspirants (I shit you not). And two clueless idiots, who should get a life ASAP and not go meddle their nose in someone else's Obvious Crap.

Even if she told such suicidal things as 'he hates all his fans' or ' he's mine and he'll never be yours' to those Two Convenient Imbeciles, that does not mean S told her that, either. If only because all wallets are, after all, created equal, as I often say. If only because his business projects are still not mature enough as to be entirely emancipated of the Mommies' Booze Mafia. And finally, if only because Seasons 7B and 8 are still to be broadcast and, therefore, show must go on.

I am officially buying popcorn. Let's see how long she remains relevant, after all this tiny shitstorm. Bets?

PS: you may or may not hear Baby the Lab strongly agreeing with me. Not even sorry for that ;).

[moremaybank]

BACK FOR YOU — r.c

day four second chance with rafe cameron

pairing rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary months after your failed long distance relationship, rafe begins to send you love letters in an attempt to win you back.

warnings one allusion to sex closer to the end, but nothing else. just a lil angst and hella fluff. oh, and some language.

author’s note hi my loves, i’d really appreciate if you read this because i haven’t written a piece like this in a very long time and i’m actually really proud of it ♡︎ thank you ily

obx week ‘23 masterlist ;; rafe masterlist

Dear Y/N,

Hey. I know it’s been awhile, and I know that it’s weird — writing you like this. But something happened the other day, and I wanted to tell you about it. 

I was in the grocery store with Wheeze, picking up some cupcakes for her class bake sale because none of us actually know how to bake (which you know). When we got to the bakery section, I saw chocolate-covered strawberries, and I immediately thought of you. Remember how we used to go star-gazing? We’d pile the back of my pickup with pillows and those thick-ass, furry blankets from Costco, get all cozy, and you’d bring those chocolate-covered strawberries that you’d spent the day making just for me. You’d feed ‘em to me, grinning when I’d instantly chase your hand for another bite. And then afterward, you’d cuddle into me, and we’d just lay there, looking at the stars. You’d get this wondrous look in your eyes, like you’d never seen anything so beautiful. I had though. I got to look at you every day, and you beat the stars by a long shot.

Anyway, I ran into your mom at the club earlier. She told me that you were travelling, visiting every place you possibly could in Europe. Sounds like you. I bet you went to Greece first, you’ve had an obsession with it since you were fifteen. I know I always talked about taking you there. Who knows, maybe I still can. 

I miss you. Did I mention that? ‘Cause I do. I miss you all the time. 

Yours, 

Rafe

Dear Y/N, 

You didn’t answer that last letter, and that’s fine. I understand why. I never said how sorry I was for everything that happened last year, never really explained. But I will now.

I’m so sorry for how I ended things. Every day, I woke up at school, far away from you. It ached me to not wake up to you. To not see you every second of the day. To not hold your hand or see you smile as soon as you saw me. 

I missed everything. The smell of your lavender shampoo. Your hands running through my hair when I was stressed. You’d always kiss the frown off my face and fix everything just by telling me you loved me. The nights you’d call me when you couldn’t sleep because you needed to hear my voice. That cute little giggle you’d do after you’d been laughing for awhile. The way you’d look at me when you told me you loved me. There wasn’t a single reminder of you that didn’t constantly play on a loop in my head, that didn’t buzz deep in my veins. But I felt such a large void in my heart without you around, and I thought that if I broke things off with you that it would go away. But in the months since then, it’s only grown. Only gotten worse. I don’t think I’ll ever survive losing you. 

I hope this letter finds you well. I hope you open it, and maybe decide to write me back. No pressure, though. 

Yours always,

Rafe

Dear Y/N, 

I don’t know if you’re getting sick of these. I really hope you aren’t. I gotta admit, writing to you makes me feel like we’re still connected. I still think we are. At least, on my end, we are. 

Life’s been really crazy, lately. Ward’s getting ready to hand Cameron Development over to me. Every day he tells me that he hopes I won’t run the damn thing into the ground while he’s gone, travelling with Rose. I honestly don’t know why he would let me run things when he obviously doesn’t have an ounce of faith in me. You always told me that his love didn’t have to be earned, and I’ve always known that you were right, but it really feels like I’ll never have it. I wish you were here. You always make things better. 

Anyway, I’m on the road to Raleigh, and I can’t help but think about our crazy road trip last summer. We had no freakin’ clue where we were going, but honestly, I didn’t care. I just wanted to be with you. Your infectious laughter and your terrible singing along to All Too Well (the ten minute version, obviously) is what kept me going that entire drive. That, and when you’d shower me with kisses all over my cheek when you got bored. I loved that shit. 

I’ve been missing you like hell. I’ve already said this, but I really wish you were here. You’d make all this work worth it. ‘Cause, as of right now, I don’t really know why I’m doing all this. You aren’t here, and we don’t have the family we’d always dreamed about. Hopefully that changes in the near future. 

