#so they didn’t know and they said those words

[rafecameronssl4t]

Saving Grace || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: When Rafe Cameron’s infamous temper threatens to derail the entire office, his wife is called in as the only person who can bring him back to earth.

Warnings: none!

Word count: 2,051

MASTERLIST

Rafe Cameron could be described in many ways: arrogant, sharp-tongued, perpetually stone-faced, and infamously hot-headed. His temper was a ticking time bomb, always moments away from detonation. It didn’t take much to set him off—a missed detail, an oversight, or even the wrong tone of voice—and once his mood soured, it had a ripple effect on everyone within his orbit.

If Rafe was in a foul mood, the entire office braced itself for the storm, knowing they’d bear the brunt of his frustration. Productivity stalled, morale plummeted, and an oppressive tension hung heavy in the air. No one dared to ask if he was okay or offer to fix the issue—it was simply understood that his temper had to run its course.

But there was one person who had mastered the art of disarming the bomb: his assistant, Rachael. If anyone in the office had something to say about Rachael, it was that she knew Rafe Cameron far too well. She had an uncanny ability to read his moods and an arsenal of strategies for defusing them. Most importantly, she understood the one surefire way to calm Rafe down: his wife.

The woman who he worshipped the ground she walked on, mother to his children, and the only person Rafe Cameron seemed to hold above all else. No matter how irritable or unapproachable he became, the mere mention of her name was enough to shift the atmosphere. So when Rachael watched one of her coworkers stumble out of Rafe’s office, barely holding back tears, she knew it was time to intervene.

Her sharp eyes scanned the room, noting the nervous glances exchanged between staff members who were all too aware of the storm brewing behind Rafe’s closed door. Without missing a beat, Rachael grabbed her phone, dialling a number she had memorised long ago. As the call connected, her tone softened—a stark contrast to the sharp efficiency she displayed in the office.

“Hi, Mrs. Cameron,” she began, her voice carrying a mixture of urgency and familiarity. “I hate to bother you, but it’s one of those days. If you’re free, I think a quick word with Rafe might do the trick.” She paused, listening intently before smiling to herself. Rachael didn’t need to explain much; Mrs. Cameron always seemed to know exactly how to handle her husband.

And while the office might dread Rafe’s infamous outbursts, Rachael found comfort in knowing there was someone who could bring the man back down to earth. She let out a small sigh of relief when she heard your calm, reassuring voice on the other end of the line. “I’ll be right there,” you said, your tone steady but with a hint of warmth that was reserved for conversations about your husband.

Without hesitation, you grabbed your car keys, slipping on a pair of heels as you prepared to leave. It wasn’t the first time you’d been called in to play peacemaker, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. Rafe’s temper was legendary, but you knew how to navigate it better than anyone else. You’d seen him at his worst, the raw edges of his frustration and anger, but you also knew the softer side of him—the part that melted when you walked into a room, the man who looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

As you slid into the driver’s seat, your thoughts briefly flickered to your children, safely at home with the nanny. You didn’t want to leave them, but you also understood that Rafe needed you. He might not admit it outright, especially not in front of his staff, but the subtle ways he sought you out after a rough day spoke volumes.

~

As you walked toward your husband’s office, the energy in the space shifted noticeably. Heads turned, relief washing over faces that had been tense just moments before. Hushed whispers followed in your wake, employees murmuring their gratitude for the one person who could tame the storm that was Rafe Cameron. Even without uttering a word, your presence commanded respect—graceful yet undeniably authoritative.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you, Mrs. Cameron,” Rachael said as she stood from her desk, her tone filled with a mixture of hope and exhaustion. “He’s in his office, and he’s miserable in there.” You glanced through the glass wall into Rafe’s office. Rachael hadn’t exaggerated—his frustration was palpable. The furrow of his brow, the tight set of his jaw, and the restless movements of his hands screamed of a man on the verge of losing his patience entirely.

You offered Rachael a small, reassuring smile before making your way to the door, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor. You didn’t bother knocking—Rafe hated formalities when it came to you. The heavy sigh he let out at the sound of the door opening was immediate. His eyes remained locked on the papers scattered across his desk, his tone sharp and cold.

“I thought I said I didn’t want to be disturbed.” A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you stepped inside. “Does that include me?” you asked, your voice sweet and smooth, cutting through the tension. Rafe’s head snapped up at the sound of your voice, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. Instantly, his rigid posture softened, and the weight on his shoulders seemed to lift.

The frustration etched into his features melted away, replaced by a look that could only be described as unguarded affection. Just your presence had the power to undo him. Without a word, Rafe reached behind his desk and flicked a switch, causing the glass walls of his office to turn frosted, granting the two of you privacy. His voice softened, tinged with genuine curiosity and concern.

“What are you doing here, baby?" You walked around his desk, your movements fluid and deliberate, and Rafe turned in his chair to face you fully. Standing in front of him, you saw the shift in his expression—the hard edges of his day crumbling as he looked up at you. And there it was, the look that never failed to steal your breath.

