#slowly rotating him in my head

[moonfoxgazer]

Ever elusive, reclusive and aloof, and yet some say that Time is somehow on your side, how quaint, that such a thing can come to favor something so small and yet so grand, befitting a paradox.

I got a little carried away ;;;; But he's my favorite and has been ever since I watched TUE when it aired when I was a kiddo. Even now with the graphic novel and some theories that I have about it and TUE, Clockwork remains my favorite character from DP and I don't think that's going to change, heh.

[priceforeverything]

Adding Dante to the test muse list.

[twomystdunstans]

everyone who has ever drawn jack wright conveniently forgets he canonically played rugby .

[screampied]

if requests are open, can we see nanami x breeding kink? i know he would be the perfect daddy 💕

❤︎ ໋𓈒 husband nanami finding out he has a breeding kink.

warnings. fem! reader, mating press, breeding kink, praise, soft dom nanami, mdni.

breeding.

he wouldn’t even know he had such a kink until afterwards, finishing inside of you for about the third time with hot puffs of air running from his lips.

his eyes, dark brown pools that intently stared into yours, he’s in utter love with you and only you. your current position was supine—your legs would be perfectly sprawled and spread for him. mating press, such a deep and thorough angle. so deep to where you were practically seeing stars.

“… you drive me crazy, you know that?” he’d huff out lowly between rough breaths. you stare at him with glossy eyes, a hand softly clinging onto his wrist. he was always so gentle, deep yet precise strokes to make you feel every inch. such eyebrows of his curl up and furrow as he intakes a single sharp breath, the feeling of such thick ropes spewing inside your walls makes him groan. “always s—so good at milking me.”

sloppy hips thwack and drill into you, and that’s when he leans right up close to you—you’re met with lust filled fawn eyes and a needy smile.

“ah. eyes up here, wanna see that pretty face,” and his tempo was so unhinged. you glance up at him and he mutters off a soft, “hi my love,” and you could have just melted right there. nanami lightly presses a hand against your tummy, a thumb swiftly tracing near the exact spot where he was reaching you inside. so full, you moan before he leans in to kiss you, yet instead, he conceals his own whine into the crook of your neck. “this—tummy would look so pretty if it was nice ‘n round for me like last time.”

the very corners of your lips tugs, it outlines into a sweet pout before you whimper, “make me fuller then, kento,” you’d heave out. he was jackhammering such merciless yet tenderly passionate thrusts into your cunt, effortlessly smacking back against you. “wanna f-feel fuller.”

you had the white bed sheets bawl into the palms of your hands. everything felt so warm, his hips just continued to rotate and jerk and jerk and jerk. it was hypnotic, he knew just where to prod the head of his cock right against you.

you’re nearly drooling. just imagining such lengthy ropes of his pump you full. you wanted it, no—you needed it. desperately, you were practically being fucked into the mattress—the mattress in question creaked and sang in such harmony it was hard not to ignore its sounds.

the entire feeling, you were clamping down on him so tight that his jaw tenses. a simple sight like that was oh so sexy in the slightest, nanami lightly bites down on his lip. a cute flushed expression slowly painting over his face once he catches you still staring. he was chasing his own breath, giving you slow yet perfect full vivacious thrusts.

“k-kento,” you’d moan with a slight gasp, he brings a hand to slide your arms all the way up. it’s almost teasing, the way he makes you hold your hands high, a soft simper rests against his lips the entire time. your legs quaver, feeling how easy it was for him to stretch you out. his touch, it was blisteringly hot, blisteringly tender.

he made sure to delicately trace his fingers all over your skin. he wouldn’t dare miss a spot. not with a body as perfect as yours. that’s what he saw in his eyes anyway. “so—so goooood, don’t s-stop baby.”

“wasn’t gonna,” he huffs out, and his voice was so raspy and rich. a subtle coarse of baritone hidden underneath his deep tone. you peer up at him and he leans in to kiss the tip of your nose. “if my princess wants to feel more full, i’ll do just that. give her anything she wants.”

you whimper, feeling him hit such a sensitive angle, he hit it just right too.

the crown of his dick made its way through every crevice of your walls. he reached in spots that you didn’t think he’d reach — not at all, you failed to hide your moans by this point and he thought you sounded so cute. knowing he was the one to make you sound like this, feel this way, it made him happy. that’s all he wanted, your pleasure was his pleasure.

every. single. spot.

whilst your toes curled, you feel your back start to seemingly arch on its own before even more sweetened whimpers fly past your sheeny lips. “give m-me,” you started to speak. he raises a brow marginally, brushing a thumb against your lower lip before feeling himself about to bottom out. at that point, he was fully inside, you felt it and you only mewled out a candied, “give me another baby kento. please.”

“oh,” he softly murmurs, and his tongue playfully licks against your neck—a sweet lap, he savored your taste before teasingly starting to nibble.

“gonna give you triplets this time,” and he brings a hand down your chest, then towards your stomach, real slow. you moan once he gingerly lifts up your leg before giving your ankle a kiss. “this what you want, sweetheart? more of this? more of … me?”

“yes,” you pout, feeling your cunt just swallowing his hefty shack, his base smacks back and forth against you to where you’re almost giddy. you felt like you were on cloud nine, nanami’s strokes, his thrusts hell, his enticing rhythm had you nearly speechless. you let off a soft meek once the shivering cold metal of his watch band slithers against your skin.

the more he touched you, the more close you became to making yet another mess on him. of course, like the good husband he was, nanami would happily clean you up.

“y-yes, kento,” you repeat in a honeyed voice, by this point, your legs were well wrapped around his waist. fully having him in a secure lock, not ever thinking to let go, you couldn’t nor did you want to. he drove into your gummy walls so good that you let off the sugared most melodic moans right up against his earlobe. “want…..another baby.”

“i know you do,” he hushes, bringing a chaste kiss towards your collarbone. you swallow a thick imaginary lump that grew into your throat. only tiny squeaks would come out — you moaned, tightening your legs hold around him before you started to picture such fanciful things.

fanciful things like nanami pouring yet another a thick load into you, and as you’re deep in thought he’s doing just that. a gasp gets caught in his lips before he leans up close to you. his broad chest presses up against you before he groans. out of all the notorious enemies he’s had to fight, he was simply no match for your pussy. its grip had him being the one with his eyes nearly rolling back.

“f-fuck,” and you felt yourself throb, making direct eye contact with him. it was rare, yet hearing nanami swear was so infrequent.

it was the way he swore, spewing out such filthy words underneath his breath. long ruffled strands of messy hair nearly occluding his view of vision. he reaches to move some of his hair away from his face, just so he could get a good glimpse of you—a good glimpse of his wife.

“look at me,” he says in a soft tone, he was buried so deep within you, you saw how his muscles tensed and his jaw tightened. he made his hips come to a halt completely before he leans in to gift you with another kiss. “mwah,” he smooches near your jawline, “mwah,” near your chin, and a final kiss near your lips.

your heart, it fluttered.

nanami felt warm all over his body, as well as the sheer warmth that coated him from being inside you. “i—i love you,” you’d whine, feeling such massive velvet ropes of cum going all inside of you. he merely lets off a purr at the way the back of your heel skims down his back. “so much.”

“i love you,” he returns it. his mouth briefly opens, and he was about to say ‘more’ but he pauses. nanami’s weight was still hovering over you before he brings a same big hand down towards your tummy. “now, we wait. you’re such a good mommy for me, sweetheart.”

[uramakimochi]

Batboys scenario:

YOU LOOSE CONTROL OF YOUR POWERS WHILE SLEEPING.

WARNINGS: Just fluff, no use of Y/N. Inspired by this thought of mine. R can fly but it's not explicitly said whether they're a Super/Kent or an alien. This should be gender neutral enough for everyone^^

English is not my first language so feel free to correct me.

BRUCE

Bruce entered the room with a yawn that he tried to cover with his hand, while slowly rotating his neck and chest to make his bones crack loudly.

The only thing he wanted to do was get into bed with you, hold you close and sleep forever. But he knew that all the love and devotion he felt for you would never be enough to free him from his duties as a vigilante, so the only thing he could do was enjoy to the fullest those moments that life allowed him to spend with you. One of which was a good rest together.

Bruce loved sleeping with you. There was no better feeling for him than coming home late after a patrol and hiding under the covers, wrapping his mighty arms around you and pulling you against his sturdy body, falling asleep lulled by your body heat.

But before he could already imagine how he would spend a beautiful night next to you, he had to stop on the threshold of the door when his eyes fell on the double bed. Or rather, who was above of it.

Because yes, you were there, exactly where he expected to find you, but you were not on the bed. You were literally floating above it, like a bee on a flower.

Bruce smiled amusedly, because honestly that was nothing new. That was something that often happened when you were asleep: entering the world of dreams was as if your powers merged with them and not being able to control them of your own will, sometimes you happened to rise into the air in the middle of the night. Sometimes you slipped away from Bruce's arms, but other times you even took him up with you.

But Bruce didn't care, he was used to it. And he would never blame you because that was just who you were. And he would always love you, for every virtue and every flaw.

So he approached you silently until he was at your side. Meanwhile, you continued to float above his head as if nothing had happened, clutching the pillow under one arm and your eyelids fluttering every now and then, surely because of the dream you were living in your mind.

"Sweetheart" he murmured softly, reaching up to gently pull the blanket that covered your body and that was floating with you. "Wake up my love"

After a few seconds you squinted and then finally opened your eyes in the darkness.

"Mhh" you moaned and your eyes landed on your husband's face. "Bruce... Hi, what is it?"

Bruce smiled comfortingly, moving his hand to your arm.

"Forgive me, i didn't mean to disturb you" he replied, running his warm palm back and forth along your arm. "You're floating again"

It was at that moment that despite your tiredness you realized how low his face was compared to yours and you pressed your lips together. "Oh..."

Your body slowly returned down to rest on the soft mattress and you adjusted your position to cover yourself, finally looking at your husband from below, as it was supposed to be.

"Thank you" you gave him an embarrassed smile. "Sorry"

He leaned down to kiss your forehead and then walked around the bed to his side, sitting on the edge to take off his shoes and lie down under the covers.

"You have nothing to apologize for, i always tell you that" he reassured you as he lay down and you wasted no time in snuggling into his side. "You know i don't really care if you sleep mid air. I'd just prefer to fall sleep with you in my arms sometimes"

"I know, but i hate when it happens" you replied with a small pout.

You felt his strong arm wrap around your shoulders to hold you close and you closed your eyes, resting your head on his bicep, ready to go back to sleep. "Because i like falling asleep in your arms too"

Bruce smiled again, tilting his head to kiss your forehead one more time and watched you fall asleep again within minutes, lulled by his warmth and his sweet caresses that you had missed that night.

"I know my love"

DICK

Dick was the most affectionate of the boys and this meant that at every opportunity he would stick to you like a mussel and he wasn't afraid to show it. Whether it was for a simple nap together, when you were cooking or cleaning the house, while he was watching tv with you, in the shower, when you went out... You name it. He was always glued to you. And during the night he was no exception.

Even when the temperatures were the highest he would close his arms around your body and hold you to his chest as if you were a stuffed animal that comforted him from his nightmares. And you, somehow, always managed to fall asleep, no matter how glued he was to you.

But Dick was like that and there were just a few times that you told him to let go because that was just the way he showed his affection and you appreciated him for it.

And the fact that your boyfriend was clingy meant that whatever happened to you... Well, he was there to suffer it too.

Specifically, i'm talking about when your superpowers got out of control and while that almost never happened when you were awake, the same couldn't be said for when you were asleep. Because when you were dreaming it was like your body and mind were letting go and often it happened that without realizing it you found yourself floating in the middle of the night.

Now, Dick was used to your powers and all, but the first time he witnessed your 'sleepwalking flight' he felt a little taken aback. But he remembers it like it was yesterday.

Imagine the scene.

You and Dick were fast asleep (he was even snoring and almost drooling on your head) and of course his strong arms were around your body from behind you, holding you to his chest in a firm warm and affectionate hug even in your sleep.

At a certain point however, he had to open his eyes, awakened by that horrible feeling of a dry throat that screamed at him to get a fresh glass of water to quench his thirst. So Dick rubbed a hand over his eyes to wake up and reluctantly let go of your body to turn on the other side and get out of bed. But when he stretched his legs towards the floor...

Dick's eyes widened and he felt like his breath was taken away for a fraction of a second when he realized he wasn't lying on his soft bed but floating right above it, blanket included.

"Oh fuc- Woahh!"

And before he could react, he fell down with a cry. Luckily his fall was softened by the bed itself, but that didn't stop him from rolling onto the floor with a heavy thud. That and his scream were enough to wake you up too and after you woke up with a start, abruptly interrupting your dream, you fell too but your trajectory allowed you to land on the matress unlike your boyfriend.

Dick still sitting on the floor, groaned in pain and then he sharply turned to you.

"Baby!" he exclaimed in surprise. "What was that??"

The lamp on your nightstand turned on and then he heard you get off the bed and walk quickly to his side and then he saw you crouch down in front of him.

"Oh my god Dickie i'm so sorry!" you looked at him worriedly, placing one hand on his cheek and the other on his head, making him tilt it to see if there were any bruises. "Are you hurt??"

Dick waved a hand with a small, pained smile. "Nah, i'm fine. I've been through worse. Just... What just happened?"

You let out a small sigh and let yourself fall backwards, sitting on the floor. "My powers. It happens to me sometimes when i'm sleeping, especially when i'm having particularly weird dreams or nightmares. My parents told me i've been doing it since i was little"

He nodded in understanding. "Oh. I see"

You looked down, feeling sorry and embarrassed by what had happened.

"Forgive me, i forgot to tell you. I didn't mean for you to get hurt, honey. Are you sure you're really okay?"

Dick nodded again, forgetting the pain to give you his classic dazzling smile. "It's okay, sweetheart, really. These are things i have to get used to if i want to be with someone with superpowers"

And you giggled fondly, leaning forward to give him a couple of affectionate kisses on the temple.

"I guess that's the price you have to pay for clinging to me all the time, huh?" you murmured against his skin and he placed his hands on your waist to keep you close to him.

"I guess it is"

JASON

Jason was big and bulky but he was a light sleeper and since he was also very protective of you, he was always alert in case something happened during the night.

In fact, the slow movement of his arm that was rising against his will was enough to disturb him from his sleep. Jason opened his eyes but did not worry about being possessed by some strange demon. He sighed when he saw what was happening next to him. Or rather, above him.

"Babyyy" he moaned with a heavy yawn, but he received no response from you who were still sound asleep.

Immediately the hand of his arm that was rising and sliding from its position around your back, reached out to grab your wrist before you could rise too high for him to reach while still lying down. When you felt his warm palm touch you, you woke up too and when you opened your eyes you saw Jason dragging you down towards him, making you return to his side in the same place where you had fallen asleep a few hours ago.

"Where did you think you were going mh?" your boyfriend asked, his voice still thick with sleep, wrapping his muscular arm around your back (again) and pulling you close.

"Sorry" you muttered slightly embarrassed in the darkness of the room, snuggling against his shoulder.

It wasn't that you were new to floating during the night, but it wasn't something you were always proud of in his presence.

"'S okay" he replied, tilting his head to nuzzle yours and plant a kiss on it, while he closed his eyes, ready to go back to sleep. "But if you want to go for a fly, at least let's do it together"

And you smiled, closing your eyes as well while your hand automatically went to rest on his chest.

"Sure"

TIM

Tim wasn't known for being a big sleeper. And you hated more than anything to be the one ruining the few hours of sleep he could afford, disturbing him with your powers when you started floating in the middle of the night without your control.

But Tim was a sweet soul and he always reassured you by telling you that it was not a bother for him if he slept in the air rather than on the bed. He would sleep anywhere, even on the floor and even for just five minutes, just to be with you.

"Are you really sure it's not a problem for you?" you asked again, looking at your boyfriend with uncertain eyes.

Tim lifted his head from your chest, returning your gaze with a sleepy one, already half asleep mostly thanks to the effect of your hand caressing his hair, while the other was resting on his back.

His arms dangled in the air falling on both sides of your body, while his legs remained comfortably resting on yours. Luckily Tim, even though he was well trained, didn't have a body as large as Jason or Bruce, otherwise he would have fallen to the ground.

"Babe" he replied and his exasperated look gave way to a slight smile. "For the umpteenth time, yes. It's not a problem"

"But what if you move and fall to the floor? Or what if I move and make you fall to the floor?"

"We're not that high up" Tim sighed, glancing at the bed below you and then looking back at you. "You're talking to Red Robin, if i fall i can handle it"

"But-"

Tim shushed you by leaning in to give you a small kiss on the lips and of course you returned it, letting yourself go and forgetting your worries for a few seconds, while your hand in his hair slid down to his cheek.

"No more 'buts'. I promise you nothing will happen" he continued when he pulled away. "And you know i don't sleep much anyway, so if i were to fall i'd notice"

"Hmm" you muttered still uncertain. "Okay... If you're sure"

Tim gave you a smile and settled more comfortably, resting his head back on your chest and closing his eyes. One of your hands caressed his back with your fingertips and you rested your chin on his hair.

"But please, wake me up if something happens" you added and you felt him nod slowly against you.

"Mh, will do. 'Night babe"

"Goodnight Timmy"

DAMIAN

You and Damian were sleeping peacefully in your bed, him in front of you with an arm on your shoulders pulling you against his body and your arms tightly wrapped around his slim waist, while one of your legs was trapped between his.

Damian had fallen asleep lulled by your breaths against his collarbone, but like Jason he was always alert during sleep, no matter what time it was. In fact, when he suddenly felt your bodies start to rise in the air he slowly opened his eyes but he didn't panic or get scared, knowing perfectly well what was happening. And above all who was making it happen.

Damian laid his eyes on you with a loving gaze, admiring you despite the darkness. He found it funny that despite your intertwined bodies were literally floating a couple of meters away from the bed, you continued to sleep deeply as if nothing had happened. He even saw your lips curve upwards and he also smiled tenderly in turn, wondering who knows what you were dreaming of to smile like that.

Damian then noticed that you and him were getting closer and closer to the ceiling as you floated upwards. But before your head or his could hit it, he raised an arm to rest his hand against the ceiling, stopping the movement in mid-air. The other hand that was on your shoulders instead, slid up until it reached your head, covering it with his palm in a protective way.

Oh if you had been awake to see it your heart would have fluttered with joy and Damian knew that too. He cared for you in every way, both with the little things and the more heroic ones, as he had learned in his life as Robin.

Due to the impact of his palm against the ceiling it was as if your body bounced like a balloon and went back down, continuing to drag Damian with you until you finally stopped in mid-air. He reached out to your face to stroke your forehead with his thumb.

"Beloved" he murmured.

Just hearing him call your name once, accompanied by the lovely feeling of his finger rubbing against your skin, woke you up. You squeezed your eyes and then opened them, looking at your boyfriend with the typical expression of a child just disturbed from his nap.

"Mmh, what is it Dami?"

Damian gave you a smile while continuing to caress you, while you felt your eyelids still drooping from tiredness.

"You're doing it again" he simply said.

There was silence for a few seconds. And then without saying anything both of your bodies began to descend, until you gently rested on the bed again. Damian felt you wiggle in his arms while you tried to get comfortable against him and even closer if possible, looking for his body heat.

"Sorry" you muttered, pressing your face into the hollow between his neck and shoulder. "I promise i won't do it again... 'Swear..."

And a few seconds later your breathing against his skin became heavier. You had fallen asleep again, without any difficulty.

Damian's emerald eyes looked at you amused while his hand found its favorite place on the back of your head, his fingers caressing you affectionately. Because that wasn't the first time you told him you wouldn't do it again and he knew it wouldn't be the last either.

"I count on it beloved"

DUKE (i added him too because i felt bad leaving him out😔)

The alarm clock on his nightstand went off and he reached out to turn it off. When Duke opened his eyes and turned to you with a sleepy smile, he thought he would find your angelic still sleeping face to greet him. But his eyebrows furrowed slightly as he noticed that you were not on your side of the bed.

"Uh... Weird" he thought.

Because he was usually the first one of you to wake up and it always took him a good few minutes to get you out of bed. Could that be the first time you had gotten up before him and had already made breakfast? Was it perhaps a special day?

Duke smiled amusedly, but then he noticed another detail. Your pillow was in its right place, but the large blanket you shared was gone.

"That's why i was cold last night..." the man muttered, after realizing that he had spent the rest of the night without a blanket. But why?