Yours (until my heart stops beating), 

Rafe

Dear Y/N, 

A little birdie by the name of Sarah let it slip that you’ve been keeping my letters. Truth is, I sent her to spy on you.

Okay, I didn’t. But I had you for a sec, didn’t I? 

I only know you have them because I begged her for hours to tell me how you were doing, and if you talked about me. Even then, I had to bribe her by saying I’d babysit the kids for an entire weekend so her and John B could go on a couples getaway. Totally worth it. 

Oh, and they threw me a party at work. Apparently I beat out Ward for some record. I don’t even remember what it’s called now. I had so much cake that I went into a sugar coma. It was red velvet, cream cheese icing. Your favourite. That’s probably why I ate so much. You’d go back for it so many times that by the time you were full, I’d be finishing all the rest. 

You still haven’t written me back, but that’s alright. Do it when you’re ready. If you’re ready. Again, no pressure. 

Anyway, I’m sitting here on my couch watching Gilmore Girls. Yes, I finally got around to watching it. I know you begged me to for ages and we never actually got the chance to do it, but it popped up on my ‘recommended’ the other day and I decided to give it a try. You were right. This show’s freakin’ hilarious. I swear Lorelai Gilmore is the reason you were always so witty with me. She’s so quick on her feet, it blows my mind. Also, please tell me that Rory becomes enjoyable again. I miss her Chilton days. I miss her and Jess. Does he ever come back? And please tell me that Luke and Lorelai are endgame. I mean, the horoscope!!! The man waited eight years for her. People probably thought he was crazy for doing so, but I get it. I’d wait centuries if it meant I got to end up with you. 

Yours (until the end of time),

Rafe

Dear Y/N, 

I’ve written you so many letters, I hope I’m not taking up too much space at your place. Hey, that rhymed. I should be a rapper. All right, I could never be a rapper. This is why I need you. You keep my delusional mind in check. 

The other day, I was on the ferry, riding over to the mainland, and when we reached, I swear I almost started driving to your house. Obviously, I didn’t. I chickened out. I thought about walking up to your doorstep, watching you open the door, and even dream-you was way too beautiful for me to handle. I almost gave myself a heart attack. One day, though, I’ll work up the courage. I wanna see you so badly, it’s killing me. 

Can I tell you something? I have this dream sometimes, more often than not. It takes place back when we were still in college. Instead of ending things between us, I drop everything and run to you. The journey takes all day long, but I don’t care. I make my way to you, and once I find you, I pull you into my arms and kiss the life out of you. You ask me what’s gotten into me, and I respond by saying that I never want to live without you. That being away from you is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with, and that life isn’t worth living if I’m not by your side. I get down on one knee, pull out a big ass rock from my pocket, and ask you to marry me. And you say yes. Every. Damn. Time. 

The reason I’m saying all this is because I want to give you a fair warning. I’m going to make that happen someday. Sure, we aren’t in school anymore, and we aren’t even together right now, but I don’t care. We’re going to end up together. I know it, and you know it. I promise you, Y/N, I’m going to come back for you. And when I do, I’ll never leave you again. The only place I ever want to be is right by your side, in our huge house that I’m going to build for us, with our kids running around and chasing our dog. The house will smell like a bakery all the time because of your huge sweet tooth, and it’ll most likely be a mess because we won’t be able to keep up with our crazy ass kids. But we’ll be together. And we’ll stay that way until we’re all old and grey. And I might be pushing it by saying this, but I’ll still be taking you to bed every night, ‘cause I know in my heart that you’ll still be getting me all bricked up even in our nineties. Please don’t hate me for saying that. 

Yours forever,

Rafe

You placed the last letter back into its envelope and added it to your large collection. Your heart warmed at Rafe’s declaration. You’d been rereading that one letter for a month now. You missed him terribly. You’d tried to write to him so many times, but each time you’d started, you just couldn’t go through with it. Your fear consumed you. You were petrified of the thought that once you opened yourself up again, Rafe would find another reason to leave you. You’d always known that it was hard for him to walk away from you, but it hurt you just the same. If not, more. 

Still, this was a side of him that you’d never seen before. He’d changed in the near year since you’d broken up. You could tell from the way he wrote to you. He’d never been as vulnerable and raw as he had been in those letters. He was bearing his soul to you, something he was always unable to truly do. There was always a small part of him that was closed off, even to you. But that part seemed to have vanished. 

Just as you placed the crate of letters back on your shelf, your doorbell rang. Your heart raced as you approached the door. You opened it, and there, finally, he stood.

Rafe slapped his hand to his heart. “God, I was right. Way too beautiful. Take it easy on me, would you?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you threw your arms around his neck and practically jumped into his arms. He returned your embrace quickly, squeezing you tightly and keeping you pressed to him as one hand cradled the back of your head. 