No matter how difficult or frustrating his day had been, Rafe always looked at you like you were his entire world, as though you hung the moon and stars just for him. In his eyes, there was nothing but pure, unfiltered love—a stark contrast to the icy exterior he showed everyone else. You leaned down, your fingers brushing lightly against his jaw as you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

His shoulders visibly relaxed at the familiar touch, the tension from his day dissolving. “You’re scaring your employees,” you teased softly, your words accompanied by a light chuckle as you straightened up. Rafe let out a dramatic sigh, leaning back in his chair and rolling his eyes. “They’re ridiculous,” he muttered, his tone laced with both irritation and amusement.

“They’re terrified,” you corrected, folding your arms and raising a brow at him. “I saw one of them practically in tears.” Rafe groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s not my fault they can’t handle a little pressure.” You gave him a knowing look, stepping closer and resting your hands on the armrests of his chair, effectively boxing him in. “Rafe, you can be a little… intense,” you said gently, your eyes locking with his. “And by ‘a little,’ I mean a lot.”

His lips quirked into a smirk, his hands instinctively finding your waist. “You don’t seem scared of me,” he said, his voice dropping into a softer, almost teasing tone. “That’s because I know the real you,” you replied, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “The one who spoils me, reads bedtime stories to the kids, and eats all the burnt pancakes I make without complaining.”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling from his chest. “You know I love those burnt pancakes,” he murmured, tugging you closer until you were practically sitting on his lap. “Hmm,” you hummed playfully, trailing your fingers along the lapel of his blazer. “Maybe I should remind your staff that under all that brooding, you’re just a big softie.”

“Don’t you dare,” he warned, though his smirk betrayed the emptiness of his threat. You laughed softly, pressing another kiss to his lips before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “Then maybe try to be a little nicer? For me?” He sighed, feigning reluctance, but the way his hands tightened on your waist betrayed his surrender. “Fine,” he said, his tone mockingly begrudging. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” you said with a satisfied smile, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “Now, why don’t you take a break? Let me help you relax before you scare anyone else.” Rafe’s smirk softened into a genuine smile, the love in his eyes shining brighter than ever. “You really are my saving grace,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere.

[eu-nicola]

the fastest driver part 3

summary: you are a young and talented driver, who begins your journey in Formula 1 with Ferrari. despite your undeniable ability, you are constantly relegated to the background due to the Scuderia's strategies, which always favor your teammate, Charles Leclerc

warnings: take of pills

word counter: 7364

author's note: english is not my first language, this is from an amazing request, thanks for the comments 🤍

tags: @ilovechickenwings @amortentiaaaa @ananyasribughead @supertrashbread @amalialeclerc @rawr-123s-stuff @wierdflowerpower @malvikareader @freyathehuntress @sweetmuffynsblog @vjbillno

Endless hours passed after the accident before the first clear update about your condition reached the media and the paddock. Everyone was anxiously waiting for news about your health. The uncertainty left fans, journalists, and especially those who truly knew you in a state of tense anticipation.

Finally, a statement from the hospital's medical team brought some relief: you were stable and conscious. While initial tests had ruled out serious spinal injuries or significant fractures, the impact had been severe, leaving you with a moderate concussion and several internal bruises that required monitoring. What concerned the doctors most were the potential psychological and emotional aftereffects: the nature of the crash, the impact, and all the built-up stress could take a toll later.

Hours later, you woke up in a hospital room softly lit by the afternoon light. Everything was quiet except for the rhythmic beeping of the monitor beside your bed. Your body felt heavy, like it was filled with lead, and the headache was sharp and constant. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you noticed someone sitting nearby.

It was Charles. He was there, his hands clasped in front of his mouth, as if praying or just trying to calm his own nerves. When he saw you stir slightly, he lifted his head, and his expression changed a mix of relief and worry crossed his face.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, as if he didn’t want to scare you. “Thank God.”

You hadn’t expected to see him there. In fact, you hadn’t expected to see anyone. And yet, here he was.

“Charles…” you tried to speak, but your voice came out as barely a whisper.

“Shhh, don’t talk too much. The doctors said you need to rest.”

“What are you doing here?” you asked, ignoring his warning, even though just talking felt like needles stabbing your skull.

He shrugged, offering a light but sincere smile.  

“Someone had to make sure you were okay.”

Charles stayed by your side for hours, even when the doctors came in and out to check on you. He answered questions from the journalists crowding outside the hospital, desperate for a statement, and refused requests from photographers trying to get a shot of you. There was something unusually warm and protective about the way he acted.

As you lay back, eyes closed to avoid making the headache worse, you heard his voice.

“You scared me, you know? I’ve never seen anything so…” He paused, searching for the right word. “So violent. Not since Jules. And when I saw the crash on the screen, I thought the worst.”

You opened your eyes and looked at him. There was sincerity in his face, something you hadn’t expected.

“I’m okay… sort of.” You tried to joke, but the pain turned it into a grimace.

“No, you’re not okay. But you will be. You have to be.”