A familiar yawn from above his head caught his attention and Duke looked up. And when he saw your body floating above the bed, his heart skipped a beat.

You stirred, awakened by your boyfriend's alarm clock and the famous missing large blanket slipped from your body, falling onto the bed beneath you. You then turned to look down at him with a sweet, innocent smile.

"Good morning"

Duke let out a small, scared cry and jumped up from the bed. "L-Love! What are you doing up there!?"

You looked at him in confusion and lowered your head, finally noticing the distance from your side of the bed. "Oh... Oh crap!"

With his heart still pounding, Duke watched you calmly slide down until you were back on the ground. You then gave him an embarrassed smile.

"Um, surprise?"

Duke walked over to you and placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Are you okay??" he asked still scared, looking you up and down. "I thought you were... Possessed or something!"

You chuckled, waving a hand. "What are you talking about, Duke? It was just my powers"

He seemed to relax. He knew about your powers, but he never expected to see something like that.

"Oh..." then he sighed in relief. "Thank goodness. It was unexpected, you almost gave me a heart attack"

You gave him a sorry smile, taking his hand to comfort him.

"I'm sorry, i didn't mean to scare you. I completely forgot to tell you that sometimes while i sleep i lose control of my powers and start flying. It's been happening to me since i was little. Imagine what would happen if i slept in the open air"

He also finally laughed and he hugged you and you felt his body relax under your palms.

"How about i make breakfast to make up for it, mh?" you then asked and he nodded with a big smile.

"I'd really like that"

[goosewriting]

The Aftermath

summary: reader visits Joaquín at the hospital as he wakes up from surgery.

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: established relationship, spoilers for captain america: brave new world, mention and description of injuries and medical procedures, mention of accident and explosions, brief mentions of PTSD from events in Infinity War/Endgame, self-doubts and guilt

word count: 2.2k

A/N: i started writing this the moment i came home from watching BNW. can't believe it took me this long to write for him,, he's been rotating in my mind ever since tfantws <3 we really need more fics for joaquín, he’s so blorbo coded like cmon!! 🥹🥹 if you have any recs pls send them my way!

[all masterlists] 🪶 [mcu masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Sitting by Joaquín’s hospital bed, you bring your hands to your face as you remember his accident on the Indian Ocean. You had watched the broadcast in horror, your heart in your throat as his figure fell from the sky into the open water. 

At that moment, you couldn’t help but remember the video from all those years ago, where you saw how Rhodey had fallen as well, like a rock, everyone watching, unable to do anything to stop him. Just like War Machine, Joaquín had turned uncontrollably on his descent, one of his wings ripped from the suit by the missile exploding right in his face.

You’ve been in the Avengers’ orbit since a little before the battle against Thanos on Wakanda, where you had also fought with everyone, but then got blipped. The transition back to society with a gap of 5 years had been very hard on you, and while you stayed in contact with everyone who remained, helping out whenever you could, you didn’t really have it in you to go back out to the battlefield. Even after all this time, you still have nightmares about the snap and the Battle for Earth. 

Bringing your hands back into your lap, you let out a trembling breath, clinging onto the constant soft beeping of the machinery to tether yourself to reality and not fall down a spiral of despair. Every time your eyes roam over Joaquín’s injuries, you close your eyes, pressing the base of your hands over them, then open them again. Your sight is momentarily sprinkled with dots, and as it clears, you hope for everything to have been a horrible nightmare. But once your view clears up, he’s still there. Unconscious. Hurt.

The surgery he’d been in last night had felt like it was never going to end. Still, you had stayed the whole time, and once he got out, you stayed at his side. 

It’s been several hours since Joaquín got wheeled into his room, the head medic saying he was still unconscious but stable. You shift in the armchair by the bed where you sit. One of the nurses brought you something to eat earlier since you refused to leave, the wrapper of your sandwich still in your hands as your eyes start feeling heavier and heavier, and you can’t find it in yourself to fight the welcome embrace of sleep, slowly spreading through your limbs. You’ve almost completely dozed off when you hear a groan, and immediately your grogginess dissipates. You straighten up in your seat, the wrapper falling to the floor as you scoot closer to the bed, tears stinging behind your eyes. How you still have tears left, you have no idea, given how much you’ve cried in the past hours, terrified of losing the love of your life. 

Joaquín blinks several times, scrunching his face, eyes trying to adapt to the light. He lifts his good arm, looking at the tubes attached to it, and his gaze roams the room and down his body, face contorting in pain lightly. Then his eyes land on you, and his face immediately softens.

“Hey, there,” he croaks out. 

“You’re awake,” you whisper, holding his hand in your trembling ones. “I was scared you wouldn’t.”

“Pfft, it’ll take more than a meagre explosion to defeat the Falcon,” he retorts with a pained smile.

Normally you’d laugh at his jokes, enjoying his silly side, but right now you have no humour left in you. Another wave of tears rolls down your cheeks, and his smile vanishes.

“Please don’t joke about that,” you plead, giving his hand a squeeze. “You were hit by a freaking missile. From a fighter jet. While up in the air between two armies about to start a war with each other.”

“Well, if you put it like that…” He sighs. 

There’s a moment of silence where you again study his bruised face, your gaze landing on the massive burn covering his whole shoulder, streaks of red raw skin visible on his jaw and throat. Your brows furrow in frustration.

“I should have been there,” you mumble, angry at yourself for letting this happen.

“What?” he asks, craning his neck to fully look at you.

“I should have gone with you,” you say, bringing your eyes to look up at him. “Then I could have helped and you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

Joaquín exhales through his nose in disbelief.

“We were in the air, and I went head to head with the missile even after Sam told me to back off,” he retorts, shaking his head. “There was nothing you could have done.”

His tone isn’t scolding; he’s telling the truth and you know it. Still, you can’t help but feel like the outcome could have been different, if you had just been better, braver. You try to choke back a sob, unsuccessful, and his hold tightens around your hand.

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” He speaks your name softly. “This isn’t on you. Please don’t cry.”

You grimace, biting the inside of your cheek.

“For a moment I thought you died, Joaquín. I was so scared,” you say with a shaky breath, bringing his hand to your face, and he cups your cheek. You place your hand over his, holding onto it and leaning into his touch like it was the last time you could hold him like this.

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

Your heart shatters at the thought that even after getting hurt, after getting blown up, he’s the one apologising to you. He’s about to add something when the door opens and a nurse comes in. You back off a bit and hastily wipe your face with the back of your sleeves as she does some check-ups, both on Joaquín and the machines, taking some notes on her clipboard. She then takes one of the tubes attached to his arm, and places a syringe at the other end.

“What’s that?” you ask, suspicious. She gives you a quick look with a raised brow, but when she sees the state you’re in, her face relaxes again.

“Painkillers and antibiotics. He’ll need both of them,” she explains.

It doesn’t take long for the fluids to reach Joaquín’s blood system, and he visibly relaxes against the pillows and closes his eyes.

“Oh, hell yeah. That’s the good stuff,” he sighs, and the nurse chuckles softly. You still can’t get yourself to let go of your worry. Once she’s done with everything, she leaves the way she came, exiting the room. As the door closes behind her, your eyes land on the wrapper on the floor, and you pick it up with a sniffle, crumpling it up further.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Can I get you anything?” you ask as you throw the trash into the bin from where you sit, to your surprise making the shot. He doesn't answer, eyes still closed.

“Joaquín?” you ask softly, not wanting to wake him in case he fell asleep again.

“Huh? Wha?” His eyes open and he turns to look at you, his face visibly relaxed now.

“You okay?” You take his hand again, and he gives you a squeeze.

“Hmm-mm,” he hums with a nod, blinking slowly as he tries to focus on your face. “I just think I’m… kinda high right now.”

That’s when you finally break, unable to hold back an endeared chuckle, shaking your head. Joaquín’s eyes are filled with warmth and then concern as they land on your face, brows furrowing as if he just noticed something. His hand comes up to wipe away the remaining streak of tears. He also playfully pinches your cheek for good measure, eliciting another smile of yours.

“That’s better,” he concludes, a smile spreading on his face as well. The smile that could light up any room he’s in, in your humble opinion. 

You prop your elbow onto the edge of the bed, head in your hands as you look at him, and he looks back at you with a silly grin. The beeps on the machine speed up a bit, and you look up at the screen, then back at him with a brow raised in amusement.

“Usually you can’t tell because I’m smooth as hell, but it’s true,” he notes, like a huge secret was just uncovered. “You still make my heart race.”

Heat prickles on your cheeks at his words and you avert your gaze with a snort. As long as your heart is still beating, you think, remembering that they had to resuscitate him after the accident, but you shake those thoughts away, preferring to focus on the fact that he’s still here, alive.

“I know that the moment you’re back on your feet, you’ll be out there again, suited up,” you start after a moment, shooting him a serious look. “So I won’t ask you to stop. But promise me to be more careful next time?”

“Pinky promise.” Joaquín lifts his hand, fingers curled except for his pinky, and you can’t help but chuckle as you mirror his gesture, curling your finger around his. He shakes your hand like that side to side for a bit, then drops it back down onto the bed. A strand of hair falls into his face as he leans back, and you brush it back, caressing over his bruised cheekbone gingerly. 

“When was the last time you slept?” he asks suddenly.

“Hmm.” You look at the timestamp on the muted TV in the corner, currently playing some movie or other. It’s only then that you realise you’ve been intermittently awake for almost two full days now. “Can’t really remember,” you lie.

“You need to rest. You look exhausted,” he remarks, gesturing to himself. “I’m taken care of.”

“No, I’m not leaving you,” you say, putting as much finality into your voice as you can in your state.

He says your name softly. You look away. He sighs.

“Well, if you insist on staying, then at least I can get pampered a bit, yeah?” he starts, and you narrow your eyes at him in feigned suspicion. He asks with a playful pout, “You know what would make me feel better?”

“Hmm?” 

Joaquín turns his head, offering you his cheek. You can’t help but laugh. 

“I thought you were high on painkillers already?”

“Even the best medicine holds nothing against your kisses.”

“Pfft, is that so.” Now it’s your heart’s turn to speed up. You two have been together for a while now, but he still makes you feel warm and fuzzy, and gives you butterflies in your stomach, when he isn’t on the brink of death, at least. “Well, in that case, I better get started on your dose.”

You lean forward, placing a kiss on his cheek, and he hums pleasedly. He doesn’t move, though, clearly waiting for more. You’re more than happy to oblige, placing kiss after kiss on his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, being especially careful around his injuries. Finally, you hold his chin to turn his face towards you, and kiss the corner of his mouth, then his lips. It's chaste but sweet, and he smiles into it. When you lean back, his eyes are filled with love, slightly unfocused because of the meds, a goofy grin on his face. As you hold his face, you consider saying something cheesy, hoping he won’t remember it. But before you can speak, there’s a knock at the door, and someone steps in. It’s Sam. He looks surprised to see you.  

“Damn, you’re still here?” he asks with concern, then turns to Joaquín. “How’re you feeling?”

“Splendid, really,” he replies, leaning into your hand still cupping his face.

“He got a decent shot of painkillers,” you explain, looking up at Sam with a tired smile. “He’s high as a kite.”

Sam chuckles, then looks at you worriedly. 

“You need to rest. Both of you.” He places a hand on your shoulder. “Go home, I’ll take it from here.”

You hesitate, looking between the two, and Joaquín nods, his eyes pleading for you to also take care of yourself. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Joaquín says, taking your hand from his face and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be here when you come back.”

“Right,” you sigh and rise to your feet with wobbly legs now that the exhaustion is finally kicking in full force, and Sam holds you up when your knees threaten to give in. 

“Whoa there. You need a nap, ASAP.” 

“Yeah, yeah I do,” you say with a sigh, steadying yourself as he lets you go, his hands still hovering over your arms for a moment in case he has to grab you again, but you manage to stand straight. You grab your jacket from the back of the chair, and turn to Joaquín. “I’ll come back this evening, okay? I’ll bring your favourite snacks too. Don’t tell the nurse, though.” You wink at him with a knowing smile.

“You’re the best.”

“No, you are.” You lean over him to kiss him goodbye, whispering ‘I love you’ against his lips, and pecking him once more for good measure. The machine’s beeps speed up again.

“Love you too. See you later.” Joaquín brings his hand up to caress over your cheek one last time, then you leave the room.

Sam is still standing there, hands in his pockets, looking down at his friend as the beeps slowly start decreasing back to normal.

“Very cute,” he remarks, unable to bite back a teasing smile. 

“Don’t even,” Joaquín says and rolls his eyes playfully, knowing perfectly well that Sam will never let him live that down.

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🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!]

[pucksandpower]

Kiss It Better

Charles Leclerc x medical student!Reader

Summary: your boyfriend has a habit of faking injuries in order to receive some tender loving care

Warnings: 18+ content and non-life threatening health issues

You let yourself into the Monaco apartment you share with your boyfriend, dumping your heavy backpack by the door with a sigh. Another long day of classes and clinical rotations. Being a medical student is exhausting.

“Charles? I’m home!” You call out, slipping off your shoes. No response. Frowning slightly, you pad down the hallway toward the living room. “Charles? Are you here?”

That’s when you hear it — a muffled groan coming from the bedroom. Your heart leaps into your throat as you rush over, pushing open the door. There’s Charles lying on the bed, face contorted in apparent agony.

“Charles! Oh my god, what’s wrong?” You hurry to his side, dropping to your knees by the bedside. His eyes are screwed shut, jaw clenched as he lets out another pained groan.

“It hurts,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “So much pain ...”

“What hurts? Where does it hurt?” Your mind is racing, trying to diagnose based on his symptoms. Does he have gastritis? Kidney stones? A twisted intestine? You reach for his wrist to check his pulse.

Charles doesn’t answer, just squeezes his eyes shut even tighter and groans loudly. You feel a surge of panic. This could be serious!

“Charles, you have to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you! Where’s the pain?” You grip his arm urgently. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No … no ambulance,” he manages to choke out, shaking his head minutely. “Just need … you ...”

“Me?” You stare at him in bewilderment. “Charles, I’m just a med student, if you’re really sick we need to get you to a hospital right away!”

He cracks open one eye to look at you piteously. “Please … you’re the only one who can make it better.” His voice is strained as he reaches down to grasp your hand, guiding it lower … lower ...

You suck in a shocked breath as his hand moves yours to cup his crotch over his thin athletic shorts. “Charles! Is that what hurts? Your … special place?”

He lets out a shuddering breath and nods weakly. “Yes … I need you to take care of it. Only you can fix this pain.”

It hits you then — the dramatic groaning, the vague answers, guiding your hand … Charles isn’t sick or injured at all. He’s turned on beyond belief and putting on this whole pained act to get you to help relieve him.

You gape at him, caught between exasperation and reluctant amusement at his antics. “You complete dork! I was so worried something was seriously wrong!”

Charles finally breaks into a sheepish grin, though he’s still palming himself urgently through his shorts with your hand. “What can I say? I’ve been thinking about you all day. Imagining you in those tight little scrubs … bending over examining patients ...” He gives an unconvincing whimper. “The ache has been unbearable, ma chérie.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips or the warmth unfurling low in your belly. Even after all this time, Charles can still make your heart flutter with his flirtatious charm and that roguish smile. You lean in closer until your face is just inches from his.

“Is that so?” You murmur, voice dropping into a sultry register. You give him a lingering stroke through the thin fabric and he draws in a sharp breath. “Well, we can’t have you suffering, can we Mr. Leclerc?”

“Please, no more suffering,” he whimpers unconvincingly, eyes sparkling with mischief now. “You’re the only one who can cure me, Doctor.”

You chuck softly at his overacting and lean down to kiss him, long and deep. Charles moans into your mouth, hands coming up to tangle in your hair as the kiss turns hungry, passionate. When you finally break apart, you’re both panting harshly.

“Well then, I better take a look and get you … taken care of,” you murmur, slowly inching his shorts down over his straining erection. His hips rut up shamelessly as you wrap a hand around his hot, silky length.

“Oh god … yes ...” Charles groans, head tipping back against the pillows as you start to stroke him firmly. His eyes slip shut again and his breath comes in harsh pants as you steadily work him over. You drink in the sight of him like this — cheeks flushed, lips parted, utterly lost in the pleasure you’re giving him.

“Tell me if it still hurts,” you tease lightly, swiping your thumb over the slick head in a way that makes his body jerk. “We have to take care of all your aches and pains.”

“It hurts so good, mon ange,” he gasps out, hips rocking shamelessly up into your fist now. “Don’t stop … please don’t stop ...”

You lean down to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along the taut cords of his neck, relishing the whimpers and moans you pull from him. Charles always loves a bit of teasing during sex. You torture him sweetly by licking and sucking at the sensitive spots that drive him wild even as your hand continues to steadily pump his length.

“You like that, don’t you baby?” You tease against his skin as he writhes beneath you, mewling and chanting your name. “Can’t get enough of your girlfriend playing doctor for you.”

“Yes, oh god yes,” he gasps, hands fisting tightly in the sheets as his hips stutter. You can see his abdomen tensing, muscles clenching as he nears the edge. “I’m so close … I’m going to-”

You silence him with a searing kiss, swallowing his cries as you jerk him firmly through his climax. Charles bucks and shudders, body pulled taut as a bowstring for long moments until he finally slumps back against the mattress with a ragged groan. There’s a sticky mess between your bodies but neither of you care in the least.

“Better now?” You tease lightly, gently stroking the sweaty curls from his forehead. He blinks up at you looking utterly blissed out and sated.

“I’ll say,” he rumbles throatily, pulling you down for another lingering kiss. “My own sexy doctor, taking such good care of me.”

You grin at his playful tone, happiness blooming in your chest. You’re so lucky to have this man in your life — this kind, generous, funny, impossibly charming man who somehow loves you just as much as you love him. What did you ever do to deserve someone like Charles Leclerc?

He seems to read your thoughts in your eyes and smiles softly. “I love you, do you know that? So much.”

Your breath catches and you lean down to rest your forehead against his. “I love you too, you big goof. Even when you pull crazy stunts like this to get my attention.”

Charles chuckles unrepentantly, cupping the back of your neck to hold you close. “What can I say, ma belle? I’m skilled at getting what I want.”

His eyes are shining with quiet devotion and you know, without a doubt, that underneath the teasing bravado Charles truly means those words. He loves you, wholly and completely. A swell of emotion rises in your throat.

“Yeah, well, lucky for you I don’t mind playing doctor,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss him again. Charles’ arms come around you, holding you flush against his body as the kiss turns heated once more. You’re breathless when you part again.

“If I get sick, will you put on that naughty little doctor’s outfit for me?” He waggles his eyebrows at you comically.

You laugh out loud, swatting his arm in mock chastisement. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t send you to a real hospital and leave you to the not-so-tender mercies of Nurse Helga.”

“No need for jealousy, mon amour,” he croons, rolling you onto your back and hovering over you. There’s a wicked glint in his eyes as he leans down to nuzzle your neck, making you shiver. “You’ll always be my favorite caregiver.”

And with that, he shows you just how much he appreciates your caregiving in a very thorough, very passionate way …

***

A few weeks later, you’re settled on the plush couch in Charles’ motorhome, legs tucked up under you as you watch replays of the post-race interviews on the large TV screen. Your heart swells with pride as your boyfriend appears, beaming and sweaty in his race suit as he answers questions about his thrilling come-from-behind victory today.

“It feels incredible to get this win,” Charles is saying, running a hand through his tousled hair. “The team worked so hard and we’ve had some tough races recently, so to finally get back on the top step is amazing.”

You can’t help but grin at his obvious elation. Few people know just how driven and dedicated Charles is — how much time and effort he pours into racing at the absolute highest level. Seeing that hard work and sacrifice pay off never fails to fill you with joy.

“I just want to thank the team again for all their-” Charles breaks off, wrinkling his nose and reaching up to dab at his lip with a finger. When his fingertips come away smeared with red, you frown in concern. Is he hurt?

“Ooh, looks like I bit my lip out there,” Charles says with a rueful chuckle, still prodding gingerly at his mouth as a thin trickle of blood runs over his chin. “Must have been clenching my teeth a little too hard battling for position.”

“I didn’t realize you were injured!” You start to rise from the couch with worry etched on your face, moving towards your now off-screen boyfriend. “Here, let me take a look ...”

“No, no, it’s just a little cut.” Charles tries to wave you off, smiling reassuringly even as he winces again, dabbing at the fresh flow of blood. “No need to fuss, mon cœur. Just a tiny thing.”