After a moment, you hesitantly pulled away, your tears clouding your vision. You opened your mouth to speak, but Rafe beat you to it.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I love you. I love you so much. I—”

You cut him off. “—Shut up and kiss me, fiancé.”

“Fiancé? Yeah? You wanna marry me?”

“Of course I do. You’re still mine, right?”

“Yours,” he confirmed, punctuating it with a kiss. “Always.” Kiss. “Until my heart stops beating.” Kiss. “Until the end of time.” Kiss.

He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he let out a content sigh. “Forever.” 

RAFE TAG LIST (JOIN HERE!): @surftrips @oncasette @taintedxkisses @maybankslover @goldenroutledge @penny4yourthoughts @bmo-bri @hemogloban @princessbetsy123-blog @slytherhoes @whoisdrewstarkey @dreamingwithrafe @vigilanteshitposting @twelfthmortalofcrimsonpalace @wildflwrdarlin @adoreyouusugar @f4ll-for-you @tell-me-when-ur-ready @bbycowboi @jjmaybankisbae @jjsbank444 @enhypens-hoe @loverofdrewstarkey @countryclubkook @earth2starkey @angelofcigs @koalalafications @aerangi @cantstoptheimagines @bloody-mf-bsc @maybanksbabe @slut4drudy @dancinglikeaballerina @somerandos-world @shahanaazsoumah @darleneslane @sya-skies @ellabellabus07 @emmalandry @madelynie @urbestieboo @cruzgrecia @l1lactheflower @rafegirly @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @gillybear17 @obaex @abbybarnesstuff @mattyskies

[blushweddinggowns]

Steddie Drunk Dialing Fluff

Steve Harrington-Munson was probably one of the happiest men to be alive in the modern era. He had the perfect life, against all odds. Because apparently having your late teens and early twenties ruined by demons equated to a fantastic adulthood.

He had it all. A loving family, the best friend/surrogate sister he could ever ask for, and he was married to the love of his life. And okay, yes. That had included some extremely embarrassing revelations and internal meltdowns and... a pretty brutal disownment. But he had figured it all out in the end. And here he was, a decade later with a ring on his finger and a nice hyphenated name. Not to mention how he was basically a trophy husband.

Eddie hadn't wasted a moment of the last decade. A symptom of almost dying it would seem. He went for the GED, gathered the band back up, moved across the country to chase his dreams and play in every shitty dive bar he could until they were discovered. All while dragging Steve along for the ride.

As much as Steve had believed in him, neither of them had been prepared for his music career actually taking off. Especially not to the level it did. It was undeniable that his husband was an A-Lister, despite how universally hated he was by half the country. You don't get many out and proud metal front man who loved parading around his high school sweetheart at every social event he could. But Europe loved him, as did the entirety of gay, rebellious youths world wide.

It was so stupid. There Eddie was, painted as an insane freak who was fake-married. With tabloids running story after story about his secret children, his drug addiction, a wife from another country, anything that they could think of. All while Eddie spent every free moment at Steve's side, always opting for a night in with his baby when given the choice. And when he wasn't doing that, he was busy playing surrogate fun uncle to the kids, who were definitly not kids anymore. But that didn't stop them from all getting together for Dungeons and Dragons once a month, hundreds and hundreds of campaign hours on everyone's belts. And that was his life. Spending time with his family, forcing them on hikes and runs, volunteering, working occasionally to help Robin with her translating work, all while coming home to the sweetest thing that ever existed.

God, did Steve love that man. Reminiscing about the love of his life while he was on tour was not helping his fretful sleep. He just... really had given him everything. He loved him so much in fact that he was only slightly pissed when he was woken up at three a.m. from the phone ringing off the hook.

Steve reached for it blindly, still half-asleep when he mumbled, "Mm-Eds?"

"Steeeeeeeeeevie," Eddie's voice slurred back at him, "Baby booooy. How's my baby boy? I miss my baby boy."

Steve smiled despite himself, yawning into the phone. Eddie was lucky he was so cute, considering how the love of his life who could not remember what time zones were, "He misses you too. And he's a little tired right now babe. What's up?"

"Day drunk," Eddie sighed, "Guys, morning show, mimosas, hotel room to sleep it off. Missing you."

"You won't be missing me for long," Steve softly laughed. Though... hearing his voice was quite the reminder of how cold the bed suddenly felt, "Just... one more week. That's not too long right?"

"Too long!" Eddie groaned, dramatic, "I miss you now. Why can't I see you now? Wait-Can I see you now? Cause planes and trains and-"

"And no," Steve interrupted with a chuckle, "You'd only get me for a few hours before you'd have to leave again."

"Worth it," Eddie mumbled out, his voice a little muffled as he tumbled around in his hotel bed, "Want my baby."