As Charles stayed with you, messages started pouring in. Your phone sat on the bedside table, just out of reach, and Charles offered to read some.

“Everyone’s worried about you. Here’s one from Lando… and even one from Toto. Seems like the entire F1 world is waiting for you to get better.”

“Who else?” you asked, almost dreading the answer.

Charles scrolled through, his expression hardening briefly before softening again.

“Max,” he said simply.

Your heart stopped for a moment. You didn’t know what to expect. Since the accident, you’d assumed Max was too caught up in his own world to care, but the fact that he’d written at all was enough to twist your stomach.

“What does it say?” you asked, trying to sound indifferent, though you knew Charles could see right through you.

He hesitated before answering.

“‘Hope you’re okay. Sorry I wasn’t there sooner. Let me know if you need anything.’”

The neutrality of the words didn’t match the intensity of what you felt hearing them. You closed your eyes, trying to process it all. What did that message even mean? Was it just courtesy, or was there something more behind those words?

Charles noticed your discomfort and set the phone aside.

“You don’t have to reply if you don’t want to.”

“I won’t,” you said quickly, though part of you knew that wasn’t true.

As night fell, Charles finally said goodbye, promising to return the next day. There was something comforting about his presence, how he’d set aside any competitiveness or formality just to be there for you. Yet, when you were left alone, the thoughts began to overwhelm you.

The crash, the messages, the worries it all tangled into a mess of emotions you couldn’t unravel. The only thing clear was that while you were physically stable, emotionally, you were far from okay.

After that day in the hospital, Charles became a constant presence in your life. His support wasn’t limited to encouraging messages or occasional visits. He went beyond that. Where others saw a moral obligation or an opportunity to score points with the media, he saw something else: a chance to show you that you weren’t alone.  

The medical team made it clear you could return to racing, but not without certain restrictions. You had to stick to a strict combination of medications after every race: anti-inflammatories, painkillers, and supplements to manage the physical and mental stress you still felt after the accident. Charles was the first person to offer to help you with this. It wasn’t his responsibility, but he seemed to take on the role without hesitation.  

The first race after the accident was a mental and physical challenge. As you prepared to get back in the cockpit, fear swirled in your chest. The accident was fresh in your memory, and even though you knew you were capable, there was a shadow of doubt you couldn’t shake.  

The day before the race, Charles showed up at your hotel. He had a small bag in hand and a calm expression, almost as if it was meant to soothe you.  

"I thought you might need this," he said, placing the bag on the table.  

Inside, there was a box of relaxing tea, a small book about mental strategies in sports, and a handwritten note. When you opened it, you found a simple phrase: "You’re stronger than you think."  

"Thank u," you said, moved by the gesture.  

"You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to know I’m here, okay? If you need to talk, if you need anything..."  

You nodded, grateful for his sincerity. For a long time, you’d felt alone in this world. It was strange to realize someone was willing to stand by your side without asking for anything in return.  

Race day was a whirlwind. Even though you tried to stay calm, every time you sat in the car, the memory of the crash resurfaced. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, reminding yourself you’d done this thousands of times before, that you were capable—one of the best.  

The race wasn’t easy, but you finished in a solid fifth place, a result any other driver would’ve considered a success under the circumstances. When you got out of the car, exhausted but relieved, Charles was the first to approach you.  

"Well done," he said, patting your shoulder.  

After every race, Charles made sure you followed the medical protocol. Sometimes, when you forgot the pills, he’d show up holding the box, reminding you that your health came first.  

"How do you even know I haven’t taken them?" you asked one day, half-joking.  

"Because I know you well enough to know you hate depending on this stuff," he said with a smile, handing you the water and pills.  

It was strange how his presence had gone from sporadic to constant. He wasn’t just there for the serious moments; he also found ways to make you laugh, to lighten the weight on your shoulders.  

It wasn’t something you’d planned or even imagined after everything you’d been through, but your friendship with Charles was good for you. So much so that you felt comfortable asking him something after noticing he’d been off for a while. You’d seen his behavior become quieter than usual, even in the paddock, where he usually managed to keep up appearances in front of the cameras.  

"Are you okay? You seem... off."  

His response came almost immediately.  

"Do you have time to talk?"  

You invited him to your place, where you saw a different side of Charles. He’d shed his usual composure and looked... vulnerable, almost like the facade he kept in public had cracked.  

"Thanks for this," he said, sitting on the small couch as you handed him a bottle of water.  

"You don’t have to thank me, Charles. What’s going on?"  

He sighed, fiddling with the cap of the bottle before speaking.  

"It’s... complicated. Ferrari doesn’t feel like my team anymore."  

You frowned, surprised by his words.  

"What do you mean?"  

"Since Lewis joined this year, everything changed. I knew it would be different, it’s Lewis Hamilton, of course but I didn’t think it’d be like this," he confessed, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I feel like everything revolves around him. The strategies, the resources, even the engineers’ attention... It’s like I’m a shadow in my own team."  

You felt a pang in your chest hearing that. It was almost an exact replica of what you’d felt when you shared a team with him at Ferrari.  