You hesitate, hands on your hips as you scrutinize him skeptically. Charles has a bit of a flair for the dramatic at times, always playing up little hurts or mishaps as if he were holding vigil at his deathbed. But you know from experience that he tends to downplay any actual significant injuries.

He senses your continued concern and lets out a theatrical moan, tipping his head back dramatically. “Oh, the AGONY! So much pain … so much … if only there was a way to make it stop ...”

Your eyebrows shoot up as realization hits. Oh, you know that tone. And the coquettish look he’s giving you from under his lashes, lower lip caught between his teeth … yes, you definitely recognize those signs. You shake your head slowly, fighting a grin.

“Seriously, Charles? Not this again.”

“Non, I fear it’s no use,” he groans pitifully, draping a hand over his eyes. “My poor, mangled mouth … so damaged and bloody … the pain is becoming … unbearable ...” Charles pauses to peek at you from between his splayed fingers, eyes twinkling mischievously.

You put your hands on your hips and arch one eyebrow at his antics. “Uh huh. Is this the part where I’m supposed to swoop in all concerned and give you a bunch of sympathy kisses to make your agony all better?”

“If you insist,” he quips, pursing his lips in an exaggerated pout. The effect is somewhat ruined by the fresh smear of crimson at the corner of his mouth.

You can’t help but laugh softly as you move closer, cupping his stubbly jaw in your palms. “For someone so good with their mouth, you’re just a giant wimp, you know that?”

“Maybe,” Charles allows with a roguish grin. “But you love me for it, no?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” You trace your thumb lightly over the plump curve of his lower lip, wiping a smear of blood. “Now hold still, I guess I better give you a little tender loving care for that gaping wound.”

“Oh please, doctor! I need your magical healing touch, I’m in so much — mmph!”

You cut off his theatrical plea with a firm press of your lips, kissing him hard and insistent. Charles moans into your mouth, the sound sending a shiver down your spine even as his hands come up to grip your hips and pull you flush against him.

The coppery tang of blood mingles on your tongues as the kiss turns heated, deep and wet and dizzying. You suck lightly on his split lip, gentling when he winces, and Charles rewards you by dragging blunt nails over the sensitive skin at the small of your back.

When you finally part, you’re both panting harshly, staring at each other with heavy-lidded eyes. Charles’ pupils are blown wide, lips red and slick.

“Better?” You murmur, voice low and throaty.

He gives a slight shake of his head, tendrils of curls falling over his forehead. “No … I need more treatment, I fear. The pain … it still lingers ...”

You chuckle at his dramatics, hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as you tug him back in for another searing kiss. Charles releases a noise that’s almost a growl against your lips, big hands cupping your backside and grinding you firmly against him.

You can feel him, hot and hard already as he ruts shamelessly against you. The desperate urgency of his movements thrills you, sends sparks of arousal zinging through your veins. Charles always gets so worked up so quickly when you two play these little games.

This time it’s you who pulls back first, sucking in a shaky breath. His eyes are blazing, swollen lips parted invitingly. You deliberately rake your gaze over his disheveled appearance — the tousled curls, the swipe of crimson over his mouth, the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“Mr. Leclerc, are you quite sure your … condition requires such aggressive treatment?” You try for a clinical tone but it comes out more of a lustful purr. Charles’ nostrils flare and his fingers tighten convulsively against the curves of your ass.

“Yes, yes, it absolutely does,” he rasps out urgently, already trying to pull you back in. “Please, you must heal me ...”

He captures your lips again in a fierce, demanding kiss and you melt into him with a soft moan. His clever tongue is doing wicked things, slick and hot as it slides against yours in a sensual mimicry of what’s surely to come.

A teasing nip to his swollen lower lip makes Charles gasp and jerk against you. Taking shameless advantage, you swiftly divest him of his sweat-damp race suit until he’s bare from the waist up. Muscles rippling beneath tawny skin, his toned chest and abdomen shiny from his hours in the cockpit.

It’s a deliciously debauched look that makes arousal curl hotly in your belly. You drag your lips in open-mouthed kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, down the strong column of his throat as he tips his head back with a groan.

“There … is that helping with your … condition, Mr. Leclerc?” You tongue at the hollow of his collarbone, tasting salt and musk as your hands skim over his chest in teasing caresses.

“Ohh god, yes … but I need more ...” He’s panting harshly now, muscles jumping as you rake sharp nails over one reddened nipple. “Please … more ...”

“Good. Then you’d better hold still for me to examine the problem area more thoroughly.” Before Charles can blink, you’ve shoved him back to sprawl gracelessly against the soft leather couch. He stares up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, lips parted enticingly as his chest heaves.

You drink in the sight for a long moment, satisfaction curling in your belly. Sometimes it’s nice to be the one calling the shots, to see Charles squirming and flushed and desperate beneath you for a change.

Slowly — torturously — you strip out of your own clothes until you’re equally bare. Charles tracks your every movement with burning eyes. When you sink down to straddle his hips, both of you groan at the scorching friction as bare skin meets bare skin.

“God, you’re exquisite,” he husks out reverently, hands trailing up the dips and curves of your body with something like awe. “An absolute goddess ...”

You can’t resist leaning down to capture his mouth in another heated, messy kiss as you grind down shamelessly against his rigid length. Charles muffles a hoarse cry into your lips, hips jerking up to meet your movements.

You let the kiss turn sloppy and wet and deep, both of you luxuriating in the hot slide of tongues and the delicious glide of bare skin. Charles’ hands roam greedily over your body, squeezing and caressing as you rock together in a sensual push and pull.

“Please … I need you ...” he growls against your lips when you momentarily break apart. His voice is wrecked, eyes dark with lust. “Need to be inside you … now ...”

You shudder at his heated words, arousal a molten ache between your thighs. Reaching down, you grasp his rigid length and line him up with your slick entrance. Charles sucks in a sharp breath, muscles going taut beneath you as the swollen head catches on your folds.

“Like this?” You breathe, swiveling your hips in a teasing grind that has him throwing his head back with a guttural groan.

“Yes! Putain, just like that ...” He bucks up helplessly, trying to force you to sink down onto him, but you resist with a low chuckle.

“Patience, Mr. Leclerc. Don’t you want me to take care of your … condition properly?” You murmur, lips brushing the shell of his ear. You punctuate the words with another maddeningly slow roll of your hips and Charles legitimately whimpers.

“Yes, yes … anything! I’ll do anything, just please ...” His eyes are wild, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs hard enough to leave marks. “I need you so badly, ma chérie ...”

Smiling, you finally take pity and sink down in one smooth glide until he’s sheathed to the hilt. The sensation of being utterly filled, stretched and burning in the most delicious way, makes you throw your head back with a long moan. Beneath you, Charles lets out a broken litany of French and English and Italian curses as his hips pump up in short, jerky thrusts.

You set a driving pace, lifting and dropping in a dizzying rhythm as Charles matches you stroke for stroke. The room is soon filled with the lewd sounds of slick flesh and harsh breathing, punctuated by grateful whines and moans. You lean down to capture his mouth again, the angle shifting to let him plunge even deeper until you’re both trembling on the razor’s edge.

“You feel so good, so incredible,” Charles pants harshly against your lips between sloppy kisses. He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, using the leverage to somehow take you even faster and harder. The pace is almost punishing but you can’t get enough. “Always so tight … so perfect for me ...”

His praise and the delicious drag of his thick length have you quickly spiraling higher. You brace your hands on his heaving chest as you throw your head back, overcome. Every nerve in your body feels electrified, set alight from the inside by the sheer intensity of your joining.

“Oh god … Charles, I’m gonna-” You cry out sharply as he aims for that one angle that has stars bursting behind your eyes. He latches onto your exposed throat, sucking a stinging mark as his thumb finds your pearl and begins rubbing merciless circles.

That’s all it takes to send you shattering apart with a keen, clenching down with bruising force as your climax rips through you. Charles pounds up twice more, teeth sinking into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, before following you over the edge with a guttural roar. His hips stutter erratically as he empties himself in hot pulses that you can actually feel hitting deep.

You both gradually come down, slumping gracelessly together as your harsh breathing slowly evens out. Charles carefully rolls until you’re cradled against his sweat-slicked chest, nuzzling languidly at your temple. His palms stroke up and down your spine in a gesture that’s somehow both possessive and worshipful.

After a few minutes, you let out a breathless giggle that has him pulling back slightly to look at you quizzically.

“What’s so funny?” His voice is gravelly and well-fucked.

You tap the wound on his lip lightly, tsking in playful reproach. “I’ll say this — you certainly know how to get my attention when you’re … ailing. I think you milked that little injury for all it was worth.”

Charles doesn’t even have the grace to look sheepish. He breaks into a slow, self-satisfied grin and shrugs unapologetically. “What can I say? Worked, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight your own matching smile as you lean in to kiss him softly, carefully avoiding his split lip. When you pull back, you brush back the tendrils of hair from his forehead with a tenderness that makes his eyes go warm and molten.

“You’re ridiculous, Charles Leclerc. Completely ridiculous … but I love you.”

His smile somehow grows even more blinding. “I love you too, mon ange. And I always will.”

His sincerity washes over you in a wave. You know without a doubt that despite his antics, his words ring completely true. This funny, passionate, caring, magnificent man truly does love you with every fiber of his being. And you love him just the same.

Maybe you’ll both drive each other crazy for the rest of your lives … but at least you’ll never be bored. Settling back against his chest, you let your eyes drift shut contentedly. Yes, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right here in Charles’ arms.

***

A few months later, you’re woken abruptly in the dead of night by the sounds of muffled groaning coming from beside you. At first you think it must just be a dream, but then Charles lets out a pained whimper and your eyes fly open.

“Charles?” You blink groggily and prop yourself up on one elbow to peer at him in the dim light filtering through the curtains. “Hey, are you okay?”

He’s curled into a tight ball on his side, arms wrapped around his midsection as if cradling his stomach. A sheen of sweat glistens on his brow and his face is pinched in an unmistakable expression of agony.

Alarm spikes through you and you quickly reach over to grasp his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. “Charles? Baby, what’s wrong?”

Charles just groans again, a low wounded sound that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He’s trembling finely against you, teeth clenched and eyes screwed shut against the obvious wave of pain rippling through him.

“Talk to me,” you urge, trying to keep the rising panic from your voice. “Where does it hurt? Should I call an ambulance?”

For a long moment he seems incapable of speech, muscles going rigid and a harsh gasp tearing from his lips. You watch helplessly as he rides out the spasm, cold dread coiling in the pit of your stomach. This is bad … this doesn’t seem like one of his pranks or games to get attention. Charles looks to be in genuine, serious distress.

“Charles?” You try again once he’s relaxed slightly, dragging in shallow panting breaths through his nose. His eyes slit open to mere glassy slits, unfocused and hazy with pain.

“M’stomach ...” he finally gets out through gritted teeth, voice thin and strained. “It hurts so bad … like I’m being stabbed ...”

Your own abdomen clenches reflexively at the words as your brain kicks into high gear. Severe, stabbing abdominal pain that seems to be localized in one area and radiating out … it could potentially be appendicitis. That would definitely explain the excruciating nature of Charles’ discomfort, as well as why he’s curled in the fetal position. Appendicitis is considered a medical emergency — a ruptured appendix can lead to a life-threatening infection if left untreated.

“Okay, we need to get you to a hospital now.” You scramble out of bed and quickly throw on some clothes, grabbing your keys and phone. “I’m calling for an ambulance to come get you. Just stay still and try to breathe evenly.”

Charles doesn’t argue or even crack one of his customary smirks or jokes, just nods weakly and tries to pull himself into an even tighter ball. It’s frightening, seeing the normally confident and charismatic man so thoroughly debilitated by the waves of torment rolling through him.

The emergency dispatcher responds promptly and assures you that an ambulance is being dispatched to your address straight away. You quickly relay the situation to them — the acute pain, localized in the lower right quadrant of the abdomen, along with the nausea, fever, and Charles’ otherwise good health. They seem to share your suspicion of appendicitis and promise to give you further instruction once the paramedics arrive.

In the meantime, you hurry back to Charles’ side and try to keep him as comfortable as possible. You gingerly help him out of bed inch by agonizing inch, grimacing at the stifled cries he can’t quite bite back. It’s slow going, but eventually you have him propped up against the pillows and headboard in a semi-upright position that seems to ease his suffering slightly. You grab a cool damp washcloth and gently sponge the beads of sweat from his ashen face, murmuring soothing nonsense as he pants through another visible spasm.

“You’re alright, just keep breathing,” you coach him. “In and out, nice and slowly … the ambulance will be here any minute now.”

“Hurts so much ...” he whimpers, looking utterly pitiful and nothing like the cocky, self-assured star athlete he normally is. It nearly breaks your heart to see.

“I know, I know ...” You stroke his sweat-dampened curls back off his forehead. “And I’m sorry, but please no joking right now, okay? I want to stay focused in case … in case this is really serious. Like, potentially life-threatening serious.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, there and gone in a flash. “Trust me … m’not … feeling cheeky right now.”

You press a feather-light kiss to his clammy forehead, relieved that he seems to understand the gravity of the situation. “I didn’t think you were. Just hang in there for me, okay?”

Ten long, agonizing minutes later, you finally hear sirens blaring outside. The paramedics move swiftly once you let them in, whisking Charles onto a gurney and starting an IV line. They pepper both of you with rapid-fire questions as they assess him, all while carefully not jostling his abdomen too much to avoid exacerbating the pain.

All too soon, though, it’s time for them to whisk him away to the hospital. You trail after them anxiously, only pulling up short when Charles suddenly grasps your hand like a lifeline.

“Wait … wait!” His eyes are still hooded with pain but there’s fierce urgency there too. “Kiss me one more time? Before they take me in?”

Your heart clenches in your chest at the pleading in his tone. Brushing your thumb soothingly over his cheekbone, you lean down and press the sweetest, gentlest kiss to his parted lips. Charles sighs and seems to melt into you for a moment before the gurney is jostled and he grunts in agony again.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you,” you promise softly. “We’ll get you all taken care of.”

He nods weakly and blows out a harsh breath as the paramedics start wheeling him back towards the elevator. You let his hand slip from yours reluctantly as you watch him go, then hurry to grab the essentials and follow. The whole way to the hospital your mind whirls with fearful possibilities as you pray that whatever is causing Charles such terrible pain, it isn’t life-threatening.

Hours later, after CT scans and blood tests and evaluations from the E.R. doctors, you finally get confirmation — it is indeed acute appendicitis. Charles is swiftly admitted and prepped for emergency surgery to remove the severely inflamed organ before it ruptures.

You’re pacing anxiously in the pre-op area, wringing your hands, as nurses bustle around him getting the I.V.s ready. In the harsh fluorescent lighting, Charles looks small and pale against the crisp white sheets. But he greets you with a wan smile when you approach his bedside.

“Well … this is certainly not how I thought this day would go,” he quips tiredly, always looking for an opportunity to try and lighten the mood. You snort a quiet laugh despite yourself, allowing your fingers to brush against his arm in a gentle caress.

“Yeah, you and me both. Believe me, I didn’t think the first time I’d ever have to rush you to the emergency room would be for a burst appendix of all things!”

Charles frowns thoughtfully, looking exhausted and drained but mercifully no longer in dire, crippling agony. “Remind me … have I ever pretended to have appendicitis before?”

“No, somehow that particular organ didn’t come up in any of your medical fantasies,” you tease lightly. Then your smile falters as you recall just how horrifically bad it had looked earlier. The memory of Charles stifling those tortured groans, jaw clenched and body wound tighter than a bowstring, has a sobering effect. “But I’m really glad this wasn’t some dumb prank or act this time. You were … it seemed so awful, I was really terrified there for a while.”

His eyes soften and he captures your hand to give it a comforting squeeze. “I know. I’m just sorry I put you through that kind of scare with all my previous fake bouts of pain to rile you up.” Charles grimaces ruefully. “Not my finest habit, in retrospect.”

“Well, we can discuss suitable penance for all that later.” You try for a playful wink though it falls a bit flat against your lingering nerves.

Just then a nurse bustles over, all brisk efficiency as she prepares to wheel Charles back to surgery. “Alright Mr. Leclerc, we’re going to take you back now. The anesthesiologist is ready.”

You squeeze Charles’ hand one more time before leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be right here when you wake up, okay?”

He nods bravely even as the nurse starts pushing the bed toward the operating room doors. “See you soon, mon amour. Try not to worry too much.”

“Me? Worry?” You force a small smile, desperately attempting to keep things light despite the knot of tension in your gut. “When do I ever do that?”

Charles chuckles weakly before disappearing through the swinging double doors. You stand there for a long moment staring at the entryway, running your hands through your hair agitatedly. This entire situation is your worst nightmare — your loved one being wheeled into surgery, their life quite literally in someone else’s hands.

Blowing out a shaky breath, you turn to find a place to wait during the procedure. It’s going to be a tense few hours, that’s for sure. You just have to trust that the doctors and nurses will do everything in their power to get Charles through this safely.

Several agonizing hours later, a surgeon in scrubs finally appears to fetch you from the waiting room with an update. Your heart leaps into your throat but the man is smiling, so it can’t be too terrible, right?

“Ms. Y/N? I’m Dr. Beaumont, I operated on Mr. Leclerc. I’m pleased to report that the surgery was a complete success. We were able to remove his inflamed appendix without any complications before it could rupture.”

You nearly collapse with relief, legs going watery. “Oh, thank god! He’s okay then?”

“He’s doing very well, all things considered,” Dr. Beaumont confirms with a nod. “Of course, we’ll need to keep him here for a few days to monitor for any signs of infection or complications from the anesthesia. But barring any unforeseen issues, I expect him to make a full recovery within a couple weeks.”

“That’s … oh, that’s wonderful news. Thank you, Doctor. Truly.” The words are woefully inadequate but you hope he can hear the depth of gratitude behind them.

A few minutes later, you’re settled into a chair at Charles’ bedside in the recovery ward. He’s still unconscious, face lax and peaceful in drugged sleep as the anesthesia slowly wears off. His chest rises and falls evenly with each reassuring breath. You reach out to gently brush some wayward curls from his forehead, relief crashing over you in waves.

It’s only been a few hours, but it already feels like a lifetime ago that Charles was writhing and groaning in unspeakable agony. To see him now, resting comfortably with the threat neutralized, it’s almost surreal.

You lean forward to press a feather-light kiss to his forehead, breathing in the familiar, grounding scent of him. “You really gave me a scare today, Leclerc,” you murmur against his skin. “But I’m so thankful you’re okay.”

His eyelids flutter slightly, lashes brushing high cheekbones as he starts to slowly swim back toward consciousness. You sit back and simply watch, letting the tension finally drain from your shoulders as he gradually blinks awake.

“Hey there, champ,” you say softly when his eyes find yours, still looking a bit dazed and glassy. “How are you feeling?”

Charles considers this for a moment, taking stock. “Floaty … but not too much pain anymore.” His tongue darts out to wet dry lips. “Did they ...”

“Yeah, they took out your appendix,” you say, unable to stop the relieved smile that curves your mouth. “Surgery went perfectly, and the doctor says you’re going to be just fine.”

He returns the smile, looking exhausted but still radiant with that dimpled grin you love so much. “Well … maybe there is an upside then.”

You tilt your head quizzically. “An upside to your burst appendix nearly killing you?”

“Of course.” Charles releases a tired chuckle, leaning back against the pillows. His gaze grows impish despite his pallor. “At least now I’ll save some weight in the car, no?”

You stare at him for one long beat of silence … before bursting into somewhat hysterical laughter, tears of sheer relief and exasperation pricking the corners of your eyes. Trust Charles to find the humor even in the most dire, frightening circumstances.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” You roll your eyes fondly as your giggles taper off, leaning forward to take his hand and squeeze tightly. “Honestly Charles, what am I going to do with you?”

His expression grows impossibly tender as he squeezes back just as firmly. “Just keep loving me, ma chérie. No matter how many stupid jokes I make or stunts I pull to get your attention.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment, letting the warmth and sincerity of his words wash over you. Despite his recent trauma, you can see the pure devotion shining in his eyes. How could you ever want anything else?

“Always,” you whisper, fiercely meaning it with every fiber of your being. “I’ll always love you, Charles Leclerc. No matter what.”