The pathetic tilt to his voice was enough to make Steve's heart clench. God he was too precious. Suddenly a red-eye in the middle of the night for a two hour make-out session didn't sound like such a bad idea. But he could be the strong one for tonight, "You have me sweetheart. Want me to stay on until you fall asleep."

"Yes please," Eddie sighed, "Love your voice. It's so... nice. Like... audible perfume. Like poetry or something."

"Oh baby you are wasted," Steve said as he laid back down, nestling the phone to his ear, "Please tell me you drank some water before laying down?"

"... maybe?"

"Babe."

"I knoooow. Keep nagging me though. I missed that too."

"Is my bitching your bed time story?"

He could hear Eddie nodding, rusting against the fabric, "And it's the best. Keep going?"

Steve rolled his eyes, but he did what he was asked. Saying every silly little grievance he could think of. He whined about how cold it was in bed without him, how Eddie had promised to take out the trash before he left and forgot. Again. How he hated how quiet it was without him, how much he missed hearing his voice trailing in and out of every room.

And Eddie listened, mumbling out a few sleepy m'sorrys and I love yous along the way. Until all Steve could hear was the slow, steady sound of his breathing. But he didn't hang up. Not when that was one of his favorite sounds in the world. And the perfect thing to fall asleep to.

Steve smiled to himself as he closed his eyes, a little amazed that Eddie could still make him feel so loved, from hundreds of miles away.

But one thing was for sure. He still had to be the happiest man on earth.

[xxscarletxrosexx]

Kiss Distance: When Feelings Can't Reach | Linguistic Analyses on Rick & Rachel's lines foreshadow for TwiYor, DamiAnya, and Marthanderson from Ch. 105.5 (PART 1)

This is gonna be a take from the linguistic + literary lens regarding Rick and Rachel's lines from Spy x Family's Ch. 105.5.

Spoilers beware.

So let's talk about the film: Kiss Distance.

On X/Twitter, all I said was my analysis senses were tingling. There was a strong linguistic and creative writing/literary devices indicating foreshadow from the movie, and this just surprisingly got attention.

So now, I'm finally addressing this specific section in a long analysis post.

I cannot stress how much I love Endo-san's short chapters. There are so many things going on in terms of literary devices, and now, I think he plays with linguistics in them. I believe that the last time he did this was during Ch. 90.1 when we learned that Ania's name turned into Anya. I remember freaking the hell out that linguistics was touched upon, cuz honestly, what manga does that? Someone is finally paying attention to linguistics in a story, and it's just further pulling me into my rabbit-hole fixation and obsession with Spy x Family.

Although the chapter is only 5 pages long, it has SO MANY THINGS TO COVER. I won't be able to do that in this post, but I DID cover the entire thing in a video analysis that you can watch here:

What I will mainly cover in this post will be the film: Kissing Distance and the characters (Yor, Anya, Becky, and Martha) watching it + post-watching it. I cannot stress the ridiculous efforts embedded in just 3 pages, so I need to divide these sections into a linguistic lens (part 1) and a literary lens (part 2).

Let's start with the linguistic lens.

Spelling reflects language association + cultural history + maybe it's a meme too.

Spelling reflects language association

At the top right corner of page 2, we've got some English texts on the movie's billboard. "Interesting" and "Entertaining" are stacked on the left while "Movie" and "Theater" are stacked on the right.

Of these words, the word that stands out the most to me is Theater. English experts recognize that there are 2 spellings of this word: theater and theatre. These spelling tell you that it is either American (theater) or British (theatre).

I'm no expert on geography, but I believed that Ostania and Westalis were loosely based in Europe. I think I read someone talk about the architecture in Berlint also reflected European style houses--I'm so sorry that I can't recall who addressed it. The wars also felt like they were influenced by WWI and WWII. But what I do know is English it's my goddamn expertise. I'm not gonna be an uptight ass about pointing out every nook and cranny of inconsistent English, because that's just a whole lot of work for a creator and his team can do, realistically speaking. If Endo-san wanted perfect control in the language he's portraying in SxF, then he would need a dedicated team of linguists to help with translations. It may surprise you but there are many variations of a language (ex: English has AAVE. It's still English but used by this group of speakers--more on this later). But this is a hell hole of work, so I'm giving him so much slack on it as well as the translators handling the translations (like, really. No hate. Thank you for your services <3).

Another caveat: the English translation may also be a reflection of the translators. Maybe they favor American English than British English--who really knows? But I digress.

I'll stick to what I already know of the Ostanian language: It's English (variety is unspecificed, feels American) + Japanese.