"Charles... you don’t know how much I get it," you said, sitting across from him. "That feeling of being invisible, like your efforts don’t matter... I went through the same thing with you."  

He looked up, surprised by your honesty.  

"Really?"  

"Yeah. Do you remember all those team orders? All those moments where no matter how fast I was, they always put me aside to favor you. It’s... frustrating. It makes you question everything you do."  

Charles nodded slowly, processing your words.  

"I guess I never saw it from your perspective. I always thought the team’s decisions were fair, but now... now I know what it feels like."  

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees.  

"Charles, I know how hard this is. But what you need to remember is that your talent doesn’t depend on them. Ferrari is just one team, one stage in your career—it doesn’t define who you are as a driver."  

"How did you deal with it?" he asked, genuinely curious.  

"At first, I didn’t," you admitted. "I kept everything inside, let the frustration eat me up... until I couldn’t take it anymore. But I learned something: you can’t let them take away what you love about this sport. If Ferrari doesn’t value you the way they should, then prove your worth on the track. Force them to see you."  

Charles nodded slowly, as if your words were beginning to sink in.  

"It’s easier said than done," he said, with a bitter smile.  

"I know. But I also know you have the talent to do it."  

The conversation went on for hours, shifting from serious topics to shared memories and stories from your days at Ferrari. It was strange, but comforting, to share that space with him. He’d gone from being the rival who overshadowed you at your lowest to someone you could fully trust.  

When he finally stood to leave, Charles paused at the door and looked at you with an expression you hadn’t seen before.  

"Thank you for this. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you."  

"I’m always here. You know that."  

As the door closed behind him, you couldn’t help but smile. Charles was so much more than you’d ever thought. And somehow, he’d brought out the best in you too.

While you were helping Charles find his way in a team that relegated him to second place, you couldn’t ignore the fact that your own demons were still lurking. And, as if that wasn’t enough, Max remained a constant presence both on the track and in your personal life.  

Since your move to McLaren, the rivalry with Max had reached a new level. If before you shared moments of camaraderie and confidences, now every interaction was loaded with tension. And not just on the track.  

The championship was on fire. You and Max were leading the standings, swapping first and second place race after race. On every circuit, every corner, and every straight, it felt like only the two of you existed. It didn’t matter who else made it to the podium; the battle was always between you and him.  

During qualifying, both of you pushed to the limit, but an incident in Q3 left Max without a lap time. As soon as he got out of the car, Max stormed straight toward you, visibly furious.  

“What the hell was that?” he snapped, his voice sharp as he closed the distance between you in the paddock.  

“What was what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, though you knew exactly what he was referring to.  

“You blocked me on my flying lap.”  

“Max, you were too far behind when I started my lap. I didn’t block you.”  

“Of course you did!” he insisted, stepping even closer. His blue eyes burned with a mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.  

The argument caught the attention of journalists and members of both teams. You knew that one wrong word could make headlines the next day, so you chose to stay calm.  

“If you have a problem, take it up with the stewards, not me,” you said before turning and walking away, leaving Max with the words stuck in his throat.  

But the tension wasn’t confined to the track. It had started to bleed into your personal lives. Even though both of you tried to avoid each other outside of race weekends, coincidences were inevitable especially at sponsor events or official meetings.  

At one of these events, an FIA gala in Monaco, Max couldn’t resist looking for you in the crowd. When he finally spotted you, you were talking to Charles, laughing at something he’d said. The sight seemed to ignite something in Max, and he couldn’t hold back as he approached.  

“Can we talk?” he asked, cutting into the conversation.  

Charles glanced at you, his expression a mix of curiosity and caution, before stepping back to let you decide.  

“What do you want, Max?” you asked, trying to keep your voice neutral.  

“You and Charles, what’s going on between you two?” he asked quietly, though his tone carried an accusatory edge.  

“What kind of question is that?” you replied, crossing your arms.  

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m losing it, but… every time I see you two together, I can’t help thinking that…”  

“That what?” you interrupted, annoyed. “That maybe someone else can actually support me and understand me in this chaos that you chose to ignore?”  

Max pressed his lips together, clearly feeling the sting of your words. But instead of responding, he looked away and muttered:  

“You still know how to twist everything around.”  

The conversation was left unfinished, but the night didn’t end there. Later, as you tried to avoid him, you found Max alone on the terrace of the venue, staring out at the sea, his figure illuminated by the lights.  

“Why do you do this?” you asked, walking toward him. Your tone was no longer defiant but tired.  

“Do what?” he asked without looking at you.  

“Show up, disappear, demand things from me that you can’t even give yourself. You’re still with her, and yet…”  

Max closed his eyes, as if your words were too heavy to bear.  

“I don’t know how to handle this,” he admitted finally, turning to face you. “You and me… I don’t know how to handle it.”  

“Then maybe you should stop trying,” you said, though your voice cracked at the end.  

The silence between you was deafening. Too many unsaid emotions, too many decisions both of you refused to make. Finally, Max stepped back.  

“It’s easier said than done, isn’t it?”  