[andypantsx3]

LOADS OF FUN : TODOROKI x READER

SUMMARY: After moving into your first apartment together, Shouto seems more amorous than ever. You're not sure why—but when he comes home to you doing a load of laundry, more than your clothes are about to get tumbled. TAGS/WARNINGS: nsft (18+ only, minors please dni!), pro hero au, gn + afab reader, established relationship, fluff, emotional sex, table sex, cunnilingus, the shouto domesticity kink agenda goes absolutely crazy in this one lol (2.8k) NOTES: This piece is part of my pretty boy summer Shouto x Reader collab! Please go check out the other incredible fics people have written over the course of the summer; you will absolutely die over how good they are. This fic was also made possible through donations to the Fics for Gaza project. I cannot thank everyone who donated to one of the charities enough, as well as those who organized, reblogged, discussed, and got the word out. Lastly, I am so grateful for your immeasurable patience with me as I take time between fics to manage my workload, I hope I'm not too out of practice here lol. In summary: thank you, thank you, a million times thank you.

The sound of the door opening was hidden in the thump and glug of the washing machine starting its spin cycle.

Halfway across the house, you were oblivious—you had the clean laundry spread out on the kitchen table, hunting through the pile trying to match one of Shouto’s socks to another that seemed to have vanished into that mysterious void which opens somewhere between the laundry basket and the dryer. One of his shirts was half-folded over your shoulder, abandoned in favor of the sock search.

The rest of your things were still mostly tangled together on the table, warm and fresh and cottony, the few shirts you’d already folded sagging off the kitchen chairs.

It still gave you a little thrill—even several weeks after you’d moved in together—to see Shouto’s things twined up with yours—his enormous socks dwarfing yours, your sweaters clinging to the occasional piece of his hero suit that hadn’t seen enough action to need his agency’s industrial cleaners.

It all added to your sense of satisfaction with your afternoon—a frosty weekend day you’d spent cozy indoors, moving slowly and leisurely through some chores. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, and your favorite playlist worked itself through in lazy loops. Shouto was due off his rotation soon, and you hummed contentedly to yourself, entertaining pleased little fantasies of curling up with him for the rest of the weekend.

Which of course is when something moved in the corner of your eye. Your hum sawed up into a strangled screech, and you whipped around, flailing. Shouto’s sock launched itself full force at the intruder before you even registered you’d thrown it. In your shock, your leg caught against the table and you went stumbling—

—right into a pair of warm hands that caught you about the waist.

Your hands were on the man’s shoulders to push him off before you realized you recognized the touch—and that you’d caught sight of a distinct mop of scarlet and white hair as you’d whipped around.

“Shouto! Again?” you scolded reflexively, even as your heartbeat stuttered out of its wild kick into high gear. You tipped your head back to stare your boyfriend in the face, shoulders slumping in relief, letting him take some of your weight.

Shouto peered down at you, that tiny scrunch between his brows that indicated concern. “Are you alright, love?”

Your heartbeat pounded thunderously in your chest. “I’m—fine. But my god we need to get you a bell. I almost peed.”

Shouto’s mouth shifted minutely into something that might not have registered in anyone else’s face but was most definitely a regretful downturn on his. He looked even more unfairly beautiful than when he’d left you this morning—a little flushed and windswept from the unseasonable cold, that full mouth pink and pretty.

Your mind flicked momentarily off and back on like a circuit breaker, the way it always did when you had to process Shouto.

You’d understood he was once-in-a-generation levels of beautiful before you’d even met him, his face staring up at you from the glossy pages of various tabloids over the years. But in person, even after years of knowing him and several more dating him, Shouto’s appearance still managed to cross all the wires in a person’s brain. His features were an incomprehensible blend of aloof and elegant, sensual and warm—like a cold masterpiece of a marble sculpture had suddenly found himself with a consciousness and human desires and miles of warm skin.

“I did not mean to startle you,” he said, his voice low and warm. He sounded sincerely regretful.

You knew he hadn’t meant to—you’d long suspected his silent tread was habitually ingrained in him from years of hero work. And, in your most private and ungenerous thoughts, you suspected from years of making himself unobtrusive in his father’s home. The thought sat sour in your mouth, like a slice of pickled lemon.

You resisted making an equally sour face, shoving the thought away to make space for the reflexive flush of pleasure seeing Shouto always brought you.

“Welcome home, Sho,” you said instead, smiling up at him. Shouto’s hands moved on your waist, sliding gently beneath the hem of your tee-shirt to rest on the skin there.

He was still in his hero uniform, and as usual you felt a little goofy in comparison, in nothing but a tee and a well-loved pair of fraying sweatpants, which were this afternoon decorated with little flecks of soup from a brush with the pot.

But Shouto’s eyes were warm where they rested on you, and that perfect mouth crept back into a contented set. His long fingers smoothed over your skin as he watched you, thumb brushing your hip. He did not look like he found you at all goofy.

In fact, as his eyes dropped down to your ankles, slowly dragging back up to your face, you rather thought he looked a little appreciative. He even took a rather ungentlemanly step back, still holding you, to better take in the whole picture. His eyes wandered over the swell of your hip, the lines of the shirt against your chest, before darting to his own shirt, still folded over your shoulder.

His fingers flexed tellingly on your waist, and those heterochromatic eyes were both a little bit darker as they flicked back to yours.

His obvious regard made you feel warm. You shifted on your feet, shuffling.

“I was just—doing laundry,” you said for something to say, your mouth feeling kind of dry. Something about him always made you feel sort of shy and light-headed, even after all this time together. “And I made soup. I was thinking we could eat on the couch and watch one of those horrendous old All Might films?”

Shouto’s eyes darted to the stove, then beside you to the pile of your laundry, lingering for a long minute. His long lashes dipped, almost fluttering as his gaze traced over the tangle of your things together. His eyes flicked back to you. He was still for just a moment, watching you assessingly.

And then all of a sudden the world spun in front of your eyes. The hands at your waist lifted you clean off your feet, and you let out a startled “oof!” as you found yourself laid out in the pile of laundry on the table, sheets and sweaters bunching beneath you.

Shouto moved over you, stepping between your spread thighs, right at the edge of the table.

“You have no idea,” he intoned in a deep, delicious tone that went right down your spine, “what it is to come home to you like this.”

You wondered at that, feeling a strange combination of confusion and flattery, when Shouto’s mouth descended onto yours. His mouth was soft and sweet and insistent and absolutely perfect. The table groaned as he laid some of his weight out over you, pinning you into the laundry as he kissed you.

Your fingers clutched at him immediately, curling in his silky-soft hair, cupping his face to yours. One of Shouto’s own hands shifted to your thigh, holding you against him as he pressed himself harder into you.

You heard yourself making little gasps of appreciation as Shouto’s mouth moved down to your neck, laving hot kisses down your throat. You reveled in the feeling of him over you, broad and strong, his shoulders blocking the glow of the overhead light, casting shadows over you.

He’d been a lot like this lately, ever since you’d moved in together. He’d been adequately amorous before, of course, and blessed with a pro hero’s strength and unflagging stamina. But a few weeks after you’d moved in together you’d actually decided you needed to reactivate your gym membership given the amount of incredibly athletic sex you were suddenly having over almost every surface in the house.

One of the only spots yet to be touched was the table though, which Shouto seemed determined to rectify at this very moment.

He pulled back from you, his mouth flush from your kisses, looking a little entranced as he stepped out from between your thighs. You made a little noise at the loss of weight and heat over you, but Shouto caught the fabric of your sweatpants, gently but determinedly tugging them off of you. Your underwear was tossed right over one broad shoulder as Shouto went to his knees, and then his mouth was right back on you.

A wave of wild heat licked up your stomach at the noise of appreciation he made before sealing his mouth over you, strong fingers clutching your thighs to keep them apart.

“Oh my god!” you said, pleasure zinging right up your spine with the first lave of his tongue over you. “Shouto!”

Shouto let out a deep, pleased hum, two long fingers sinking into you embarrassingly easily as he worked your clit with his mouth. Your back arched and you could feel your clothing shift with you, Shouto’s shirt balling up under your shoulder blade, still half-draped over your shoulder.

“Oh, oh!” you heard yourself saying as your fingers twisted in the clothing, shuddering with every lick and suck of Shouto’s perfect, amazing, talented mouth.

He worked you with the expertise of long, dedicated practice—everything about him calculated to drive you insane. One moment he was excruciatingly soft, mouth slack and the touch of his tongue as fleeting and light as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Then the next he was sucking relentlessly, teasing firmly with the tip of his tongue as his fingers played with you.

Your first climax hit you mortifyingly quickly, and Shouto seemed to know it before you did. His grip tightened on you, holding you down as you bucked against his mouth. Shouto looked more than a little smug as he got to his feet again, unbelting himself and laying back out over you.

He kissed you some more, the taste of yourself always a sort of shock to your system. But Shouto never seemed to mind, and if anything only seemed hungrier for you, mouth pulling at yours like he meant to devour you.

You felt the touch of his hand between your thighs as he lined himself up, then sank into you easily, groaning appreciatively like he’d just sunk into a hot bath. He bit carefully at your neck, one large hand pressing your stomach down to keep you pinned against the edge of the table where he wanted you.

“I always want to come home to you like this,” he intoned into the skin of your neck, his mouth sucking dizzying patterns into your skin. “Always.”

You could barely think past the slide of him inside you, thick and full and blissfully exquisite. He really was the most perfect man on earth, and he always felt like it too.

You barely managed to blink your eyes open to watch him, trying to catch his meaning in his face. Shouto watched you back, those blue and grey pinned on you like he couldn’t bear to look away from you as he moved inside you.

“You—” you panted out, trying to cling to the thoughts threatening to wiggle out of your grip. “What do you—? Of course you’ll always come home to me.”

Shouto bucked into you harder, the slap of his hip against the bottom of your thigh echoing loudly over the burble of soup on the stove. His eyelashes fluttered, mouth softening, and a realization struck you almost dizzy.

Oh, he really liked that.

You suppressed a wave of giddiness, charmed and helplessly pleased that he seemed to like the idea so much. Was that why he’d been so especially ardent this past month? Was it really because you’d moved in together?

Shouto’s arm hooked under one of your legs, drawing it up firmly over his shoulder so he could press even further inside of you. He looked so good like that that you nearly lost the thread of your thoughts, especially when his next thrust felt like that. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head.

“Ah!” escaped you. “Fuck, Shouto. Like that, please!”

Shouto’s thumb pressed down on your still-sensitive clit and he had to dig the fingers of his other hand into the flesh of your leg to keep you from bucking him right out of you with the way you squirmed. Sweet fucking gods he was unreal.

Shouto fucked you harder, the sound of your skin slapping together obscene in the quiet of the kitchen.

You tried again, struggling to watch his reaction with the way you wanted to throw your head back and babble nonsense instead.

“You’ll always come home to me,” you repeated, gratified when Shouto’s grip on you tightened, a soft sound escaping him. “You want me right here for you?”

“Ah—yes, love,” Shouto panted, staring down at you again. He looked like he knew what you were doing but didn’t care. “Yes,” he hissed.

“Just like this?” you prompted, trying not to slur the edges of your speech when he gave another particularly mind-bending thrust of his hips. His chest rose and fell heavily and he looked a little wild-eyed, gazing down at you.

“Like this, for me,” he said. “In my home, in our home—”

You could hear the table squeal and groan with the force of his next thrust, and then you had to grip the sides of it to steady yourself as he fucked you, looking blissful. Your nails scrabbled at the edges of the table, caught in between a million sensations—the glorious fullness of Shouto inside you, the gentle grind of his thumb against your clit, the way he looked all flushed and beautiful and panting and wanting—

You squeezed your eyes shut, too overcome with the sight of him to look at him anymore, but it was no use. Your entire body trembled as you came, and Shouto let out a low swear at the way you clenched up around him, hunching over you and pressing himself so impossibly hard against you as he came too.

He slumped down against you, weighing you into the soft-smelling cotton of the laundry you were now definitely going to have to rewash. You could feel his chest rise and fall as he panted, his breath tickling the skin under your ear. He left an unbearably soft, sweet kiss just under the lobe, at odds with the near-wild way he’d just been fucking you.

You warmed, petting through his hair with a helpless affection.

“Well now I know what time I should always do our laundry,” you said.

Shouto huffed into your neck, but you could feel a tiny smile curve his mouth.

“It is not just that,” he said, but did not elaborate for some minutes until you elbowed him gently. He peeled himself off of you just enough to look down into your face. “It is the thought of our life together. Our clothes piled together. You in the home we chose and we made…” he said, trailing off.

But you thought you got the sentiment. It was about how easy it was, how uncomplicated. A safe place to come home to, no expectations, just soup and a pile of sweet-smelling laundry and someone happy to see you. It was something far away from what he'd grown up thinking a home was, possibly something he’d thought he’d never have—something you were determined to make him realize now that he always would.

You let your fingers pull through his hair again, smiling up at him. “I am going to have to do our laundry again, though,” you teased. “In case that interests you.”

And despite what he’d just said, Shouto did in fact look a little too interested. You watched his mismatched gaze trail over to the closet that opened onto the washer and dryer. A contemplative look snuck across his handsome face, carefully curling the corner of that plush mouth.

“There is another place we have not yet broken in,” he said slowly, voice dipping low. He looked down at you with an earnest expression completely in contrast to what he was suggesting.

You couldn’t help but laugh, and that was all the permission he needed to pull you up, gathering you up in his arms and layering a fat handful of laundry on top of you. His belt buckle rattled loosely beneath you where he'd barely done it up in his haste, and you laughed harder when he turned off the stove as you passed it.

Though it turned out to be a needed precaution—as neither of you found yourselves free to sit down to dinner for several hours yet.

[hoe4hotchner]

Hiii!! Could you do another non bau rich fem!reader where she gave Aaron lots of designer stuff and he starts wearing them to work? Like maybe ties, cuff links, and like an LV duffel bag and the team is just like “??? Woah dude where’d you get that??”

Subtle flex | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x rich fem!reader| WC: 0.9k | CW: nothing

Aaron Hotchner was usually not one for excess. His wardrobe was practical and professional, his tastes minimalistic, and his life, outside of Jack, revolved around efficiency and exuding authority on the job. Sure he had splurged occasionally on a stray high-quality tie here and there as well as his Rolex watch. At least that was until you entered his life.  

The first gift was a tie — a deep navy one in silk with subtle pinstripes. It came in a sleek wrapped box with some designer brand he had never even heard of before. You’d handed it to him with a casual smile, brushing off his initial protests with a light, “Aaron, I saw it and thought of you. Let me spoil you for once.”  

He wore it the next day, paired with his standard black suit, and noticed how it caught the light in the mirror. “Looks good,” he muttered to himself, brushing his hand over it. As hesitant as he had been to accept it, he was thankful for the present and happy that you'd chosen one that wasn't smothered in logos or brand names.

Then came the cuff links. They were sterling silver and engraved with his initials. He opened the box late one evening after you handed it to him over dinner. “You didn’t have to,” he said softly, though his smile betrayed how much he loved them.  

“Of course, I didn’t have to,” you replied, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. “But you deserve nice things, Aaron. You do so much good without even expecting a thanks.”  

And so it continued. A Louis Vuitton duffel bag for his work trips, a black leather wallet that somehow managed to look even more professional than the one he’d carried for years, and a collection of even more ties that were understated yet undeniably luxurious and seemed to multiply in his closet every so often.  

At first, he rotated the items slowly into his everyday wardrobe, unsure if they would draw attention. But one particularly chaotic morning, he grabbed the LV duffel, clipped on the cuff links, and shrugged into a jacket before heading into the office having gotten an urgent notification for a case.  

It didn’t take long for the team to notice.  

“Uh… Hotch?” Morgan’s voice cut through the usual buzz in the conference room as Hotch entered. “Is that a Louis Vuitton bag you’re carrying?”  

Hotch glanced at him briefly, setting the duffel down by the door before striding towards the front of the room to grab the file Garcia was holding outstretched for him. “Yes. Why?”  

Morgan blinked. “Why? Man, you’ve been holding out on us. Since when do you roll up looking like you just stepped out of GQ Magazine?”  

Emily leaned back in her chair, eyebrows raised. “Is that a new tie, too? That’s at least Tom Ford.”  

Hotch adjusted his tie instinctively. “It’s not. It’s Brioni.”  

“Oh, excuse us,” JJ chimed in throwing her hands up and exchanging an amused glance with Emily.  

“I’m sorry,” Spencer Reid piped up, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Are those cuff links monogrammed?”  

“Okay, seriously,” Morgan said, crossing his arms. “What’s going on, Hotch? You win the lottery or something? Cause if your salary is high enough for those purchases Imma have to talk to Strauss about a raise.”  

Hotch, shrugged lightly as he opened his case file. “No. My girlfriend has… a habit of giving gifts.”  

The room fell silent for a beat before Emily’s jaw dropped. “Wait, girlfriend? You’ve been holding out on us in more ways than one!”

"Who is she I need details," Garcia cut into the conversation, her excitement starting to bubble over.

JJ smirked. “Are you telling me she just gives you designer gifts casually? I agree with Garcia, who is this woman?”  

Hotch allowed himself the smallest of smiles as he glanced up from his paperwork. “Someone who insists I deserve the finer things.”  

“Damn,” Morgan muttered, shaking his head. “Where can I find one of those?”  

“Maybe start with charm school,” Emily teased.  

As the team bantered, Hotch’s phone buzzed on his desk. A message from you:  

Miss you already. Hope you’re putting the cuff links to good use. Dinner at my place when you get back?

He smiled quickly at his phone before typing back a quick reply.  

Always. I’ll bring the wine.  

When he looked up, the team was staring at him, curious. “What?” he asked, his tone amused, knowing fully well that they wouldn't stop bothering him about you until he eventually agreed to let them meet you.  

“Nothing,” Emily said, though her grin suggested otherwise. “Just trying to imagine Aaron Hotchner in love with a rich fashionista.”  

“Not just a fashionista,” Morgan added, gesturing toward the duffel. “An angel sent from the heavens, apparently.”  

Hotch shook his head, lifting his file up in the air in a quick and smooth motion as if to remind them why they were there. “Focus, everyone. We have a case.”  

A few days later, when you saw Aaron again, he mentioned the team’s reaction with a mix of exasperation and amusement.  

“I think they’re more interested in my wardrobe than the case,” he said, loosening his tie as he sat beside you on the couch.  

You laughed softly, running a hand through his hair. “Let them wonder. They’ll get used to it eventually.”  

“I’m not sure they ever will,” he muttered, leaning into your touch.  

“Good,” you teased, leaning in to kiss him. “I like keeping them on their toes.”  

[lilhughesy]

Look at You Now | Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

part two. part three.

warnings! hints towards sex (nothing graphic!) and angst! word count: 3.5k

summary: You have been together so long and you don't need to constantly express your love and appreciation towards each other. But what if he falls too deep into that routine and ends up putting you lower on his list of priorities?

It trickled slowly into your life, so slowly that was nearly unnoticeable. It seeped through the cracks and edges until it fully infiltrated you and your life. He still wore the same smile you fell in love with. His eyes still had the same creases at its edges when he laughed that brought the butterflies to your stomach.

The coffee maker would brew the same two cups of coffee every morning, in the matching mugs you had bought when you first started living together.

"Do you like these?" You asked him, raising two matching mugs from the shelf in Target, "We should get these!"

"Baby, we both have mugs already." He chuckled, shaking his head slightly at your excitement over glassware.

"Okay but picture us sitting in the kitchen every morning and drinking our coffees in matching mugs!" You beamed, rotating the porcelain in your hands to admire the design, "It would be so adorable."

He nudged the cart towards you, stopping it before it could bump into your hip, "Put it in the cart. You're already set on that idea so it's either we buy it now or you coming back tomorrow to get them."

"You know me so well." You teased, carefully placing the two mugs into the cart, next to the other various pieces of decor.

"It's almost like we've been dating for four years." He joked back, easily matching your energy like he always did, "And that we just moved in together."

"Okay, you know it's because it's so expensive to live alone in this economy!" You whined, guiding your boyfriend down the aisle, "I'm a fresh college graduate and I can't afford to live alone in an apartment in New Jersey, and you didn't want me living with a stranger."

"Nothing is wrong with us living together, babe. We've been thinking about this for a long time now and after doing basically two and a half years long distance, we deserve this." He reassured you, kissing your forehead as he stopped next to you with the shopping cart in front of him.

"I love you so much."

"I love you."

The familiar scent of your favourite coffee grounds flooding the kitchen, engulfing you the same way his arms would wrap around your waist. How he would hold you while you would make breakfast for him before his morning skate, how his lips would pepper kisses on your neck.