Spelling shows cultural history

Next, let's address that these are adjectives slapped on a movie billboard. Normally, American movie theaters do not post adjectives. They post about the movie, the actors, etc. Comments about movies theaters being "family friendly" are subtext under the current film, etc. Here's an example of a movie theater from the 1950s found on gettyimages:

So this brings me to consider that English is being used as kazari eigo which means 'decorative English' in Japanese. In Chris Broad's (AbroadinJapan) words:

"... English in Japan is most commonly used as a form of cheap decorations and prestige, or value to a product and because so few people here understand it, the companies that plaster English all over their products and items rarely bother to check that it makes any sense." Reference:

Maybe it's a meme

This chapter, overall, felt really silly. There were silly drawings, silly play on words, silly foreshadows, etc. I couldn't help but think that maybe Endo-san was throwing in something amusing in these small things (cuz he's got attention to detail). Is it:

Interesting Entertaining Movie Theater OR Interesting Movie Entertaining Theater

It reminds me of:

Endo-san does have a tendency to incorporate memes into his manga/anime. Like... was Anya's jump not a Jojo's meme...? //sweats

I don't know if I'm severely poisoned by JJBA memes but, yeah, I saw it since the day this chapter came out. I just thought:

ANYA = DIO BRANDO

Anyway... whether it was intentional or unintentional (for this section), I love when mangakas incorporate something meme-y

2. Ricky's English Variety

This is where I went berzerk in this chapter with all of these small linguistic details. Ricky's speech says so much about him.

His introduction of himself is that he's a broken razor. Essentially, he's painting the bad-boy ML image. But he's not just any bad boy. He's a bad boy with issues controlling himself/the situation. In other words he's toxic and not good for us healing men/women //joking. However, out of all of these words, the one that stands out to me is shaddup. His speech suddenly changed because romance conflicts need to have a wall between the main couple. In this case, other than Ricky's pompadour, it's his speech. What we have here is a clash between English varieties.

To understand what is variety in linguistics, you might be familiar with these words: language, dialect, vernacular, and accent. Language is the most obvious, but dialect, vernacular, and accent can be a lil confusing to distinguish. So here's a definition and a chart I made to help distinguish them:

- Language: a system of communication that uses words, grammar, and spelling to convey meaning, languages can be spoken, written, or signed-- Ex: English, Spanish, Arabic, etc. - Dialect: is a variation of a language that is spoken by a specific group of people, such as a community, culture, or region. It includes differences in vocabulary, grammar, and how the language is used -- Ex: American English vs. British English vs. Australian English - Vernacular: is a type of dialect that's used by the "common people" of a region. It's a non-standard dialect that's spoken rather than written. Vernacular language is often made up of slang or regional terms -- Ex: African American Vernacular English (AAVE) - Accent: is the way people in a specific group pronounce words, which is also know as the prosody of speech. Prosody refers to the tone and musicality of someone's speech -- Ex: Boston accent

In Summary (a simplified version of the above info): Language is the standard language (aka what you learn in grammar class and in public speaking class) Dialect is born from language where it becomes variations of the language and adopts different grammar, vocabulary, and language use (like American English vs. British English vs. Australian English) Vernacular is a type of dialect used by "common people" and often include slang words and regional terms (think African American Vernacular English, or AAVE) Accent is a type of dialect that is mainly focused on prosody, or how a person pronounces a word (think Boston accent)

Now that you understand the linguistic terminologies, here's a fun exercise to show you what I see:

Ricky predominantly uses the standard English language in the film:

The moment a language's word has a (legitimate) spelling change, it automatically turns into a dialect (which touches on my previous topic about theater vs. theatre).

These are Ricky's English accents:

Finally, this is Ricky using an English vernacular:

POP QUIZ!

Now that you know what English variety is, can you guess which one Ricky has? If you guessed dialect, then you're half a step there. If you guessed accent, you're so close! But the correct answer is vernacular. This is because accent overlaps with vernacular, but accent stops at word pronunciations. Vernacular has accent and slang.

3. Discourse Analysis on Ricky's Vernacular

You should now have a good understanding of Ricky's vernacular, but now let's talk about why this is significant in discourse analysis.

Linguists who specialize in discourse analysis are responsible for analyzing why and how people speak a certain way. Many linguistic features are observed (lexicons, syntax, phonology, semantics, etc.) but what they share in common is who it's presented to. They're looking at the relationship between interlocutors (people who take part in the dialogue/conversation). In other words, depending on who you converse with, the way you speak is affected.

You may have already realized that Ricky is code-switching (a speaker switches between one or more languages and/or varieties) between standard English and his English vernacular.

Now, pay attention to who Ricky speaks to and when he code-switches.

We can observe in the above panel that Ricky uses standard English when speaking to Rachel. This is because Ricky has linguistically profiled her.

How am I so sure that he's linguistically profiled her? Well, because the majority of human beings unconsciously linguistically profile their appearances. Linguistic profiling does have a similar general word: stereotype. The only difference is that based on appearance, we make a split-second assumption and decision on how we talk to that person.

In this case, Ricky spoke first (exercising dominance through initiation) and used standard English. From a linguistic lens, Ricky is telling me: hey, I know I look like a bad boy, and you may have linguistically profiled me as someone who didn't have good education, which would have reflected in my speech, but I'm more than competent to use standard English. And because I can use standard English, I'm on the same equal playing field (metaphorically and linguistically speaking) as Rachel.