And with that, he left, leaving you alone on the terrace, feeling like the two of you were trapped in a vicious cycle neither of you knew how to escape.  

In the days that followed, you tried to focus on racing and your friendship with Charles, who had become a kind of refuge in the chaos. But every time you saw Max, every time your eyes met in the paddock, you felt the storm lingering, waiting for the right moment to break again.  

The rivalry on the track only grew more intense. Max and you raced as if every race was the last, as if the championship depended on who was stronger, more determined, more ruthless. But off the track, you both continued to grapple with the same internal conflict: what you felt for each other and what the world expected of you.  

You and Max were the top contenders for the title, and every race turned into a war. The media called it “the battle of the century,” comparing it to the legendary Senna-Prost rivalry. Every overtake, every strategy, every word in a press conference was scrutinized.  

At the Brazilian Grand Prix, things came to a head. From the first lap, the fight between you and Max was fierce. You knew every one of his tricks, every weakness, every strength. There were moments when the cars seemed to touch, pushing the limits of competition to the extreme.  

On lap 43, you attempted an overtake on the inside of Turn 1, but Max, in his trademark aggressive style, shut the door almost recklessly. Your front tires brushed his, and though both of you managed to maintain control, the incident was enough to set off commentators and social media.  

“This is unacceptable!” your engineer shouted over the radio. “We’re reporting it.”  

But you didn’t want to win the championship through a penalty.  

“Leave it. I’ll settle it on the track,” you said, with a determination that surprised even yourself.  

In the end, you finished second, behind Max, but the battle was epic. Fans were divided, some siding with you, others defending Max. But in your mind, one thought started to take root: maybe you’d had enough of this world.  

After that race, you decided to take a break. You flew back to your hometown to spend time with your family, seeking comfort in their presence. One night, sitting in the garden of your parents’ house, you opened up to your mom.  

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” you admitted, staring at the stars. “Every race feels like a battle not just on the track, but inside me, too.”  

Your mom, always wise and patient, looked at you with gentle understanding.  

“Then why do you keep going?”

You stayed silent for a moment, searching for the words.  

“Because it’s all I’ve ever known. Since I was a kid, my entire world has revolved around racing. But lately… lately, I feel like I want something more. I want a normal life, a family. I want to stop fighting all the time.”

“What’s stopping you?.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what that life would look like, or who it would be with.”

It was the first time you’d said those words out loud. The idea of giving up Formula 1, of walking away from everything you’d worked so hard for, was terrifying but also freeing.  

You couldn’t help but think of Max. Even though your relationship was broken, and the rivalry had reached its peak, there was still something about him pulling you in. But the question that haunted you was: did he feel the same?  

Max was still with his partner, at least publicly. But his actions, his looks, even his comments during races, hinted at something more. Could you build a life with someone who seemed incapable of facing his own feelings?  

“Maybe it’s not Max,” you muttered to yourself that night, curled up on the couch in your childhood bedroom. “Maybe it’s someone else. Or maybe I just need to find myself first.”

When you returned to the paddock for the US Grand Prix, something had shifted inside you. You hadn’t made any final decisions, but you knew this chapter of your life was nearing its end. Still, as long as you were in F1, you were going to give it everything you had.  

In the pre-race interviews, journalists bombarded you with questions about your rivalry with Max.  

“Is it personal?,” one of them asked with a sly grin.  

“Everything in Formula 1 is personal,” you replied with a wry smile, offering no further explanation.  

Max, sitting next to you at the press conference, shot you a sideways glance but said nothing. The tension between you two was palpable, even in front of the cameras.  

That race turned into yet another head-to-head battle between the two of you. During the final laps, the radio chatter grew more intense.  

“He’s losing rear grip. Push him.”

“I already am!,” you snapped, pushing the car to its limit.  

In the last lap, you pulled off a risky overtake that left everyone stunned. You won the race, and as you stepped out of the car, you felt a mix of euphoria and exhaustion.  

While celebrating with your team, your thoughts drifted back to your conversation with your mom. Maybe this was the ending you’d been searching for, or maybe it was just the start of something new.  

Max watched you from the podium, his blue eyes filled with something you couldn’t decipher. In the crowd, you couldn’t help but wonder: could you ever leave it all behind, even him?  

The next race, under the scorching Qatar sun, felt heavier, both in the air and in the paddock. Everything about this second-to-last race of the season felt like a countdown to something inevitable. You and Max were tied in points, both neck and neck after a season of epic battles, controversies, and moments that had pushed you to the edge emotionally.  

The tension in the McLaren garage was palpable. Though your relationship with your team was excellent, you knew the pressure was on you. Lando tried to lighten the mood with his usual sense of humor, but even his energy couldn’t cut through the wall of your thoughts.  

“Come on, don’t be so serious. We could both use a win today,” he joked while adjusting his gloves.  

“Sure, but if you win, I won’t complain,” you replied with a faint smile, though you both knew that wasn’t true. This race meant everything to you.  