"Smells good in here." He mumbled against your neck.

You laughed and moved your body away from his slightly, "Your hair is tickling me."

He pouted, "Don't pull away, I wanna spend time with my girl before I have to go to morning skate."

You rolled your eyes playfully, returning to your original position and focusing back on the eggs that were cooking on the pan.

"You're so clingy in the morning." You told him, your free hand going to his curls.

"I just know that I'm going to miss you when I'm at practice."

You smiled at him as he straightened his posture, giving you space to transfer the eggs onto the two plates that already had toast on them. He waited for you to place the pan back on the stove before taking the two plates from you and moving towards your typical seats in the kitchen. He carefully placed both down on the marble while you retrieved utensils. As you settled onto the seat across from him, he brushed your hair in front of your face and pressed a loving kiss on your lips, "Thank you for breakfast, baby."

The multiple vases that stood proudly around the apartment, all filled with different flowers that he had bought you on his way back from either morning skate or from a game. Claiming that it was a thank you for always being there for him or that they were pretty and reminded him of you.

"More flowers?" You laughed, taking the bouquet of tulips from his hands and holding it close to your chest, "They're beautiful but we already have so many around this place!"

"They looked so perfect at the store and I knew you would love them." He winked, kissing your cheek and placed his hands on your hips as he passed behind you into the kitchen, "Plus, the ones on the coffee table are in need of changing."

"You don't have to keep buying me flowers, they're expensive!"

"Baby, you do realize I'm a professional hockey player right?" He teased while placing his shaker bottle into the dishwasher, "They make you happy and they bring colour to our place, it's the least I can do."

You smiled up at him as he approached you, hands holding your waist, "I love you."

"I love you." He grinned, kissing you slowly.

You still wore the same hoodie that he gave you back on the first night you met at UMich. The well-worn black hoodie with his jersey number embroidered on the right sleeve, his old hockey club printed on the front. The small holes that appeared with wear on the edges by your wrists. It had that softness that only comes with countless trips to the washer and with years of consistent use.

"God, you kill me every time you wear that." He groaned, pulling you by the hips towards his chest and capturing your lips into a deep kiss.

You giggled against his mouth, placing your elbows on his shoulders and crossing your wrists behind his neck.

"Jump, baby." He breathed out.

You complied, his larger hands on your ass to support you as your legs wrap around his waist. He slowly walked towards the counter top, carefully setting you on it while never separating away from your lips.

His lips trailed away from yours and travelled towards your ear where he lightly bit on your ear lobe before pressing wet kisses on your neck. His hands were firm on your thighs, gently caressing shapes into your skin as you let out a breathy moan.

"Don't you have to take your pre-game nap soon?" You asked him, your hands tangled up in his hair.

"Yeah but I also need to show my girl how much I love her and give her the love she deserves." He mumbled against your collarbone before sucking on the skin, leaving a red mark that was definitely going to darken over the next few hours.

His routine was the same. He was a man of routine.

Without fail, he would place his dirty dishes into the sink of your shared apartment. He would return to your bedroom to grab a pair of socks and his phone that he left on its charger. He would grab his hockey bag from its closet, drag it to have it propped up against the door. Then he would jog over to you and your spot on the barstool at the kitchen island, making sure to give you a kiss on your forehead, each cheek, and then your lips. He would tell you that he loved you, how he hoped that you will have a good morning, and that he will see you after practice.

Well, it stayed the same until it slowly started to shift. It didn't change over the course of a few weeks, rather months. Small changes being sprinkled in every few weeks, so slowly that you didn't pick them up.

It changed ever so slowly that you didn't even notice how he started bringing his phone to breakfast, leaving it on the counter as you two ate. Or how he slowly changed his pattern of kisses. How he would sometimes check for notifications when you would sit in a comfortable silence. Or when he just said he loved you and will see you in a bit. How he wouldn't come straight home after practice. How he got lunch with the boys instead of picking up food for the both of you to share. Or how he went to Jack's place to hang out after games and sometimes spending the night at the apartment he used to live in, rather than sleeping in the same bed as you.

You brushed it off every time. You weren't the type of girl to keep a tracker on your boyfriend, needing to know his every move. He was allowed to hang out with his friends, spend evenings with his brother, go out to get drinks with teammates. You only wished for him to let you know when he had these planned, so you weren't left to sit on the couch alone, waiting for your boyfriend to come home.

But he was a man of routine.

You two still fought over the same argument, it was getting exhausting.

"Hi baby." He called out, closing the door to the apartment behind him and kicking off his shoes. He shoved his hockey bag into the closet, "Sorry, practice ran long today."

You sat on the couch, your back facing him as you couldn't even bear looking at him.

"You okay?" He asked, while grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and walking over to you, "What's the matter?"

"What's the matter?" You asked back, somewhat mocking him.

He looked taken back at your harsher tone, "Jesus, I was just asking a question. No need to be like that, babe."

"Sorry, I was acting like that when there are videos and pictures of my boyfriend dancing with other girls at the club last night." You spat, sarcasm heavy in your voice. You scoffed at his confused reaction, tossing your phone at him. It was open to the post with the different videos of him and a random girl.

"Baby, it's not what it looks like I promise."

How you didn't recognize the girl who was pressed up against him in the photos that were posted to Instagram and TikTok. How you told him that you didn't appreciate him being seen dancing with other girls at the clubs, especially when people were aware that he was dating you and it felt extremely disrespectful to you.

"God, how many times do I have to go through this?!" You cried out, raising your hands to the top of your hair as you paced the same spot in your bedroom, "This is the second time! Do you know what they are saying about me? How sorry they feel for me?"

"Why do you care about what they think of our relationship?" He argued from the doorway, "They don't know us, they don't know how much I love you and how much you mean to me. They don't know what we've been through, baby. Who cares what they say."

"Are you saying this isn't real then?" You asked him, showing the photo on your phone, "This didn't happen?"

"God no! I told you, I was at Jack's last night." He said to you, "Ask him! I wasn't at the bar last night, that photo is edited and the back of my head doesn't even look like that!"

"I swear to god, if you're lying to me right now and I find out- I am leaving you." You threatened as you started texting Jack, "I'm not joking."

"Baby, don't even say that." He breathed out, "I love you so much, you know that. I have the rest of the day off, let's go do something together today."

But, you would still fall for his empty promises every time, how he would tell you that there was no other girl in his life that meant more to him than you. That it was a weird angle and that he wasn't actually that close to that girl in real life. That the other girls meant nothing to him. He loved you, and only you.

"Thanks babe." He said to you as he sat down while you placed his breakfast in front of him, he briefly glanced up from his phone to see what you made, "Looks good."

"No problem," You smiled, sitting next to him, "Also have you seen your mug? I haven't seen it for the past few days."

Referring to his mug that matched with yours. You would always make his morning coffee in it, but it had gone missing yesterday and you had spent majority of your day searching for it.

"Oh, it broke in the dishwasher the other day. I threw it out," He replied plainly, still scrolling through his phone, "I thought I had mentioned it to you, sorry baby."

You felt a small wave of disappointment at the news but brushed it off, "That's too bad."

Maybe the broken mug was some sort of insinuation of your relationship. The loneliness had sunk deep in your bones. You would walk through the city, tending to the errands on your to do list alone. You navigated the city in a lonely silence, wishing that your boyfriend was next to you rather than wherever he was in that moment.

Truth be told, after graduating and moving straight to New Jersey to be with your boyfriend, you hadn't made any other friends than his teammates. You didn't have any one else to hang out with when he was out.

You would come home, placing the multiple bags of groceries in the kitchen. You would see that his shoes were still missing, so he was too. You would float through the kitchen as you placed the variety of items away, a pang in your chest as you watched the time go by. You would curl up on the couch, with another book and a cup of tea to spend the next few hours as you waited. The pile of completed books that sat in the corner of the apartment grew every day. It was the easiest way to past time.

The apartment remained silent, it was empty and cold even though there were candles burning and the tv playing your current show. But it didn't feel the same as it used to. It lacked the vibrancy it used to hold. You couldn't even remember the last time the two of you had a date night out together, with the mix of his busy schedule and him being on the road for games while him also going out into the city with his friends.

You sank further into your spot on the couch, reflecting on your life. You wondered when the last time the two of you watched your show together on this couch, or the last time you two ordered food and cuddled up under the blankets. He always seemed so preoccupied with hockey and his social life, you just wondered when he decided that you were no longer a part of his priority list. You couldn't put a finger on the last time he had his arms around your waist, swaying you slightly as you made breakfast together. Or when he would randomly send you a song that he listened to on his drive to practice that reminded him of you. The one vase with flowers in the kitchen were the ones you bought yourself a week ago, and they didn't look the same as when he would buy them for you.

Suddenly you realized how hollow you had been for the past... you don't even know how long. Things weren't the same anymore and they haven't been for a while. You had been living through the ideas of who he used to be; the love and happiness he used to fill you with. You wondered how long he was going to keep this going, with the same smile on his face. It was like living in a time machine. How making the same coffee in the same mugs to bring familiarity to how you used to be. You would buy yourself flowers now instead of him, to make sure that at least one vase was filled with the spring-like colours. Just to bring you comfort that nothing had changed, except that everything has. Including him.

You had been clinging onto the old version of him through the shape of his old hoodie that you still wore and the I love you's said to each other. Now, you just weren't so sure if he meant those eight letters and only said them as part of his routine. Or to say them to have you stay with him.

You couldn't even remember the last time he looked at you when he said those three words.

You curled into a small ball on your side of the bed, wearing your sleep shirt and keeping your eyes on the clock on the night stand. You waited for him to come home, if he were to come home. The jingle of keys was heard outside of the bedroom door along with the shuffles of his feet. You could hear him getting ready for bed in the bathroom; the shower running, the rustling of the towel drying off his skin, his electric tooth brush.

A sliver of light shined into the darkness of the bedroom as he quietly crept into the room. He crawled into the bed, the mattress dipping slightly as he settled in. You shifted your position.

"Hi baby," He whispered, "You awake?"

"Mhm."

"Sorry I came home late." He mumbled, trying to find a comfortable position next to you, "Jesper and Jack wanted to get some drinks."

"Okay." You replied plainly, closing your eyes again, 'Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Do you still love me?" You asked him, turning to face him. You could somewhat make out the shocked and confused expression on his face in the dark.

He was at a loss of words in that moment, "Why would you ask that?"

"I was just thinking about it today."

"Of course I love you." He told you as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

"Mm," You hummed out, carefully contemplating your next words, "It feels like you stopped loving me a long time ago."

He propped himself up on his elbow, much more awake than he was when he initially entered the bedroom. His head was racing through the differently possibilities that could have occurred to cause you to say that to him. But he also pulled a blank, because you seemed happy this entire time.

"What's going on baby?"

"I don't know," You sighed, also propping your upper body up and twisting to the side to flick on the dim lamp, "I feel like I'm not a priority to you anymore."

"That's not true, you mean everything to me." He reassured you, his eyes bouncing around the features of your face and taking you in for the first time in a while. Your eyes had bags under them and you lost some weight in your face, your skin seemed a bit more pale than normal.

"Then why does it feel like you don't care about spending time with me anymore?" You questioned, "I know that your work is busy and it's tiring - I get that. But you still make time to get drinks with your friends and to go clubbing and to get lunch with Jack. That's fine, I'm not upset over that."

"Then what are you upset about?" He asked carefully, his tone had a slight quiver to it as all of this was new information to him. He didn't want to push the wrong button nor disregard your feelings.

"I'm upset over the fact that I can't even remember the last time you took me out for a dinner, hell I can't even remember the last time you looked at me and said 'I love you' while looking like you meant it."

"I do love you, baby." He told you, "I love you so fucking much, I thought you knew this. I do everything for you."

"You don't mean it the same way that you used to..."

"Babe, I don't even know what you mean by that. I'm telling you right now that I love you." He repeated, his hand caressing your arm, "I love you."

"No, you don't. You love me because you're used to me and because I'm a part of your routine, not because of who I am or the relationship we have together. You love me because I've been at your side for over four years. You don't look the same when I look at you now, and I know it's because you don't love me Luke."

And he looked away from you as those words left your lips because he knew it was true. He knew that things haven't been the same for a long time and that you deserved better than being dismissed and pushed aside. He was aware that he was pushing you down the priority list and he had only hoped that you wouldn't catch on.

part two.

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Three

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, stress + anxiety, 2021 abu dhabi gp

Notes — Don't freak out too much. Or do. I don't mind!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

Abu Dhabi, 2021

The morning light over Yas Island was pale and peachy, slipping through the slats of the hotel balcony and falling in stripes across the rumpled bed and open sliding doors. The paddock below was just beginning to stir, the beep of forklifts, the low murmur of paddock crew setting up for the final race of the season.

Lando was sitting sideways on the balcony chair, legs folded beneath him, hair wild from sleep and one of Amelia’s sleep masks still tangled around his wrist. He had a half-drunk iced coffee balanced precariously on the railing, and he was tapping through a stream of TikToks on mute, occasionally muttering things like “how do people bend like that” and “okay I’m definitely trying that later.”

Amelia was curled beside him on the lounger, wearing his LN4 hoodie (too long in the sleeves, as always), scrolling through tire degradation data on her iPad, her stim ring rotating in fast loops over her thumb. She was quiet. Focused. Chewing gently on the inside of her cheek.

Then, completely out of nowhere, she said flatly, “I think we should get married.”

Lando paused. Finger hovering over the next video. “Wait. Huh?”

“I think we should get married,” she repeated, still not looking up.

He blinked once. Then twice. “Like… married married?”

“Yes.” She hummed. 

His brain short-circuited. “Wait, right now?” he asked, full of alarm and awe. “Like you wanna elope? I mean, we could. Vegas is only, like, eight hours away—no, wait, you need a license. Shit, do I need a suit? Wait, do I need to propose first?!”

Amelia finally looked up at him, blinking slowly. “No. Not right now. I’m saying, I want that. With you. At some point. Soon.”

“Oh,” he said, visibly short-circuiting again, but this time in a much softer way. “Oh. Holy shit.” He scrambled to sit up straighter, hands moving frantically as if he needed to physically shake the surprise out of his body. “Like you want to marry me marry me?”

“Yes,” she said again, frowning at him now. “I’ve thought about it. You’re the person I feel safest with. I want to live with you forever. I want to do life with you. So yes. I think we should get married.” She made a face. “Also, I’d become your next of kin, which would be very useful. I hated having to wait outside for you to be conscious enough to give me permission to come into the medical room. Ridiculous.” She muttered. 

Lando was staring at her like she’d just told him he’d won the lottery and a lifetime supply of Haribo. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “Are we too young? Shouldn’t we be, like, old and boring first?”

“You’re already halfway there,” Amelia said dryly.

He barked out a laugh, then grabbed a throw pillow and bonked her gently on the head. “Oi! Rude.”

She caught it and didn’t even flinch. “I’m serious, Lando.”

His voice went gentler. “Yeah. Yeah, I know you are.”

He looked at her then — really looked. At the sleepy softness of her eyes, the curls pinned messily back, the stim ring she hadn’t let go of all week. He reached over, tugging lightly on the sleeve of his hoodie she was wearing.

“Honestly?” he said. “I’d marry you tomorrow if you asked.”

Amelia tilted her head. “So you don’t think we’re too young? My dad does. Told me so.”

“Baby,” Lando said, reaching up to brush a curl behind her ear, “I’m gonna be with you forever. Whether we’ve got a wedding band or a piece of paper or just… this. Us. You’re it for me.”

Amelia’s mouth twitched into a slow, private smile. The kind she didn’t give to many people. “Do you have a ring for me?” She knew he didn’t. He was shit at keeping secrets, would’ve told her about it already, but she couldn’t resist teasing him. 

His eyes went wide. “Holy shit. I need to buy you a ring. Like right now. Do you like diamonds? Wait, no. You hate diamonds. That was—nope, that was sapphires I think—”

“I made a list,” she interrupted. “Five rings I like. They’re all titanium.”

“Of course you did.” He looked delighted. “You’re so organised. I love you so much it’s actually unreal.”

She looked at him plainly, with that strange and brilliant way she always had of cutting straight to the truth without frills. “I love you too,” she said. “I want you to know that. Before the race. In case… in case Max doesn’t come out on top. In case it all goes terribly wrong.”

Lando’s expression softened, but it was still there, in the background, that vibrating excitement, that adrenaline. (“I think we should get married,” she’d said, as if he wasn’t going to fixate on those words for the rest of his life.) He reached for her hand, squeezing gently. “Nothing’s going to go badly,” he said. “And even if it does, I’ll be there, alright?”

She leaned into his shoulder, pressed her eyes into it. Let them burn with the force of it until tiny white stars appeared in her vision. 

Below them, the circuit roared to life.

— 

The Red Bull garage was a hive of motion. Mechanics buzzed around the car like bees, laptops open, tire blankets coiled, engineers murmuring numbers in clipped, focused voices. The final race. The final showdown. Equal on points. Everything — everything — had come down to this.

Amelia stood just outside the strategy room, headset in hand, her other thumb flicking over her stim ring in rapid, tight rotations. The noise of the paddock was a low hum behind her, like white noise under pressure. 

Max was already suited up, pacing lightly just a few feet away. Despite the stakes, world championship on the line, one shot at history, he was steady. Calm, like always. But she could see the tension in the tightness of his shoulders, the barely-there furrow of his brow.

He looked over and caught her eye. “You good?” He asked, voice low, private.

She nodded, even though she wasn’t entirely sure she was.

Max took a step closer, pressing a hand gently to the small of her back. “Don’t get lost in your head. I need you today, Amelia.”

“I’m not in my head,” she lied, eyes flicking back to the screens. “I’m watching sector data.”

“Amelia.” His voice was firmer this time, and she finally turned toward him. Max softened again. “You’ve done everything right. I have everything I need.” 

She blinked, jaw tightening. “It doesn’t feel like I’ve done enough…”

He cut her off. “You have. We did this together. You’ve changed the way I drive, do you understand how ridiculous that is? You’ve made me better, more precise. More… human, actually.”

“You were always human,” she muttered.

He laughed quietly, the tension breaking just a little. “I’m serious,” he added. “If I win this championship, it won’t be just for me. It’ll be for you too.”

She looked up at him, eyes dark and sharp and wide open. “You’re going to win it.” She told him. 

Max didn’t reply right away, just looked at her like he wanted to remember her exactly like this: calm but blazing, logic and loyalty knotted so tightly together they were indistinguishable.

He reached up and tugged gently on her ear defenders. “Put these on. Let’s go make history.”

Amelia nodded, slipping them over her ears. The world narrowed to radio comms and telemetry readouts, and she let herself draw in one breath. Sharp, clean, grounded.

She would not let him fall.

— 

Amelia threaded her way through the crowded pit-lane, ignoring the cameras and noise. Her MV33 polo was crisp, headset slung around her neck. But her attention wasn’t on the live telemetry or tire temp conversations. It was locked on the McLaren garage.

Lando stood just outside his car, leaning back against the halo, his helmet resting beside him. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, fingers fidgeting at the strap of his glove.

He saw her before she even said anything, and his face lit up. That same irrepressible smile, the one he never gave anyone else quite like that. “You came,” he said, voice soft, almost surprised.

She stopped in front of him, hands in the pockets of her team jacket. “Always. Good luck.” 

His smile deepened. “You too. Big day for you.”

Her fingers curled slightly in her pockets. “It’s... a lot. The strategy’s solid, the setup’s right, but I keep checking things anyway.”

“You always do.” He agreed. 

She gave a small nod, then looked up at him more directly. “You’ve been smooth through sector two all weekend. Stay clean into Turn 1 and you’ll be fine.”

Lando raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you’re giving me race notes now?”

“Just observations.” She hesitated, then added, “I want you to finish. In one piece.”

He reached out and took her hand, pulling it gently from her pocket. His grip was warm, grounding. “I’ll be careful,” he promised. “No hero moves.”

She held his hand tighter than she meant to. “It’s just… everything’s riding on today. For Max. For Red Bull. For me.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “But you’ve already done more than enough, baby. Everyone can see that. ”

She nodded, her expression unreadable; that usual mixture of intensity and quiet overwhelm. “I wish I could stay here,” she said finally. “Just… with you.”

Lando smiled, all softness and mischief. “Then marry me.”

She blinked. “I already told you I want to.”

He grinned. “I’m just making sure you didn’t change your mind.”