But then, notice the moment, Rachel tells him that she hates Ruffians like [him], Ricky's replies with an accent of shuddap (shut up). Linguistically, he's drawing a line between them. This also indicates that they're no longer on the same side before adding his threat: "I'll cut you!"

In this scene, notice Ricky's accent comes back again, but who is it directed to? An enemy or someone from his linguistic background. He uses this accent with an interlocutor of the same English variety background to make it clear to the person he's beaten up that he's speaking in the "language" that they both completely understand.

But, the moment Ricky speaks to Rachel, he reverts back to standard English. What this means is that Ricky is linguistically assimilating/aligning himself with Rachel to show that he's on her side. This can also mean that he's making himself appealing to her through discourse. On the other hand, Rachel makes herself appealing through physical means (her taste in clothing has changed--more on this under literary analysis).

In this scene, Ricky changes appearance (more on this under literary analysis) and he speaks using standard English. But the moment he loses his pompadour, guess what happens?

Ricky goes back to his true self and shows it through using English vernacular.

Rachel has never changed in her English, so she's always been true to herself. It's Ricky who goes through these changes. And it becomes a beautiful and romantic moment of a man undergoing change not only visually but linguistically.

4. Language parallel/mirroring between the anime and the manga

The fact that Endo-san decided to give Ricky an English vernacular in the English translation of the manga reflects his attention to details between the manga and the anime adaptation.

Linguistics in Anime (what you hear)

Maybe you've noticed, maybe you haven't, but Takuya Eguchi, Loid's voice actor, ingeniously incorporated different prosodic features when assuming roles for [redacted], Loid Forger, Twilight, and Robert. Catte-b covers this in her Leitmotifs in the Spy x Family soundtrack. Piracytheorist also provided a video demonstrating Loid, [Redacted], and Twilight's voices. In both posts, Eguchi's changing voice is called timbre (Catte-B and Piracytheorist have a music background). Timbre is defined as:

In other words, timbre is an individual's voice quality or vocal signature. It's how listeners can recognize a singer regardless of what song they sing and how anime watchers can identify a VA's voice by the character's name in another anime--there's just a certain quality in a person's voice that makes them identifiable.

Because of this definition, timbre is unfortunately not the correct terminology. Using vocal/voice timbre when describing vocal register, at the end of the day, is just pitch. Catte-B and Piracytheorist, however, are not wrong in their analyses. They have correctly identified one of the characteristics of speech and even provided vocal qualties (sharp, flat, soft, etc.) but the more appropriate term should be prosodic features.

I want to highlight the most important thing about prosodic features and it's the features that make it up: intonation, stress, rhythm, pitch, and pauses.

Intonation: is the variation of pitch across a phrase or sentence. > in a way, it's creating a melody when speaking. > its purpose in spoken language is to convey meaning. This is usually the case in tonal languages that require a specific pitch to indicate a word. However, in English, intonation is present when we ask a question (the last few words tend to be higher-pitched) vs. a statement which is either consistent in pitch or can sometimes be lower-pitched. Stress: involves giving prominence to one or more syllables in a word. This is achieved through increasing the length, volume, or pitch of a syllable, or by changing the vowel quality. > stress is important for helping listeners understand meaning / word class and distinguish words during rapid speech (ex: address, graduate, permit etc.) > it can be used to emphasize a specific word of a sentence (ex: Where did you go last night? vs. Where did you go last night? vs. Where did you go last night?) Rhythm: refers to the sense of movement and flow of speech. It's a combination of stress, length, and number of syllables. > mostly concerned with syllables and larger parts of speech rather than phonetic segments like consonants or vowels > important for making speech sound flow well and helps us understand what's being said > 2 most common types of rhythm in language are stress-timed and syllable-timed (English typically uses a stress-timed rhythm) Pitch: indicates highness or lowness of sound. > A person's pitch can reflect friendliness and warmth from the upper register (higher pitch spectrum) to mysterious and sexy with the lower register (lower pitch spectrum)--or at least, this is a consensus opinion that I've heard in English-speaking communities when it comes to the opinion of an individual's vocal pitch for both men and women. Pauses: a break in speaking or a moment of silence that can help add structure to the speech. Pauses have several functions: > gives listeners time to comprehend and digest the information > can be used to emphasize words or ideas > helps speakers transition between ideas > prevent rambling > can signal speech breaks, especially in languages that utilize pausing as a prominent cue > can denote high-information content

There are more prosodic features listed like juncture, loudness, duration, and tempo, but this is where it'll get too specific. Rhythm kinda already accounts for duration and tempo. Juncture is relating to annotating pauses (like indicate when a pause is greater than a certain milisecond), and loudness could kinda fall under the category of rhythm.