Meanwhile, Charles had sent a message that morning: ‘Remember, one race at a time. You can do this. You’ve already proven you’re the best.’ His unwavering support had become one of the few things keeping you mentally afloat during this emotional rollercoaster.  

From qualifying, it was clear this race would be another direct battle between you and Max. Both of you blocked every attempt the other made to set the fastest time, ending up on the front row: Max on pole, you in second.  

The start was clean but intense. From the first corner, Max showed his usual aggression, shutting you out in an attempt to stay ahead. But you knew this game; he had taught you how to play it. You used the slipstream on the main straight, and on lap five, you overtook him with a surgical move in turn 6.  

For a moment, the world seemed to stop as you led the race, but you knew the real battle had just begun.  

Midway through the race, things heated up. Teams began to play with strategies, and tire choices became crucial. On lap 32, as you exited the pits after a tire change, Max appeared beside you. The overtake that followed was so tight the two cars brushed slightly, sparking an explosion of shouting over the radio.  

“That was way too close!,” your engineer protested, but you were too focused to respond.  

Max didn’t back down. In the following laps, he kept relentless pressure on you, looking for any weakness in your defense. On lap 48, he attempted an inside overtake on a tight corner, but you managed to hold your position with a move that left everyone on the edge of their seats.  

In the final laps, your mind was torn between the adrenaline of the race and the mental exhaustion you’d been carrying all season. Max was glued to your diffuser, but he made a small mistake on the second-to-last corner, giving you just enough of a margin to cross the finish line first.  

Your team’s shout over the radio was deafening:  

“Victory! You’re incredible, what a race!.”

But you didn’t have time to celebrate. As you parked the car in parc fermé, reality hit you: this victory only meant you were still tied in points, and everything would come down to the final race.  

The journalists were in a frenzy. In the post-race press conference, the questions came at you like bullets.  

“How do you handle the pressure heading into the last race?.”

“Calmly. One race at a time.” you replied, echoing Charles’ words, even though calm was the last thing you felt.  

Max, sitting beside you, spoke after you.  

“I always knew this season would be decided in the end. I’m ready for it.”

His gaze met yours for a second, and in that brief moment, the tension between you two felt more personal than ever.  

Back at the hotel, you tried to disconnect, but it was impossible. Your mind raced, replaying every detail of the race and anticipating what was to come. Charles called to congratulate you but also to remind you to rest.  

“Don’t let this consume you, okay?,” he said, his tone serious but kind. “You’ve done an amazing job, and you have everything you need to win.”

“Thanks, Charles. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I don’t know what you’d do without me either,” he joked, managing to make you laugh.

However, when you hung up, you kept staring at the ceiling of your room, wondering if you were truly ready to face everything the final race was about to bring.  

Even though you hadn’t seen Max since the press conference, you knew he was just as restless as you. Despite everything that had happened between you two, you couldn’t help but think about him, about how this rivalry had consumed everything you once shared.  

Is this really what you wanted? To keep fighting, keep competing, keep losing yourself in the process?  

You closed your eyes, trying to calm your thoughts. Just one race left. One final battle. And after that, maybe you’d finally have the answers you’d been searching for.  

The last week of the season was a whirlwind of emotions, preparations, and a tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. The entire paddock was on edge. Everything would be decided in Abu Dhabi.  

Escaping the media’s attention was impossible. Cameras followed you everywhere, looking for any reaction that could turn into a headline. The atmosphere at McLaren was optimistic but tense. You’d brought the team to its highest point in years, and that was already a monumental achievement. But for you, it wasn’t enough. You wanted that title.  

During the press conferences, the questions were relentless. You and Max were the center of attention. Though both of you kept calm outwardly, the discomfort between you was obvious. Every word, every gesture was analyzed by the journalists.  

“How do you feel heading into this decisive race?” they asked you during one of the press rounds.  

“Focused. This is what we’ve worked for all year. I just want to do my job and see what happens,” you replied diplomatically, though inside your heart was racing.  

Max, sitting next to you, simply said:  

“I’m focused too. We both know what’s at stake. May the best win.”  

There was a moment when your eyes met, but it was fleeting. There were so many words left unsaid between you, and the weight of that silence felt unbearable.  

In the final strategy meeting with your team, the tension was palpable. You knew every decision would matter, every detail could be the difference between winning and losing. Your race engineer, always meticulous, reviewed the plans calmly, but even you could tell he was nervous.  

“I believe in you. You’ve proven you can do this,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder before you left the garage.  

Lando, on the other hand, tried to lighten the mood with a joke.  

“If you don’t win, can I keep the consolation trophy?” he said with a cheeky grin.  

“There won’t be a consolation trophy,” you replied with a smirk.  

That day, Yas Marina Circuit was lit up like a jewel in the desert, and the atmosphere was electric. Before getting in the car, you took a moment for yourself. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and visualized every corner, every move. You knew you had to give it everything.  

The anthem played, and the world seemed to pause for a moment. Max was beside you on the grid. Though you didn’t speak, you could feel his presence, his energy. You both knew this race wasn’t just about the championship but also everything that had happened between you.  