“I didn’t.” She told him flatly. 

He bent forward slightly, brushing his forehead against hers, just for a second. “Okay. Good. Now go win your driver a championship, genius girl.”

She stepped back, reluctantly letting go of his hand. “Go fast. Be safe. I love you.”

He gave a little mock salute, but there was nothing teasing in the look he gave her.

She didn’t say anything else. Just turned and walked back across the grid, her posture straight, her steps steady, even if her heart was pulling in two directions at once.

—

The world narrowed to three monitors, the roar of engines, and the rasp of radio comms in her ear.

Amelia sat at the Red Bull pit wall, headset on, back straight, gaze fixed ahead. The sun had dipped just below the horizon now, casting the track in a surreal twilight glow. The lights above the grid blinked on, one by one.

“Thirty seconds,” GP said into her headset. Amelia’s fingers hovered over her keyboard.

“Telemetry’s live. Temperatures look good. Max is calm. Holding revs,” she reported, voice clipped, focused.

Next to her, Christian leaned forward, arms crossed. Jos stood behind them, silent but tense, eyes locked on the feed. Everyone was still. The calm before the storm.

On her peripheral screen, she caught a flash of orange — Lando’s McLaren lining up in P6. Just behind Perez. Right there in the thick of it. Her chest tensed.

Please stay clean, both of you.

The five red lights came on.

Focus.

The lights blinked out.

The engines screamed to life.

Amelia’s screen exploded in movement. Max launched well. Into Turn 1, clean. Hamilton was ahead, but only just. She barely registered anything else until GP’s voice cut through the feed.

“Verstappen P2 into Turn 1. Lando holding P6. All clean.”

She exhaled.

Amelia’s fingers flew across her keyboard, eyes darting between the tire degradation model and the live GPS feed. The opening laps were everything. Settle. Get comfortable. Don’t overextend. Everything had to be perfect.

Her gaze flicked again to Lando on the live feed — to the tiny bubble of data they had on him. Still green across the board. Clean throttle trace. No lockups. He was driving smart.

“Max’s rears are starting to warm up. Give him space on corner exit,” she said into the mic, steady as steel.

Behind her, someone handed Christian an updated gap sheet. Jos hadn’t moved.

“Max looks smooth,” Christian muttered. “He’s in this.”

He has to be, Amelia thought. Her jaw tensed.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could still feel Lando’s hand in hers. That soft look in his eyes. That little grin. You’ve already done more than enough.

But she couldn’t afford to think about it now.

— 

Amelia stood stiffly beside GP and Christian. Her heart thudded in her chest, fast and out of sync with the soft hum of the garage.

Max in P2. Lewis in P1. Hardly any time. A complete and total lack of options.

Then… chaos.

“Latifi’s in the wall,” someone said, voice sharp in her ears.

She flinched. Her pulse spiked. Everything blurred. The Safety Car was deployed.

The paddock erupted into movement; engineers scrambling, radios buzzing, tire blankets being yanked off. Amelia didn’t move. She couldn’t. She stood frozen as her entire world narrowed to the math ticking through her head: the delta times, the tire degradation, the sector gaps. All of it churning like a storm, none of it solving anything.

“Box Max, box now!” GP called.

Max dived in. Lewis stayed out.

She closed her eyes. Please let there be time. Please clear the track.

Someone bumped her arm, but she barely registered it. Her stim toy was clenched tight in her hand, fingers white-knuckled, her breathing shallow. Her lips moved soundlessly as she recited the FIA regulations under her breath, not to anyone, not out loud, just for herself. A frantic, silent ritual. Something to cling to.

Article 48.12… Article 48.13…

Then: “Only five lapped cars may overtake.”

Her vision narrowed. That’s not right. That’s not how it works.

But the words didn’t come. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t argue. Couldn’t breathe. Her throat had locked up, emotion swelling until she thought she might drown in it. Her ears rang. The cameras clicked. The radio screamed. The Safety Car came in.

One lap.

She didn’t even hear the lights go green, only felt the rumble in her bones as the cars launched back to their limit.

Max lunged at Turn 5.

Gasps echoed up and down the pit lane. Christian was shouting something beside her. Hands were on heads. People screaming. Mechanics leaping. Her knees trembled, but she didn’t move.

Time slowed. She couldn't see the monitors anymore through the blur in her eyes. The noise, the roar of engines, the yells, the chaos, melted into a dull throb.

And then, “MAX VERSTAPPEN, YOU ARE WORLD CHAMPION!”

The world cracked open.

The pit wall exploded in celebration, a wall of noise crashing over her. Mechanics surged forward. Christian jumped into GP’s arms. Jos was shouting, eyes wild. Someone was crying — maybe her. She couldn’t tell. Her legs gave a little, but she didn’t fall.

Instead, Amelia just stood there. Silent. Shaking.

Max had done it.

He had won.

Her vision cleared, just for a second. She looked at the screen. At the car. At his name at the top of the standings.

He had done it.

And the weight snapped loose.

She sobbed, one hard, breathless sound, and finally let herself collapse into the arms reaching for her.

—

Chaos.

Cameras flashed, mechanics hollared, fireworks boomed over Yas Marina — but all Amelia could feel was the ache in her chest as she stood just outside the Red Bull garage, eyes still glassy from the flood of it all. Her arms hung limply at her sides, adrenaline coursing, brain half-short-circuited.

Then—“Baby!”

She barely had time to turn before Lando crashed into her, sweeping her off her feet in a blur of orange and sweat-streaked Nomex. She yelped, half-laughed, and clung to him as he spun her around, both of them breathless and laughing now.

“You did it!” he cried against her cheek, peppering her face with wild, fluttering kisses — temple, nose, jaw, forehead. “You did it, baby, holy shit—you did it. I’m so proud of you, I’m so—Amelia, look at me—you were brilliant.”

“I didn’t drive the car—” she started, dazed.

He cut her off with another kiss, hard and grateful and full of awe. “Doesn’t matter.”

Her arms wrapped tight around his neck, grounding herself in the strength of his hold. He was so warm, his hair damp, eyes alight like he’d never seen anything so beautiful as her in this moment. He smelt so bad, of burnt metal and sweat, but she couldn’t let him go. 

“I was so scared,” she whispered into his collar. “I thought I was going to throw up.”

“You didn’t.” His voice cracked with emotion. “You held it together. You always do.”

A familiar voice behind them, hoarse with disbelief and joy and adrenaline. “Amelia!”

They both turned as Max stormed toward them, helmet off, his face still red from the heat and the scream he’d let out over the line. His grin was wild and gleaming, his eyes glassy, and before she could say a word, he stole her from Lando’s arms.

“You—!” Max shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders and practically shaking her. “You fucking genius! You did it, we did it!”

“Max—!” she laughed, high-pitched and near-hysterical.

“No, no—shut up—Amelia,” he kept going, voice thick. “You gave me that car. You gave me that strategy. You gave me everything. You are—you are my champion.”

Then, without warning, he picked her up, arms locked around her waist, spinning her. She screamed through her laughter, tears pouring down her cheeks again. Overwhelmed in the best way. 

Lando was grinning so wide it hurt, chest heaving as he watched them. And for a single moment, everything around them slowed.

The crowd. The chaos. The race. The history.

Amelia, who once thought she was built to exist only in the background, was now wrapped in the arms of a driver who loved her beyond measure, who saw her as a sister. And behind her, the man she loved, watching on, always there to catch her. One, her brother. The other, the man she was going to marry. 

And for the first time in her life, she was at the centre of something unforgettable.

Something permanent.

A legacy.

—

The party roared on just outside the glass — music thumping, champagne flowing, Max somewhere on someone’s shoulders, drunk on victory and gin tonics. 

Amelia was sitting on the bar, barefoot, her makeup smudged and her voice hoarse from all the laughing and crying. Her MV bomber jacket was draped over her shoulders, and her little black dress had ridden high on her thighs. 

Lando stood between her knees, big hands resting on her thighs. He was grinning like he’d just remembered something ridiculous. “Okay, okay, wait—don’t move,” he said, reaching into his pocket.

“What are you doing?” Amelia asked, blinking at him.

“Making something official.” He pulled out a crumpled little object — sticky from heat, slightly squashed. A red Haribo ring. He held it up between his fingers like it was the crown jewels. “Found it on the snack table in hospitality earlier. Fought two engineers for it. Nearly died.”

Amelia blinked again. “…That’s candy.”

“Engagement candy,” he corrected proudly, stepping closer. “Listen. You said you had a list of five rings you like. This isn’t one of them. It’s better. It’s from me. And it’s temporary. But it counts.”

“Lando—”

“No, shush. Let me be romantic.”

She bit her lip, fighting a smile as he carefully slid it onto her finger, a little sticky, a little too big, but it stayed.

“There.” He beamed. “Now everyone at this party knows you’re mine. Until I can get you the real thing.”

She stared down at it, the ridiculous red candy glinting under the flashing lights, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. “You’re serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life,” Lando said, stepping in to kiss her nose. “You’re it for me, Amelia. Ring or not. Win or not. It’s always been you.”

Amelia swallowed, throat tight, fingers curling around his shirt collar.

“…Can I eat it later?” she whispered.

He burst out laughing and pulled her into him so hard that she squeaked. “God, I love you.”

—

2 Months Later, Monaco

The sun hadn’t fully crested over the terracotta rooftops yet. Monaco was quiet in the mornings, or as quiet as it ever got, and Amelia liked it that way. Her walking trainers tapped gently on the pavement as she walked, one AirPods in, golf ball tucked into the sleeve of her jacket.

She liked the rhythm of this. Her early walks, the cool air, the scent of sea salt and espresso from the cafés opening up for the day. Her world had slowed since Abu Dhabi. Not stopped, never that, she wouldn’t let herself stagnate, but... it had softened.

She turned a corner by the marina, already heading back toward the apartment she and Lando shared. 

“Amelia?”

She froze.

Roscoe trotted up first, tail wagging as he nosed at her leg like an old friend, and she crouched out of instinct, hand moving gently through his fur. And then Lewis appeared behind him, dressed in black, sunglasses perched high even in the shade.

They stared at each other for a beat too long. “Hi,” she said finally, standing, brushing her hands down her leggings.

“Hey,” Lewis said, and his voice was gentler than she remembered. A little guarded. Roscoe pressed his nose into her palm again, entirely unaware of the stiffness in the air. “I didn’t know you were in town,” Lewis added.

“I live here now.” She told him. “With Lando.” 

His brow ticked slightly. “Oh.” Another pause. One that seemed to stretch wider than the marina below them. “I’m surprised,” he admitted.

Amelia tilted her head slightly. “Why?”

He hesitated. “I guess... I didn’t realize you’d—”

“Have a life?” She asked, not unkindly.

He winced. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Okay.” She looked out over the harbour, then back at him. “You were always kind to me, you know. Back then. Before I started working for Max.”

Lewis looked like he didn’t know what to do with that.

“I don’t hate you,” she said, putting it as bluntly as she possibly could.

He smiled, small and a bit sad. “That’s a relief.” They stood there for a beat, Roscoe now sprawled at their feet like a mediator. “You seem happy,” Lewis said finally. His gaze drifted downward for just a moment. Not intrusive — just a flicker of observation, one he couldn’t quite suppress.

Amelia followed it. Her hand was resting lightly at her side, the sunlight catching on titanium on her ring finger. 

Lewis didn’t say anything. But his expression shifted, just slightly.

“I am.” She told him. 

“Good.” He took a breath, then nodded, like he was trying to comprehend it. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe,” she said, already turning back toward the road. “Roscoe’s always welcome to say hi.”

Lewis chuckled softly. “He’ll be thrilled.”

Back home, Lando would be waking up soon, hair wild, voice sleepy, probably asking where she’d hidden his favourite cereal to stop him from midnight snacking and finishing it all. 

She smiled.

This was her life now. 

And she was kind of in love with it.

NEXT CHAPTER

[screampied]

IDK HOW TO START THIS REQUEST🔥🔥🔥

Suguru fucking reader while they’re wearing his hoodie 🙏

see what I’m getting at right…..( + I hope ur doing good Vegas 🗣️ )

❤︎ ໋𓈒 suguru fucking you in his oversized hoodie

warnings. fem! reader, cowgirl, praise, dirty talk, choking, unprotected, mdni.

“you’re a dirty girl, you know?” and his voice, it was so smooth— a risqué rasp hides behind it as both of his hands firmly attach towards your waist. you’re suppressing moan after moan as you’re rocking back and forth against him, feeling him reach such deep pits of your entrance. your walls continue to clamp around him, squeezing him tight and it makes a low groan depart from his sheeny lips. “i… i’m startin’ to see why you like wearin’ my hoodies, sweetheart. so you can ride me with them on, huhh.”

he’s so hefty, geto was far more thick than he was long and the quaver you felt in your thighs had you aching…

he stares at you with the slyest expression. even something as simple as his gaze was sexy, he studied your frame and ran his fingers against the soft cotton fabric you wore. one of his old hoodies, a dark cerulean blue with a random band name stitched near the very back. “. . s-suguru,” you’d huff out, leaning into his neck to gingerly nibble against his skin. “touch me more, feel my body a little more.”

“oh but baby, you know i don’t like being demanded,” he replies cheekily, guiding your hips in such a way. he grips your waist, swaying them further against his lap and you moan at the way his stretch from his cock wore you thin. “if you want me to touch you more, you know what to do,” and he lightly grabs your chin, making you gaze right into his darkened irises. “pretty please, suguru. let’s start from there, hm?”

a tease—a simple way to describe geto, he loved getting under your skin.

you made it so easy for him too, his eyes mindlessly roam all over your body and he groans. something about seeing you ride him with his old hoodie gets him hard, you feel his cock twitch inside you before you grind just a tad bit forward toward him.

“pretty please,” you huff out in shortened breaths, clinging to your final pants. a simple thing as breathing was even hard for you, you’re having a competition with your own each breath, it’s cute. all you wanted was to just feel a hand of his skim all down your body, running down your waist, your thighs . . . maybe even between your legs. “touch me, sugu. p—pretty please.”

“gotta be more specific, princess,” he whispers, his voice still deep—sonorous with such playfulness behind it. you could listen to his voice all day, you’re steadily rocking your hips against him before he watches you grab his hands. still, man spread, he snickers once you slowly move his hands further down your waist. “mhm. okay, anywhere else?”

you bite back a moan, feeling the plump crown head of his cock thrash against your sweet spots repeatedly. you’re swinging against him each time you go forward and it makes him grunt. your rhythm was simply hypnotic. time and time again, you’re so loud and you squeeze a grip on his wrists before babbling.

“touch my thighs, a-and touch here,” he remains quiet, amusingly ogling at how handsy you are. his fingers trail towards the material of the hoodie, sliding underneath it before you make him rub against your bare tummy. “right there, sugu.”

“such a naughty girl,” he hums.

brushing his thumb against your waist, another focus near the inside of the hoodie, his touch was so warm…

geto grunts, leaning back with his legs all spread. his sweats were pulled me just briefly, and you’re riding him so good that you spot his adam’s apple poking out. you lean in to kiss near his neck and he groans, feeling the thrusts against him only get sloppier. “fuck, that’s it, girl. s-shit, fuck me like that, yeah,” and his lips were so close up to your ear. you’re a whiney mess, feeling his strong hips attach to your rotating hips before your hand ends up wrapping around his neck.

it’s unintentional— but he finds it hot.

you make direct eye contact for a short concise moment before you moan from his dick french kissing near your pulsating g-spot. “k—kinky girl,” he chokes out, hooded eyes never leaving yours. and his eyes shoot up the moment you find out he’s turned on. your rocking on his lap quickens at a more rigorous pace before he speaks in a husky rasp, “nah, don’t let go now,” he fake pouts, spreading his legs just a bit further. your fingers loosen against his throat before he holds your wrist. “choke me more baby, c’mon don’t be shy. you know what you’re doing to me.”

“you’re kinkier than me, suguru,” you pant, feeling yourself coming close the more you bounce on his cock. his thighs— it rubs against your skin, it feels so smooth. a smooth clean service, skin slaps and slaps and you’re so dizzy that your head spins— your mind’s going through a whirl, and he chuckles before slowly sliding his hoodie up towards your chest.

he grunts, a thumb exposing your breasts that flung against you with each move you make. you’re frantic, wrapping one arm around him with another tightening its grip around his pretty throat. “obviously. we know this, girl,” he jeers, and there’s never a dull moment where suguru geto is sassy. and he even shoots you an eye roll, arched black brows slightly forming into a furrow.

the sassiest.

“ooh,” he purrs up all into your right into your ear, an arm dangerously snaking around your waist. “someone’s gettin’ whiney. you gonna make a mess on me, princess?”

“y— yeah,” you croon out a whimper, the curve of his cock plowing right through you. your walls continue to squeeze him tight, hugging him like a vice before you moan right into his neck. “s-shit, ‘m gonna cum, sugu.”

his head throws itself back and it’s sexy, long strands flowing effortlessly— and he smells good.

his aroma was something you could never get enough of, so rich and elegant. geto wore the same cologne and it never grew old. he breathes through his nose before bringing a sharp spank to your ass. “fuckkk me,” he’d gruffly utter. he was approaching too— he felt it rising and rising, that familiar twitch in his right leg rapidly . you moan, feeling his dick frantically pulse right inside your cunt and you release your grip on his neck. for a moment, he stares into your eyes before grabbing your chin. “kiss me, baby. give me . . a taste.”

his words were a bit slow, he was growing weary himself but didn’t wanna stop. not now—not ever.

you lean in to give him a sloppy kiss, tongues immediately collide and clash against each other. geto’s breath was warm, his hands continued to slide up the hoodie before squeezing your breasts, fondling a bit with your perky nipples as you’re just about to reach your incoming peak. “baby,” he huffs out in short pants between each kiss. with his abs clenching beneath his shirt, you anchor a hand right through his strands as you start to suck on his tongue. only for a second, he groans—gifting your ass that same spank that makes your skin roughly ricochet. “. . uh, fuck. make me cum, ride me jus’ like that,” and his voice was the same low gruff but it sounds a slightly more . . needy.

he tastes candied, syrupy…

a lingering minty flavor resides on his tongue as your saliva mixes with his—a husked grunt gets caught in his throat. once he feels his base merely have enough though, he cums.

all inside you, you end up following shortly afterward and your body ends up spasming all on him. geto’s so pretty when he finishes. hooded eyes a low, he’s gasping for air once you pull away. sheeny glossed lips that were a bit marked from your lips attached to him, he pursed them together before feeling himself trickle inside you. “s—suguruuu,” you’d mewl out, bringing your hips to a halt as his fiery tip spits out thick amounts of velvety cum. it’s so full that you feel full, he makes you quiet by pressing a thumb against your lips, holding you close to yourself.

“listen to it with me.”

all you could hear was your pants and the subtle sound of his heartbeat— as we as geto dumping his seed into your walls, your finish was just as immaculate and euphoric. it’s so carnal, a hand runs down his chest as you lean forward to sneak a kiss near his chin.

“. . damnnn,” he breathes, holding you close. his thigh twitch and after a few long minutes he ends up finishing the last few drops inside of you, a hand grabbing your waist. geto stares into your eyes, a lazy pussy drunken stare and he slyly speaks in a drowsy tone. “you’re such a pretty good girl,” and he corrects himself, taking his hoodie off of you to fully expose your gorgeous physique. “. . . messy, but pretty.”

and you slip off a moan once he drags a hand down between your legs, two fingers inserting inside of you after he pulls out—swirling the inside of your entrance of the mess that happily coats his fingers before he takes his digits back out.

“you should wear my shit more often, princess,” he coos, and you watch as he slowly slots his slender fingers into his mouth. no shame at all that he was tasting the aftermath. his tongue gyrates against it before he takes it out abruptly, a long glossy strand of spit departing as well before he drags your lip down with a thumb. “open for me ‘n say ah. if i gotta taste how nasty you were for me, then so do you, princess.”

[rongloa]

GALAXIES OF MY HEART — mark grayson x tamarenean!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲. he would spend his days dreaming about you, that space girl that crash landed into his city, and his life. maybe being part alien wasn’t all that bad.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬). mark grayson x fem tamarenean! reader

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. tooth-rotting fluff, two dummies with bad social skills, personal space is invaded multiple times, there is a sock and a tissue 🤨, no beta we die like r*x, readers hair is described as long (please tell me if it’s not inclusive) , and she hates shoes with a passion

𝐚/𝐧. i couldn’t hold back the rage of not writing lovey-doves scenes, i hate that i chose slowburn. god cursed me with myself with my own mind, and i don’t hate him for it. CUTE FLYING TOO BTW <3

i came back to this right after i finished writing and i cock-blocked myself 😭

You drift through the open window like mist, barely making a sound as your feet catch on the windowsill—then don’t. You don’t need them to.