Timbre isn't listed as a feature, but I think it should simply because timbre is what makes your voice your voice. And because timbre is the "vocal signature", the shouldn't change--not unless you're as vocally talented as Tara Strong, who can easily change her timbre with different characters.

Eguchi-san does, however, have some roles where his timbre does change, specifically as Shuuji Hanma from Tokyo Revengers and Kazuya Kujou from Gosick (he does have some moments when he slips back to his familiar timbre).

Now that you have an understanding of what prosodic features are, you'll be able to hear that Eguchi-san's timbre doesn't change as [redacted], Twilight, Loid, or Robert. I believe Eguchi-san intentionally kept the same timbre for [redacted], Twilight, Loid, and Robert because they're all staying close to home. You can still recognize it's still the same person. But what changes are other prosodic features (intonation, pitch, rhythm, stress, and pauses). The following video is from Piracytheorist's post and the YouTube video is from Calle-B.

Here are my descriptions of the 4 voices:

[Redacted] - Intonation: N/A. Japanese is not a tonal language. - Stress: vowels and consonants are even for syllables - Rhythm: slow and steady - Pitch: low register, feels like it can be the middle (makes sense since this is the voice he's born with) - Pauses: frequent pauses (also, no way in hell you can convince me to measure the mili-second of his pause) - Tone: warm and soft - Other quality(-ies): reminds me of slight head-mix dominant (60% - 70%). In singing, a mixed voice is when a singer mixes his/her/their head voice and chest voice together (you might commonly know this as belting). But with mix voices, the singer can choose to make it an even mix of both head and chest, or leaning to either more head or more chest. Twilight - Intonation: N/A. Japanese is not a tonal language - Stress: consonants, vowels, syllables, and long phrases are rushed - Rhythm: his speed is fast. it's like water gushing out - Pitch: low(est) register. This is probably the deepest voice he can go while maintaining his timbre - Pauses: They only exist when a completed thought is finished. Twilight, BREATHE, man - Tone: cold and sharp - Other quality(-ies): sometimes his low register have a bassy quality to it Loid Forger - Intonation: N/A - Stress: His consonants and vowels are spoken fast in some syllables but also have a slight elongation typically towards the last few words of a completed thought - Rhythm: fast like Twilights, but has an upbeat rhythm to it - Pitch: upper register (it's the customer service voice lol) - Pauses: It's a mix of Twilight and [Redacted]'s. He has moments where he pauses after a long completed thought. Sometimes, he pauses in between a few words/syllables. Pauses feel irregular here--like he doesn't know if he should relax of speed up (as if he's being pulled to either Twilight or [redacted]'s pause pacing) - Tone: sounds cheerful - Other quality(-ies): 80% head-mix voice. The chest voice is still there, but head voice stands out Robert - Intonation: N/A. Japanese is not a tonal language. - Stress: elongated vowels and consonants -- similar to [redacted]. - Rhythm: originally slow and drawl. But as soon as he realizes that "Robert's mission is over", he starts speaking fast like Twilight - Pitch: low register and soft - Pauses: He has similar pauses to [redacted]. There seems to be a lil bit of longer pauses to indicate passiveness (reinforce the boring image of Robert) - Tone: monotone and soft - Other quality(-ies): head voice. The chest voice seems to be absent (chest voice is perceived as the power in singing and speech) as to reflect Robert as someone who is small and doesn't have much personality (as to not stand out during this identity). This voice is achieved by keeping your voice low but above a whisper. When "Robert's mission is over", the chest voice emerges and his head voice becomes head-mix.

Prosodic features are best accurately portrayed in discourse, meaning it's exclusively for speaking, not writing. So, how can Endo-san incorporate any linguistic feature in writing? We've already answered that with the analyses above: spelling.

Linguistics in the manga (what you read)

I've already went into great detail about spelling reflecting dialect, so I won't regurgitate what I've already covered. Instead, I want to focus on the fact that Endo-san actually acknowledges and uses prosodic features to mirror the 2 mediums of Spy x Family. This is significant because it reinforces the mirroring characters between Ricky and Loid. After all, it's going to be a foreshadow. Normally, I'd talk more about foreshadow under a literary lens, but for once, foreshadow is illustrated through linguistics.

In discourse analysis, the way you speak almost always portrays your identity.

Ricky's English vernacular is his real speech. > [Redacted]'s voice is Loid/Twilight's real speech, which often came out in the presence of Yor Forger.

Ricky speaks in standard English to mask his real voice and make himself more appealing to Rachel. > Loid's voice is used to mask both Twilight and [redacted].

Ricky gives up his pompadour (the most important thing in his life--which also happens to be a part of his identity) to destroy the "barrier" between him and Rachel. In doing so, he goes back to speaking with his English vernacular. > FORESHADOW: Loid will give up one or two of his identities for Yor (it might be Twilight and/or Loid). In exchange, [redacted] will come back.