The start was flawless. From the first corner, you and Max were locked in an intense battle. Neither of you gave an inch. Every lap was a fight, every overtake a statement. The rest of the drivers might as well have been racing in a different category; it was as if this championship was meant to be decided between just the two of you.  

On lap 35, a slow pit stop almost cost you the race, but you quickly recovered, overtaking Max in a spectacular move on lap 42. The crowd went wild.  

But Max wasn’t going to give up. On lap 50, he took the lead back, forcing you slightly off the track. It was an aggressive move, but clean—classic Max.  

In the final five laps, both of you were at the limit. Your hands trembled slightly from the adrenaline, but your focus was unshakable. In the penultimate lap, you found a gap on the main straight and passed Max on the inside. This time, he had no answer.  

When you crossed the finish line, the world seemed to stop for a moment before exploding in celebration. You’d done it. You were a world champion.  

Your team screamed over the radio, their voices full of tears and joy.  

“You’re the world champion! You did it!”  

As you climbed out of the car, the emotions overwhelmed you. Your team surrounded you, celebrating. Lando was one of the first to hug you, shouting:  

“I told you! I knew you’d do it!”  

As you stood with your team, your eyes instinctively searched for Max. He was there, watching you from a distance. Slowly, he approached, his steps a mix of pride and resignation.  

When he reached you, he extended his hand.  

“Congratulations,” he said, his voice calm but heavy with emotion.  

“Thanks, Max,” you replied, shaking his hand. For a moment, his eyes reflected something that looked like regret, but he said nothing more. He turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.  

That night was magical. There was laughter, tears, toasts. The tension of the entire season melted away in a whirlwind of emotions. Charles called to congratulate you, and his genuine happiness was like a balm to your heart.  

“I knew you could do it. I’m so proud of you,” he said, his voice full of sincerity.  

As the celebration went on, you took a moment to reflect. You’d reached the pinnacle of the world, but you knew this was just the beginning of a new chapter in your life. The future was full of uncertainty, but that night, you decided to enjoy the present, savoring every moment of your triumph.  

The emotional hangover the next day was overwhelming. It wasn’t physical, nor from the celebration, but a deep emptiness you hadn’t expected to feel after achieving the dream of your life. You’d won the Formula 1 World Championship, the peak of your career, but instead of feeling complete, you felt lost.

You woke up in your hotel room, sunlight streaming through the curtains. Around you, there were remnants of the celebration: a half-empty champagne glass on the table, the dress you wore last night carelessly thrown over a chair. The trophy, shiny and imposing, sat on the nightstand, but as you looked at it, you didn’t feel the euphoria you’d imagined for years.  

You got up and walked to the mirror. The reflection staring back at you was different from the one you were used to. It wasn’t just the physical exhaustion from the season; it was something deeper a sense of disconnect with yourself.  

You spent the morning avoiding your phone, even though you knew the notifications had to be flooding in. Messages of congratulations, articles from the media, videos of the highlights... but you weren’t ready to face it yet. Instead of feeling celebrated, you felt isolated.  

The idea had been lingering in your mind for weeks, maybe even months. The crash, the endless emotional struggles, the pressure to always be the best... it had all left its mark. And now, after achieving what you’d always dreamed of, you realized something: you didn’t want to keep going anymore.  

During breakfast with your parents, you decided to share your thoughts. You’d avoided bringing it up before, afraid of their reactions, but now felt like the right time.  

“I’ve been thinking about something... important,” you said, breaking the silence while fiddling with your coffee mug.  

Your mom looked at you with concern.  

“Are you okay? Does this have to do with Formula 1?”  

You shook your head.  

“No… well, partly, yes. Like I said, I’ve been reflecting, and I think... I don’t want to keep racing anymore.”  

The silence that followed was heavy. Your dad, ever the pragmatic one, was the first to speak.  

“Are you sure? You’ve worked your whole life for this.”  

“I know, Dad. But I’ve also given it everything I had. And now I feel like if I keep going, it’ll just be out of habit, not because I really want to.”  

Your mom took your hand.  

“We’ve always wanted you to be happy, no matter what you do. If you feel this is the time to stop, we’ll support you.”  

That conversation was the turning point. Over the following days, you talked to your team, Lando, and even Charles, who, although surprised, understood your decision. Lando tried to convince you to stay for one more year.  

“Are you really going to leave me here alone? We were just starting to have fun!” he joked, though there was genuine sadness in his eyes.  

“It’s your time, Lando. I’m sure you’ll do amazing things,” you replied, hugging him.  

Charles, on the other hand, was more serious.  

“I didn’t see this coming, but I get it. Just… promise me you won’t disappear completely.”  

“I won’t. I’ll always be here, even if it’s just as a spectator.”  

That same night, after hours of figuring out how to word it, you sat in front of the camera in your room. You were nervous, not about the decision, but about how the world would react. You wore a simple t-shirt, your hair tied back. You wanted the message to be honest, without distractions.  

‘Hi, everyone. I know this isn’t the video you were expecting after the incredible season we just had, but I wanted to share something important with you...’