His room smells like clean laundry and something warm—like dust and boy and old comic books.

It’s quiet.

You like it when it’s quiet.

The sunset glow outside paints the walls in peach and soft gold, casting long shadows over a floor scattered with laundry and books and one very suspicious-looking tissue you do not investigate further.

You hover just a few inches off the floor. It isn’t on purpose—it rarely is. The way gravity pulls here still feels… light. Like it’s not quite trying hard enough to hold you down. It lets you drift, lets your toes brush the soft carpet as your eyes wander around Mark’s room.

Your fingers brush lightly over the spines of books on his shelf. Mostly comics and a few school textbooks that look barely used. There’s a notebook with torn pages tucked beneath a cracked DVD case labeled “Seance Dog IV: Beyond the Grave.”

“Seance… Dog,” you whisper softly, tasting the syllables like something you haven’t tried yet. Your brow furrows. “What noble title.”

You float higher and turn slowly mid-air, your eyes catching on the wall above his desk.

There he is—drawn and smiling. Seance Dog, a cartoon hound cloaked in dramatic shadows and a heroic red cloak, staring dramatically into some ghostly storm. There are three posters, each more intense than the last. You float closer to one of them and tilt your head.

“He’s growling at… the sky?”

You nod once. Approving. “He understands.”

You rotate in the air, legs tucked lazily beneath you, curls trailing after you in the evening light. You do a slow roll upside down, studying the collection of strange Earth knickknacks scattered on Mark’s desk. There’s a half-eaten candy bar, something sticky on a coaster, and a photo in the corner—crumpled slightly but kept.

You float down to look at it, leaning in like looking at a secret.

It’s blurry and bright. You recognize yourself. The colour of your eyes and the ‘o’ shape of your mouth. You’re staring down the lense, your hair a mess of loops, eyes wide and curious as the flash goes off and blinds you. You remember that, his phone. You were curious about how it captured the moments so easily, with the tap of a finger.

Mark’s handwriting is scrawled at the bottom and it takes you a moment to read it with how bad the letters are smudged:

‘Goof’.

Your fingers brush the edge of the paper. Your chest feels a little strange. Warmer. Placing it down gently, you tug at your lip.

Little beady eyes catch your own again, there’s a plush of the beagle slumped sideways on his desk, one ear bent and worn at the seams. You coo and pick it up, tucked gently into your arms like a baby. How adorable.

You glance around again, with your newly acquired friend.

His bed is unmade. His lamp is crooked and facing his bed instead of his desk. His socks are not where socks are meant to be. And you love it. All of it.

Because this—this is who he is when no one’s looking. Slightly messy but that’s not of importance.

Messy, human, soft. So grounded.

You curl mid-air into a slow, lazy spin above his bed, letting your body relax as you float in aimless circles, cradling the little beagle teddy to your chest, curls trailing along behind you like ribbons. Some dipping low enough to drag against the sheets of his bed.

You think of how often he tugs at the collar of his shirt when he’s nervous. How he frowns when he doesn’t understand something you say but still tries to, like it’s his fault. How he always offers you the last bite of food as if it’s some sacred tradition.

You don’t understand all of it yet.

But you’re learning.

And you think—if this is what being human means, you’d like to keep learning.

From him.

The floor creaks from downstairs and you hear his voice, laughing with his mother.

You smile and float just a little higher, pressing your fingers to your lips in a quiet, secret smile.

And then you keep spinning, weightless above it all.

─────────────────────────

Mark dragged a hand down his face as he climbed the last few steps, still chewing the last bite of lasagna.

Dinner had been nice. Chill. His mom didn’t bring up his black eye, which was kind of her version of a warm hug these days. And now all he wanted was to crash on his bed, maybe finish that Seance Dog comic he bought this morning before dragging himself into more school work and superhero chaos tomorrow.

He reached for the doorknob of his bedroom and sighed. A long, satisfied sigh.

Then he opened the door.

And blinked.

Then blinked again.

Because there, hovering midair, legs crossed and curls swaying lightly with each slow, graceful rotation—was you.

Floating like it was the most natural thing in the universe.

You had one hand tucked beneath your chin, the other gently wrapped around the well-worn body of his Seance Dog plushie. The plushie he’d had since he was ten. The one with the missing eye and the chewed ear that was definitely not younger him.

Mark froze.

Your eyes sparkled as they met his, wide and full of stars. “This is the Seance Dog,” You said brightly, hugging it a little closer like it was a rare artifact. “He’s soft. And wise.”

Mark panicked.

“Ohmygodyou’reinmyroom.”

He said it like one breathless word and immediately tripped over his own feet trying to shut the door behind him. His heart launched itself somewhere into his throat.

You tilted your head so innocently he felt bad that he walked into his room. “I was curious.”

“You—you broke in—!”

“I floated in,” You corrected, as if that made it better.

He looked around, mortified.

Clothes on the floor. Seance Dog posters everywhere. A truly cursed sock peeking from beneath the bed. The moisturiser on his desk. The crushed energy drink can by the bed that he swore he threw away yesterday.

Kill him. Now.

No—throw him into space. Put him in the definitely real GDA prison. Anything but this.

“You could’ve—I don’t know—knocked? Or called? Or—anything but this?”

You just kept floating, hugging the plushie tighter, eyes tracking around the room in loops as you took in more. And oh god, his heart was hammering out of his chest.

“I enjoy seeing the… human pieces of you,” You smiled. “It’s like… like seeing your soul scattered around the room.”

Mark didn’t know what to say to that.

So, of course, his brain decided the right response was: “You’re hugging my childhood plushie. He’s—he’s been through a lot.”

You looked down at it with reverence.

“He is brave,” You whispered. “I can tell.”

Mark groaned and covered his face with his hands, fingers twitching as he resisted the urge to pull all those raven strands right out of his own scalp.

And yet, when he peeked between his fingers… you were still there. Floating in his orbit. Looking like you belonged in the sky and somehow—somehow—in this very room, holding his weird, stitched-up childhood toy like it was something precious. It was to him, and now you apparently.

He exhaled, defeated. “I need, like… ten seconds to recover from this. Maybe twelve.”

You blinked slowly. “Is that a human unit of emotional recovery?”

“Sure. Yeah.” He was gonna need some recovery time, whether from the shame building in his throat or the thundering of his heart against his ribcage.

She twirls again, and smiles so brightly it makes a weak smile pull at his own lips. Yeah.

─────────────────────────

You point at it, brow furrowed.

“This… is a canine who communes with the dead?”

Mark snorts from where he’s lying sideways across his bed, one foot on the floor, the other bent at the knee. He props his head on his hand.

“Yeah. He talks to ghosts. And solves crimes. But mostly? He’s just really good at guilt-tripping people.”

You blink. “That’s… a very odd thing.”

You hear the way your words come out—still not always right. The phrasing, the syntax. But Mark doesn’t correct you. He just smiles.

“Yeah. He kind of is.”

You don’t mean to move closer, but you do. Like a magnet being tugged. You end up midair above his bed, and Mark watches as you slowly descend until your knees sink into the mattress, making him lean your way a little.

“Sorry,” you whisper, then grin.

He rolls his eyes but he’s laughing.

You reach for the Seance Dog plush he keeps by the pillow and hug it gently, turning it over in your hands like it’s made of starlight. “You… are very human.”

Mark raises an eyebrow. “Thanks?”

You shake your head. “No. I mean it. You eat snacks until you are sick. You watch glowing boxes of moving stories. You speak kindly when you are afraid. And your room smells like… soap and boy.”

He laughs, full and unguarded. The sound makes something warm shift in your chest. You think you might like this planet after all.

Then, without thinking, you hug him.

You mean for it to be gentle. But you forget. Forget how strong you are, how fragile he can be. Your arms wrap tight around his chest and his arms and he lets out a strangled noise against your bare shoulder.

“Sorry—sorry!” you gasp, pulling back a little, hovering instinctively off the bed again, fretting over him like you haven’t seen him destroy things a normal person couldn’t.

Mark wheezes but chuckles, patting your arm. “No, it’s okay. Just… maybe 30% less bone-crushing next time?”

You nod, sheepish. “Thirty percent. Yes. I will crush you less.”

He smiles at that, leaning back against the pillows. You float down beside him again, this time careful not to jostle him sideways.

─────────────────────────

You like it up here.

Quiet, still, sun-warmed roofing under your legs and soft wind tangling through your hair. No one looks for anybody on the rooftop. Except Mark.

He finds you anyway. Only he ever can.

You hear the door creak open behind you. Feel his presence before he says anything. The small shift of air, the sound of sneakers on gravel. Then his voice—low, a little breathless.

“I had to search the house top to bottom.”

Maybe not always.

You snort, an ugly thing that comes out of your mouth before you can stop it. “You’re not very smart sometimes.”

“Yeah alright, you’re feeling mean today.”

You don’t answer right away. Just pat the spot beside you. He takes it, dropping down so close your knees brush. It doesn’t bother you but it does to him, he shuffles over just a little. You press your knee back to his, he doesn’t move this time.

Mark was the one teaching you all these things, how to act human. How to speak in appropriate sentences. Personal space was new, and you didn’t like that rule. It was hard sitting far away, made you itch to break that rule. He’s wearing one of those blue sweaters and a pair of jeans. He’s looking out upon the sunset.

Your eyes lift to the sky again, painted in melting orange and blush pink. Earth skies are soft like that—always changing, always gentle.

“I like the way your planet ends the day,” you say.

Mark glances over at you, squinting against the sun. “Yeah?”

You nod slowly. “Tamaran didn’t have this. We had twin suns. There was no sunset, only… shift. Heat to cold. One fire slipping behind the other.”

“Sounds kinda intense.”

You smile. “Everything was intense.”

Mark chuckles softly, picking at a frayed thread on his sleeve. You watch the way his lashes catch the last light. How his mouth moves when he’s not thinking about it. You wonder if he knows that your heart stumbles every time he grins in your direction.

You wonder if it shows.

“Do you ever miss it?” he asks, quieter now.

Your smile fades a little. “Every day.”

He doesn’t fill the silence. He lets it sit there, as if giving your grief room to breathe. To churn over in your heart and fold itself back into a small box.

You tilt your head, watching his profile. His jawline, the soft brown of his eyes. The way he bites his bottom lip when he’s unsure of himself.

“Mark,” you murmur. “You have starlight in your mouth.”

He turns to you, startled. “Wait—what?”

You blink, then laugh. “It’s a saying from Tamaran. When someone speaks kindly. Honestly. It means you’re full of light.”

Mark goes a bit pink. Rubs the back of his neck like he doesn’t know what to do with the compliment, looking at everything but you.

You lie back, soaking the last of the warmth from the rooftop as you stare up into the deepening sky.

“I think I’m starting to understand gravity,” you say.

Mark lies beside you, his arms behind his head. “You mean, like, Earth gravity?”

“No,” you whisper. “Yours.”

He turns to you, your pulse jumps as those eyes land on you.

The ones you’d choose to stare into for the rest of your long life.

You’re still laying back, hair haloed around your head like some celestial thing. You can’t tell if your pulse is fast because you’re so close to him or because of the way he looks back at you from over his broad shoulder.

“I’d orbit you,” you admit, voice barely a breath.

He smiles. That same shy, tilted smile. “I’d try not to crash.”

And in the space between both of your words your hands find his. Fingers brushing. Not quite holding. Not yet.

You want too, but he was serious about personal space. You didn’t want him to be uncomfortable, never. But the pull is there.

Like gravity. Like stars aligning. Like maybe, just maybe, the universe is a little kinder than you remember.

“Come.” It’s stupid to say, stupid to suggest it but it tumbles from your mouth all the same.

“Wha—“ He can’t finish before you’re hoisting him up by the hand that just brushed yours.

“Let’s fly.”

A silly expression crosses his face and you shake your head, he is so serious and you don’t think he means to be.

“But someone might see.”

“But they might not.” His shoes scrape across the roof as you pull. He doesn’t even try to fight, he has the strength too but he allows you too. Whether out of curiosity or trust, you’re not quite sure. You glance back at him, raising an eyebrow in a teasing manner, a test.

You can’t stop smiling.

The wind dances past your skin like it knows you. Cool, fresh, teasing. The city below melts into twinkling dots of light, and the clouds are painted lavender and hues of pink as the stars peek through. You can feel Mark’s eyes on you again as you twirl midair—arms stretched, legs pointed, spinning just fast enough to make strands of hair stick to your face.

“You’re showing off,” he calls with a grin, somewhere a few feet behind you.

You twist lazily, facing the stars as you move backwards until you’re upside down beneath him, head tilted as you look at him.

“I’m living, Mark.”

He laughs, startled by how effortlessly you say it. He’s moving at a slower pace than you had been, arms loose beside him, watching you move like you were born in the sky.

To you, flying isn’t this power. It’s instinct. Like breathing. And when you do it—really do it—Mark thinks you don’t just fly. You float. Drift. You dance.

Picking up pace you twirl again, this time faster, until your laughter spills out into the open air. Mark has never heard anything like it—joy without restraint, laughter without purpose. You’re not trying to be heroic. You’re not rescuing anyone. You’re just here. Just flying.

You call to him, coming to a stop just above the tallest building in the city.

“Come! You don’t always have to look so serious.”

“I don’t look serious.”

“You do! Like your face is trying to solve a very hard puzzle.”

He chuckles and finally follows. Hovering above the sharp antenna of the news station with you as you give him the most deviously toothy smile. You’re grabbing his hand and yanking him toward the stars, both of you soaring higher, wind pulling at your clothes, your hair, your laughter ringing in his ears like a wind chime.

Mark’s breath catches a little. Not from the altitude. From you.

You glance at him sideways. “I’ve flown with many. But never with someone who looks at me like I might disappear.”

He swallows, the type that makes his adam’s apple bob and he can feel it. He doesn’t meet your eyes right away.

“I don’t mean to.”

“I do not mind,” you say gently. “It makes me feel real.”

You slow until you’re both just hovering there, high above it all. Lights glitter below. Worlds glimmer in the far-off distance, their stars sending codes in Morse. Like they want you to decode their secrets, their love for their planets. And the two of you are suspended in silence.

Mark looks at you—really looks. The moonlight kisses your cheekbones. Your eyes glow faintly with the soft mould of someone made to belong in the sky. He doesn’t say a word, but it’s there in the curve of his mouth, the way his heartbeat kicks a little faster when your thumb brushes over the back of him hand again. In the way you look up at him through wet lashes. You weren’t crying, it’s from the clouds that mist you both as they surround you both. It makes your skin dewy and your hair bouncy.

‘I think I like her,’ he realizes. ‘God, I think I’m starting to really like her.’

He can’t bring himself to say that though.

“You make flying look like some kind of… magic.”

You tilt your head. Smile. That smile that looks like it hurts your cheeks. Your nose scrunching up and your eyebrows making that cute dip.

���That is because, to me, it is.” You bring both his hands up between you, brushing a kiss against his knuckles. Holding those eyes of his captive and making his heart batter at his ribcage like one of the villains you both fight.

You drift to the side, spinning him slowly before letting his hands fall from yours. Floating above him like a star, hair glowing just like one.

And this time, when he flies after you, it isn’t because someone’s in danger.

It’s just because you’re up there—and he wants to be wherever you are.

[keferon]

Two Peas in a Pod: part 7/?

I'm so sorry for the delay. I struggled...

_________________________________________

"Jazz?" Blaster calls just loud enough for his mer to hear him. Now that the initial meeting was over, he wanted to take advantage of the break. 

While understanding that the human was calling him over, Jazz was a bit hesitant that moving might start up the whole confrontation again. He glanced over to the other orca still floating a little ways away, •၊||၊၊၊ had his eyes closed and it looked like he was focused on dealing with the repercussions of his actions. His expression was twisted lightly in a restrained grimace with his right arm holding his side.  

Slowly Jazz pushed himself further away, before turning over and swimming to the pier.  

"Are you okay?" Blaster asked as he knelt at the edge. 

With an uneasy look, he shamefully admitted, "it could have gone better…" 

The chief vet speaks up before Blaster can, but not to Jazz, but into the radio. "Has anyone seen signs of reopening or blood?" 

The Vet Chief wanted to fully isolate them from you, to keep them in a transfer-crate, at least until the injuries had a low risk of reopening. 

Blaster shoots them an offended side-eye, as Jazz is literally right here. However, he pushed it aside, half listening to the radio chatter – all good from the sounds of it – and turned to what was more important. "Did he hurt ya?" 

They'll take him away. 

"I'm fine," he whispered, looking down as he placed a hand on his chest. It still stung, as the first hit was made with intent – he had gotten mad when it happened, did it show on my face, did they see it – and the rest, warning shots. "Just a bruise… it was more dizzying trying to keep away from him than anything."  

–if the team reports you showing signs of aggression, they'll… remove him. 

He hums in thought, eyes drifting momentarily as •၊||၊၊၊ disappeared from the surface. Blaster was a little nervous about that as he looked back at Jazz. "Do you think that you'll be okay, the two of you, I mean. Do you need us to separate–" 

They'll take him away. 

"No." Jazz insisted quickly, fighting to keep his voice low – behave – and shaking his head. "We should be fine now." 

Blaster knew there was more going on, seeing as Jazz was soft spoken and avoiding eye contact; an old habit of hiding himself when speaking to staff, but it would have to be a talk for later. When Jazz felt safe enough to open up. So instead, Blaster smiled and said, "Alright. But me and a few others will be keeping an eye on you both throughout the day. Just to make sure you're both comfortable as you can be. It might be a bit rocky for the first few days, but that's okay, we were expecting that." 

Jazz didn't respond, his attention had been captured by the other mer at the bottom of the pool, beneath him. He had been somewhat keeping an eye on him with his sonar, watching •၊||၊၊၊ slowly explore the tank.  

Though, Blaster was just barely able to spot the other orca from the surface, and honestly wouldn't have noticed if not for Jazz. Pressing the call button on his radio, Blaster looked to the staff, "we've passed the first hurdle, everyone. We'll move onto doing rotation monitoring. Fred and Josh, you'll remain for the first shift. Everyone else, business as usual till I get a schedule in order." 

"I've adjusted the medications and sedatives." The chief vet told Blaster, though didn't even look at him, as they were currently preoccupied sending messages on their phone. Not even a second later, Blaster's own was going off in his pocket.  

"I'll look over your recommendations after." He sneered at them, though the vet had already turned to leave.  

Then while folks celebrated the success and steadily wondered off to their main duties, Blaster's second brought up the mers breakfast from the kitchen. They set Jazz's down next to him, but held on to the other while they eyed the water with extreme caution.  

"Ah, ya, no." Blaster spoke up before they even began to wind up, holding his hands out for the food. "Give it here, we are not chucking anything at him."  

They snapped to him with wide, frightened eyes. Like Blaster hadn't been here to see the speeds that the wild mer had gone after Jazz. "You cannot be serious– you're going to attempt to pole feed him? Now–here? When they have the space to jump!?" 

"No." He said with rising irritation towards their attitude and their poor handling of the situation. "I'm going to treat him the same as Jazz."  

His second now looked flabbergasted, glancing between Jazz, him, out over the pool, and then back at him. "But–!" 

Blaster pointed at both Jazz and up at the pair watching on the viewing deck. He wasn't stupid, he wasn't being reckless, he had been taking everything into account. And honestly, if he wasn't so mad about how the wild mer had been treated – and was just about to be treated – during meals, he'd probably be shaking in anxiety right about now. With a heavy sigh, he then carefully pulled the bucket from their hands to set it with the other, "look… I'm not trying to force you to do something you don't feel comfortable with. You're welcome to leave, I'll handle the meals and hopefully by the week's end, everyone will be feeling comfortable when it's time for food." 

They took one last nervous glance at Jazz, before whispering – pointless, he could hear it clearly – "I don't think you can – or should rely on him to protect you… especially with how–"  

"You're right," Blaster said deliberately louder than a normal speaking volume, "I am responsible for my own choices and actions. Thank you, for your concern. We'll talk in more detail later." 

Thankfully taking the hint, they left.  