Another possible foreshadow is what Rachel says about recognizing the importance of Ricky's pompadour to him. Because Rachel is a parallel character to Yor Forger, it can be implied that Yor would recognize how important Loid's identity is to him. In a previous analysis, I mentioned that Ch. 90.1, is the closest thing to an identity reveal. When Yor carved out Anya's name as Ania, she never once questioned it. She also didn't question when she had to carve another sign and spelled it with Anya. I'm aware of the caveat in this claim, such as Yor lacking education in Ostanian orthography which is why she doesn't react.

Be it grasping at straws or not, Yor has the emotional maturity to bounce back from the shock of an identity reveal. Yes, Yor would be sad and hurt to find out that Twilight is a spy from the opposition, but she would understand. They know they're both orphans because of the war. Yor already has a positive bias towards Loid based on observing his behavior at home, in his efforts to provide a better future for Anya, regardless of blood relationship. The point is, Yor is already infatuated with him and her feelings for him will influence her compassion and understanding for the person he's become, so bouncing back from feeling betrayal (not the romantic kind) would be faster for her than Loid.

Loid, on the other hand, may have more reluctance towards accepting the identity reveal (this is also mentioned in my Ch. 90.1 analysis). This is mainly because he's been conditioned to be skeptical and overanalyzing. So, he'll definitely need time to brood and reflect on their situation. Or, maybe he just might have already reached a point where he's just tired, and deflatingly accepts the situation. He'll self-loathe himself for being Westalis's best spy only to have married a legendary Garden assassin--seeing both as a win and loss (he'd be the type to say that he should be dead right now because his identity was revealed to the deadliest enemy). The confession of their love for one another just might be the thing to smooth out the wrinkles.

Someone once commented that, technically, losing Twilight as an identity isn't technically a loss. Twilight was born from a sacrifice. Loid technically isn't a loss either since he was born as a role for Twilight to play. Which leaves [redacted]. Like the film for Ricky, [redacted]'s foreshadowed arrival is just an opportunity for him to come in full circle.

PHEW.

This was a long linguistic analysis of these few pages, and in real-time this took me 8 hours to write. I did lose a night of sleep cuz my brain hyper-fixated on writing this. Help. But we're not done yet. The knowledge that you've acquired will definitely be beneficial through a literary lens in part 2.

I'll update this post with a link when Part 2 is finished.

[gremlingottoosilly]

what if König has a wifey that’s just obsessed with a specific artist!! she gets hyped when new albums are released, cries listening to their sad songs, can ramble for hours about their whole career progression and make in depth lyric analysis.

And who would do ANYTHING to see their favourite artist performing live. Literally anything. Like, 100% willing to take part in könig’s deepest, darkest fantasies just as long as he gets her tickets to the latest tour (and maybe some tour merch lol)

Would he be jealous of wifey being so invested in someone else or would he take advantage of her obsession to endear her to him?

This can go two ways!! If the wifey is obsessed with a band/a solo singer who is a female, Konig wouldn't really mind too much. He will buy you those expensive tickets if they are touring in Europe(he doesn't want you to go too far away from him, and the cross-continental flights are too much trouble even with his money and citizenship), will give you his card to buy some merch and honestly wouldn't mind you blasting the songs in the house. He has Opinions about the music he likes - mostly German hard rock, obvi, he was raised on this stuff, at first as a rebellion, and later came to really embrace it, but he won't mind you and your music tastes. Even if it's something basic like Taylor Swift or Lana Del Rey or Mitski, etc, he wouldn't honestly mind. Would like you to listen to his music, but if anything, your obsession with some girlie pop female singer only fuels his adoration for you. You're so cute and obsessive, he can't have enough!! If you like a band or a solo singer that is a man...oh boy. Konig googles the easiest way to kill a celebrity, preferably blasting the whole stage altogether. He knows that his being jealous of some singer is ridiculous...he also doesn't care. He tries to see the comparison between him and the guy you're obsessed with. 90% chance that they don't look alike at all - and it makes him worried, because what if you were to pursue someone like your favorite band boy?? he won't allow you to go to the concert, oh no, these places are too dangerous!! Too many people and too much possibility of mass attack or targeted assassination, you need to stay home! He won't falter even with your puppy eyes, his desire to keep you with him is too much( You'd have to promise you're definitely not leaving Konig, you just like the music and want to support your favorite artist...he will be so obnoxious and rude, not even realizing it - he is blasting your music tastes and probably leaving you crying after( your tears are the only thing that will kinda make him reconsider - but still, no concerts. Maybe a few posters and special edition disks, but please don't forget about your husband, he needs you to tell him how in love you are with him!! If that would mean sucking his cock like a good girl and stopping whining when he asks for cockwarming while he is playing or watching TV...you want those special merch thingies, right? And maybe, if you're good enough and play with your ass a little, he might consider buying a ticket...