Then the area was silent for a moment, save for the sounds of dawn songbirds being overruled by the sound of the scavenging birds of the morning. Starting to beg or fight for bits of food across the aquarium yard. 

"They're right, you know." Jazz said weakly, still not looking at Blaster.  

There might be other staff up on the deck that oversaw his pool, but one of the perks to being outside was that voices didn't carry as far unless one was intentionally loud. So they might as well have been the only two here.  

It was just enough for words to come tumbling out, like he could talk freely once more. "I messed up, it wasn't his fault, he wants to be peaceful – I'm pretty sure, and I just… I think I ended up challenging him?" 

"Jazz, listen, they misunderstood." He leaned over and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not expecting you to come to my rescue, or put yourself between me and him, or anything like that. I know very well that I may be putting myself in a potentially dangerous situation, and I'm ready to face whatever the outcome might be. But what I meant was, that with you here – just like this, with us together. You are showing him with your actions that you don’t see me as a threat. That by willing to be around me and allowing me to touch you, you’re showing trust. Jazz, buddy, you’re a far greater help than those goons posing up there." The last bit was meant to cause him to laugh, or at least smirk. 

But when Jazz still seemed like he didn't believe him, Blaster made a small gesture for Jazz to look. In turning his head to see •၊||၊၊၊, the mer was at the far end with only his head above the water and had a serious gaze fixed on Jazz.  

"It might not seem like it, even with what had just happened, but he's relying on you." He waved at the wild mer and smiled, before reaching for a bucket and held it up in offering. But •၊||၊၊၊ simply scowled further. 

"I don't think Mr. prowl-around-you-like-you're-breakfast relies on anyone." Jazz grumbles in dismay.  

Blaster chuckled and set the bucket back down, "well maybe Prowl, is waiting for you to invite him over for breakfast. He seems to hold some expectations of you." 

"Ya, he sure– wait, Prowl?" Jazz whipped his head back towards Blaster, finally looking at him again. 

"If it fits, it fits." He shrugged with an amused smile, "though, out of anyone here, it should be you that chooses a nickname for him for us to use. I don't want to keep addressing him namelessly or calling him 'the wild' one, and I don't want folks to think that us calling him 'buddy' is his name." Then he laughed as he glanced back out to the sour mer still watching them closely, "I mean, come on, does he look like a Buddy?" 

Jazz tried to stifle his laughter, "n-no." 

Good, good, Blaster was relieved to hear it. Jazz was starting to relax back into his usual self. Coming back up from the depths to the surface to breathe. "So, what will it be?" 

Jazz's smile had slowly begun to return and so did his hopeful enthusiasm, "I think Prowl is good." 

"I'll send out a notice to everyone." And be sure to tear down all those horrible sticky-note suggestions. "But I am going to still try and learn to say his name properly," Blaster then clapped the orca's shoulder before stretching, "so I hope you're ready to have the worst student ever." 

"You're going to learn Mer," Jazz asked in surprise. 

"Heh, I'm shit at learning languages, but I'd be happy if you want to share more of your world with me." He then brought them back to the next part of their day. "But first, breakfast. Want to ask Prowl to join us?" 

"I'll try." He said, before turning around. Though gave a slight pause and adjusted his stance so his side was facing Prowl. When he saw a slight shift in his expression, one that eased some tension in his brow, Jazz gave himself a mental pat on the back. Already a marked improvement.  

{You hungry, Prowler?} Jazz asked. It was sort of funny having a word he understood that could connect to the mer's name. He wasn't sure of the meaning of •၊||၊၊၊ yet, or if it had one. But prowling was something he did, so it still felt like Jazz had gained another tiny piece of who they were.  

{Yes.} He answered, rising enough that his shoulders could be clearly seen, side facing Jazz for a beat, before he slowly began to swim over. Caution or taking it easy due to discomfort, his moments caused only the smallest and softest of ripples. Like a silent hunter.  

Yet, it made Jazz’s smile shift a bit higher. Prowl is prowling.  

But for Blaster, his instincts were starting to claw up his spine, alerting him of a predator. He was forcing himself to relax and keep up his friendly smile by the time Prowl came within five feet of the pier.  

Prowl eyed him up and down as he came to a stop, then gently turned after a moment.  

"Oh, right!" Jazz abruptly speaking up in slight alarm cause Blaster to flinch – which in turn caused a moment of internal panic, because sudden movements are always a bad idea – but Jazz quickly reached up over the pier and grabbed the human by the legs – which caused Prowl to flinch, and oh-boy, was Blaster having flashbacks of close calls – twisting him so he sat with his shoulder turned towards Prowl. "Pretty sure that facing toward him is like telling him you want to challenge them."  

"R-really," Blaster asked, both trying to distract from his thundering heart and focus on the new information. 

"I think so? He kept telling me to stop doing it, before I realized what he was talking about, so it has to be some sort of an aggressive sign." They both looked back to Prowl, who seemed a little tense, but otherwise calm. {You okay, Prowler?} 

{Yes.} His voice firm and serious, but did not look at Jazz when he answered. 

"… Guess we're ready." We’re good, but he must still be uncomfortable with what happened. 

Blaster handed Jazz his bucket first, hoping it would make the next easier. But then Blaster paused, seeing a distant look in his mer's eyes. "Hey, what's wrong?" 

"Nothing." Jazz fiddled with the bucket in his hands, but Blaster was still holding onto the handle. Not that taking it would be difficult, but it didn't feel like it was worth the effort.  

"Jazz…" he pressed softly. 

And Jazz retreated, "I… I don't feel hungry." 

At least he was being honest about it.  

Blaster had hoped that taking some time to talk would have helped to improve Jazz's current mental state. And it had a little. But his guilt over the misunderstanding with Prowl and the bad history with the chief vet were likely weighing too heavily on him. And as much as Blaster wanted to take the time and work through everything with Jazz, he couldn't right now, or rather Jazz would be unwilling.  

Because Prowl was present. Even with a language barrier, Blaster didn't expect Jazz to feel comfortable having a personal conversation with him so close. But if Jazz didn't eat, then it was likely that Prowl wouldn't either. The trust was thin as it was, and hesitating too long – and not being able to explain why – would only make rebuilding trust harder. So, offering to use the holding pool and close the gate wasn't something they could do at the moment. And he hated it.  

Blaster had to do something now to help restore Jazz's confidence and stop the spiralling of whatever thoughts were holding him back.  

Good thing he was prepared for Jazz possibly becoming stressed.  

"Hang on." Blaster said, his smile impish as he pulled the bucket back to set on the pier. Though, not wanting to risk Prowl backing off from him standing, he flopped back reaching for his bag strap, barely snagging it with the tips of his fingers. But he managed and pulled himself back up with it settling in his lap. "I've brought a little somethin." 

Jazz didn't seem interested but waited none the less. Watching as Blaster pull out a huge plastic food-container – ... okay, he was slightly curious now and a little annoyed, because if he was going to tease him–  

But then Blaster shook it with the biggest grin, and as the contents clunked around softly, Jazz's whole face lit up. Because what Blaster had just offered was the equivalent of a chocolate bar. There weren't many things that Blaster brought for him in a container, but there was only one that made that sound. "Moose jerky!?" 

"Shh! Not so loud." He glanced up at the other staff, like he was doing something that would get him in trouble. But it wasn't a secret that Blaster made these treats for Jazz. And while it still pissed off the chief vet, there was nothing they could do about it.  

It had caused a site wide outrage the first time he had done it. But orcas ate moose – the orca mers more so than the animals – even if it was mostly if there just happened to be one in front of them rather than an active hunting choice. But there was enough history, and with Blaster's dietary knowledge, he had won that battle.  

He just chose to mix it up a little, rather than bring in raw meat. Not so different than some sun-dried fish really. And Blaster personally prepared it to make sure it was safe. Seasoning was just sea salt, simple, but tasty.  

Jazz was now buzzing with eager energy. "Can I share with Prowl?" 

"You’d better," Blaster laughed as he opened it and handed Jazz two strips that were almost the size of dinner plates. He could have tried to use it to mend the trust between him and the wild mer. But Blaster knew it would help Jazz foster his relationship with Prowl and that was far more important. 

The whole time Prowl had been watching them and their exchange with intense focus, trying to figure out what was going on. So, when Jazz turned to him with a huge smile and held out what looked to be a piece of thin wood, he was wary.  

{It's good!} Jazz wanted to say it was amazing, but unfortunately 'good', 'okay', 'safe' was all he currently had to work with.  

After Prowl finally gave in and moved in close enough to take the offering, Jazz laid out on the surface. Careful not to get his food wet as he happily began to bite and tear small strips off. Taking delight in the satisfying sensation of the treat ripping and savouring the flavour as he chewed the tough meat.  

Seeing how much Jazz was enjoying himself, Prowl took a tentative bite and immediately understood why. The look of surprise on his face had the other two laughing.  

{Good, yes?}  

{Yes.} Prowl then followed Jazz's lead and relaxed on the surface, enjoying the first piece of decent food since he arrived. 

Blaster chuckled at the sight of the two of them and set aside the container to dig out his own personal stash to nibble on. "I've got more for you two sea otters, but only after you finish your breakfast."  

Smoothing things over by sharing snacks always opened opportunities for bonding. Good ol' comfort food saving the day. 

_________________________________________

Idk, this one felt very clunky to me, but I must move on -lays on the floor in defeat-

I'm now trying to put together a timeline of the all interactions that you share or like on your blog. Like a countdown clock to the flood/jailbreak, hitting all the angsty and fluffy notes, I want to make sure I can include everything. Q~Q

You and so many others have been showering me in praise and encouragement I want to live up to it. ♡(╥︣﹏᷅╥᷅)♡ I love you all, thank you so much!!

Going forward there is going to more Jazz and Prowl, without Blaster, I promise. Please forgive me and my long setups, my brain struggles with keeping things short, everything I write is a 200K+ slow burn. -cries-

-GLC

Previous Next

OH HELL YEAH GIVE THOSE GUYS A MOOSE THEY DESERVE IT KDDKSHFV

Blaster over there is having battles on all fronts possible alsjfnfjnf

Also I'm happy they can have proper food at least sometimes~ Although I can't help but think that like. Jazz is happy because this poor moose is kind of a rare treat. Nice occasion gift you know. And then Prowl also loves the moose but in more "I was eating nothing but raw potatoes for a while and now there's a properly seasoned and cooked meal again" way. You know. Cause mers have all kinds of different foods in their cities and stuff~ While humans just go "here's your fish".

Anyway haha. The scene is so cute I love itt~

[limblesstar]

i need my pre dnd nap if i wanna survive til 3 am but also. i wanna stay up and think about knives [REDACTED]

[softaestluv]

Grease & Grime Won’t Break Your Bones

You never thought you were attracted to grease and grime, sweat and exhaustion, definitely needed a shower and scrub, but no one has worn it like he is.

Mechanic! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem! Reader

Tags: dirty, greasy, grimy, sweaty, blue collar worker, yeah I’ll take one of those! you own a pick up, & I actually don’t know anything about cars, eventual smut

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Ao3

You twirled.

Of course you did.

You took Simon’s hand, held it above your head, and slowly spun around; a low whistle leaving his lips in appreciation.

His grip tightened on your fingers when your back faced him, stopped your movements dead in their tracks. Kept you in place, ass arched for his viewing consumption. It was only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Your heartbeat drowning in your ears, hands clammy against his, inhaling shallow breaths like you had just gotten back from a run.

Except you hadn’t.

You were just showing your ass off to your mechanic. Your dirty mechanic. Filthy mechanic.

And it left your underwear a sticky mess, cotton fabric molded to your aching pussy in anticipation. He could bend you over the hood of your pick up right then and there, hitch the fabric of your pencil skirt over your hip, show off your glistening pussy, and slide right in with no resistance.

You would take it— god, would you take it.

Let Johnny see the whole thing, wouldn’t really care if he did because you would be too distracted with Simon’s dirty hands, filthy cock and balls, pungent sweat staining your body. Ruining your pretty flesh, clean and pristine, freshly washed just for him, shaved just for him.

Give him such a pretty and warm cunt to ruin, taint with his grime.

Except he didn’t, and you weren’t one to beg.

Just let him twirl you around until you faced him again, eyes dilated, pools of his irises settling dark. A better image than you; you were sure.

Left it at that, drove home with an unnecessary oil change and panties clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Laid in bed with an insistent craving, an unbound fever that ruptured, seeped out of your control, and lead to the front steps of Simon’s dinky shop. Suffocated you to your wits end; a hunger that demanded more. More than two slender fingers attached to your wrist.

So, you sought out more.

The time in between felt endless. You spent the days hoping your shitty pick-up would break down, the engine light would come on, your tire would go flat. Any excuse to see him again, but your lemon of a truck suddenly decided it didn’t have any problems, wasn’t a nuisance in your daily life.

You were so close to sabotaging your own vehicle, slashing a tire yourself, fucking up the engine on purpose. But you weren’t that desperate— yet.

You would have to bite the bullet. Bury it deep in your mouth, crack your molars against the lead, claim it as your own, and show up at the foot of his shop with minuscule problems. But by some miracle, Simon didn’t seem to mind, if anything, he melted the bullet into rubber, made the bite chewable.

Your air con’s not workin’? No worries, sweet’art, just needs some coolant and a new filter. Wouldn’t want ya melting in this heat, would we?

Yeah, you nodded weakly, yeah, we wouldn’t want your core to burn, pulse in agony, trail molten lava against the curve of your back, would we now?

Need me to rotate your tires? Easy ‘nough, and when’s the last time you replaced ‘em? Don’t worry, I’ll get some ordered to the shop, have ya sorted in no time. Can’t be drivin’ round with no traction, ‘t’s dangerous, pretty bird.

Headlight’s gone, is it? Simple fix, won’t take more than a few minutes. Go on, take a seat in my office, yeah? Glad you brought it to me— wanna make sure you’re safe, after all.

Pay him? What are you on about? Don’t even think about it. These are easy fixes— no need to worry, sweet’art. He’s just takin’ care of ya, that’s all.

Maybe it was a bit pathetic, a little out of sorts for your character, but if he wouldn’t accept your money, you would pay him back in other ways. A shirt that was a little too deep, a skirt that was a little too tight, heels that were a little too obnoxious. Never all at once, you had a little more dignity than that.

It was the same routine each time; a weak excuse to park in his service drive, then he would order you to sit in his office. To which you always did, obediently, more than content to watch him from the solitary confines of his office when Johnny wasn’t there. And when he was done, you would try to negotiate a payment, but all he would accept was a twirl.

Maybe it should’ve made you feel like an object. Objectified, paying for a fucking air filter with a sway of your hips, but it doesn’t. You can’t even describe how much you like it, can’t even explain why you do.

You just do.

In an excruciating way, everything you can’t say by words, too much and absolutely not enough at the same time. Painfully embarrassing from the way it leaves you a shaking mess, how it dampens your panties— soaks them through.

The day he places his free hand on your waist when you twirl, using his large palm on your hip to stop your spin instead of tightening his fingers in your grasps your knees almost buckle under you. A quiet gasp leaving your lips in surprise, squeezing his fingers tightly.

You think you might be imagining it, that your hopes had become so grandiose that it conjured the feeling, until it moves.

A rugged hand, scarred and calloused sweeps up in one careful motion. It sends shivers over your spine, jolting straight. But it’s gone as soon as it’s there, facing him once again as if he wasn’t carving the shape of your hip seconds ago.

When you stumble back to your truck, your stomach twists when there isn’t a grease stained imprint of his palm on your shirt, no remnant of his touch.

That becomes the new step in the routine. You should hate it, but you fucking love it. Like it’s a reward for sitting so calmly when your body is waging a war on the inside. A gentle pet against soft flesh to accommodate the few minutes you sat hot and bothered, untouched.

You think about his heavy hand grazing your figure any chance you get, stings and weeps in the absence of his touch, the lack of his dominant eyes.

You try to convince yourself that’s enough, that he would’ve asked you by now if he wanted more than fleeting glances and featherlight touches. That was before your truck broke down one day. You had been hoping, manifesting for your engine light to flick on, but not like this. On the side of a small country road, sun setting behind you, dirt flying around you on a Saturday night.

You should probably call a tow truck instead of Simon, but you don’t. You don’t entirely want an expensive bill to pay. Maybe you’re a little spoiled by his free services at this point, but he answers the phone in seconds, tells you he’s on the way within the same breath.

When his work truck pulls up beside you, and he steps out, you think your lungs collapse in your chest. You’re used to mechanic Simon, uniform soiled in sweat, reeking of a days of work.

Now, a clean Simon? It practically sends you over the edge, stumbling forward, stuttering over your words.

A black leather jacket and a white shirt covers his broad chest, blue jeans framing his long legs. His hair lays flat, damp, like he just got out of the shower; it makes you feel guilty, like you interrupted his private time. Not guilty enough that it stops your panties from soaking through when he gets real close and you can smell his body wash on him, mossy forest, redwoods.

“You okay, bird?” He asks, palm finding your waist in concern.

It’s practically out of a movie scene; it’s almost comical, but you feel like doing anything but laughing. Pressing your thighs together instead, trying to regulate your breaths so you’re not panting in his face like a dog.

You nod aimlessly, staring up at him with wide eyes, hoping that it was the correct response because you hadn’t really comprehended what he asked you. All you can focus on is the shape of his hand on your waist, fucking massive, thick and warm. His clean skin, free of all sticky and dark stains you’ve begun to associate with him, shaving cream wafting off of his smooth jaw.

“Le’s get ya in my truck, yeah?” He continues, voice firm and rich.

He guides you to his truck, opens the passenger door for you, just like you’re sure he would on a date. All cleaned up and a gentleman, a picture from your fantasies. And just like you do at his shop, you watch him hitch your truck to his through the rear view mirror. Admiring the way his wide back stretches the leather material taut.

When he gets in the driver seat you’re all strained voice and nervous laughter. The fabric of his seats smells like the Simon your used to, car oil and musk, but he smells like a shower and his cologne, woody and pine. You barely have the strength to listen to what he’s telling you, explaining that he can’t work on your truck tonight, that he’s busy, so all he can do is drop it off at the shop and drive you home when the combined scent is intoxicating.

You think about inviting him in, drenching your sheets in his clean scent when he walks you to your front door, but you don’t, can’t when he’s busy. He’s apologizing, you know that much, mumbling his sorry’s because he can’t fix the problem that night, but you don’t mind; it’s just another excuse to see him tomorrow, even if you’re shit out of a vehicle.

Can’t find it in yourself to care about anything else when your back is pressed against your door, trapped between the wood and his hulking frame.

“Goin’ to the pub with the lads, would ditch ‘em to help, but Johnny’d never let me hear the end of it.” He explains, tucking his hands into his leather jacket.

You smile with a shake of your head, “No, no it’s okay.”

“Gonna need a ride to work in the mornin’?” He asks.

“Are you offering to take me?” You lilt, tilting your head teasingly.

“Course I am.” He says so matter-of-factly, like it doesn’t make sense for him not to.

“Then, yes,” You agree, leaning forward on your tippy toes to press a chaste kiss to his cheek, “Thank you, Simon.”

It’s supposed to be a sweet moment, a tease of your feelings, warm and soft. Everything and more you could pay him with for his services, but he has your jaw cupped in seconds, lunging forward to capture your lips in his, your head knocking against the door from the sheer force. You gasp, fingers hooking into the collar of his shirt, fisting it tightly in your grasps.

It’s harsh, fierce. All clashing teeth and bumping noses, exactly how you pictured a man like him would kiss. Bruising the shape of his lips on your mouth, branding them red and swollen between his teeth.

You’re not sure how long the two of you stand there, destroying your modesty on your porch for all your neighbors to see, but it doesn’t seem long enough. He tastes like toothpaste, minty and sweet, a little like aftershave. You lick the taste fucking clean from his lips, clawing at his chest, panting into his mouth for more, more, more.

Johnny can fucking wait.

But he pulls away anyways, a pathetic protest spilling from your lips as you cling to him; you’re not ready to lose the sensation of his lips yet.

“Easy there, baby.”

God.

It’s a bit embarrassing the way your eyes flutter at the word, the way he has to ease you off your tippy toes, coax you back down. Opening your door for you as you stand there a little dumbfounded after a searing kiss.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow, okay?”

He leaves you at that like he didn’t just tilt your world on its axis, lips throbbing in his wake, skin still pulsing where he gripped your face, thick arousal pooling in your panties— your fingers definitely aren’t going to be enough tonight.

masterlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