You took a deep breath before continuing.  

‘I’ve decided to retire from Formula 1. This year has been the most exciting but also the most exhausting of my life. Winning the championship was a dream come true, but it also made me realize it’s time to close this chapter and start a new one.’

You paused, letting your words sink in.  

‘This wasn’t an easy decision. Formula 1 has been my life for so many years that I barely remember what it was like before. But I also know I want other things. I want time for myself, for my family, to explore who I am outside of this sport.’

Your voice wavered slightly, but you kept going.  

‘I want to thank my team, my teammates, my rivals, and, of course, the fans. Without your support, none of this would’ve been possible.’

When you finished, you turned off the camera and fell onto the bed. It wasn’t immediate relief, but there was something freeing about putting an end to that chapter.  

The video was released the next day and, as expected, caused a storm. The media debated your decision, fans flooded social media with messages of support and gratitude, and some even expressed disbelief.  

Charles sent you a text:  

“I saw it. I’m proud of you. You’ll do amazing things, no matter where you go.”  

And Max, who had avoided talking to you since the last race, also sent a short message:  

“You were the best. I always knew it. I hope you find what you’re looking for and that you forgive me.”  

Even though his words were few, they left a lump in your throat.  

That night, while staring at the stars from your balcony, you realized that, even though the future was uncertain, you were ready to face it.  

Weeks passed since your decision, and life finally seemed to find its rhythm. The constant noise of racing and the pressure to be the best slowly faded. But deep down, you felt like something or someone was still missing.  

Your house, now quieter than ever, became your sanctuary. You spent those days focusing on yourself, resting, discovering what you truly liked outside the track. But even in the peace of your own thoughts, Max lingered in your mind. He wasn’t a constant thought, but you’d remember him, especially when news of his breakup with his girlfriend started circulating. That, unexpectedly, stirred something in you, a knot in your stomach.  

Late one night, your phone buzzed. The name on the screen made you hesitate for a second. Max.  

The message was short, direct.  

“Can I see you? I need to talk to you.”  

You didn’t think much about it. You knew this conversation needed to happen eventually. You’d been avoiding it, but now it felt like the universe was putting it in your path.  

You agreed to meet at your house the next day, and when the door opened, there he was. Max, with that intense, direct gaze that had known you for years. Now, though, there was something different something more vulnerable.  

“Hi,” he said, his voice softer than usual.  

You invited him in, and he settled on the couch like it was his own home. The silence between you was heavy, filled with unresolved emotions.  

“I don’t know where to start,” he began, with a nervous smile.  

“Neither do I,” you replied, sitting across from him.  

The two of you just sat there, watching each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, Max spoke.  

“Breaking up with her... wasn’t easy. I knew it wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t keep lying to myself. The truth is… I never stopped thinking about you.”  

Your heart skipped a beat, and a lump formed in your throat. You didn’t know what to say. Max, always so sure of himself, seemed completely different now.  

“Max... I don’t know what you want me to say. We’ve been on such different paths. You… always so focused on F1, on competing… and me too. Things were never easy between us, and now… I don’t know if any of this makes sense.”  

He nodded, understanding what you meant.  

“I know. I’ve been an idiot. I thought I could keep everything under control, but in the end… I lost what mattered most.”  

He looked at you intently, and in his eyes was a sincerity that made you question everything you’d been thinking until that moment.  

“But that doesn’t mean I forgot about you. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about what we had. If anything, it’s taken me time to realize that… maybe there’s something here we never really figured out.”  

You stayed silent, processing his words. The tension was thick, but something in his voice made you want to listen, even though you knew the situation was complicated.  

“And what is it that you want, Max?” you asked, your voice a bit shaky.  

“I don’t know,” he admitted with a small, sad smile. “I’m not asking you to forgive me or to go back to what we had. But I think… we should at least try. Not now, not right away, but… maybe we can see what happens, without the pressures of F1, without everything that kept us apart.”  

You got up and walked to the window, staring outside without really seeing anything. Max watched you from the couch, waiting for your response. The atmosphere between you had shifted somehow, and for the first time, it felt like you had both let go of the fight to always be the best.  

You turned to look at him.  

“I’m not sure I’m ready to start something new. After all, I made the decision to retire for a reason, Max. I’ve spent so much time on F1 that now I need to rediscover myself. And I don’t know what I want.”  

Max got up from the couch, slowly approaching you.  

“I get it. I’m not expecting it to be easy, or for everything to be resolved right now. But I want you to know I’m not pressuring you. I just… wanted you to know that, no matter what happens, I’ll be here. And if someday you decide what we had is worth another shot, I’ll be ready to try, no matter the past.”  

A deep silence followed his words. You knew there was still so much to figure out between the two of you, but something about his attitude, about his willingness to wait, struck a chord within you.  

You didn’t say anything else. You walked toward him, and for a moment, words weren’t necessary. The look in your eyes said it all. Still, there were no promises, no certainties just a silent understanding that, maybe, the future could be different. Maybe even together.  

“We’ll see what happens,” you finally said.  

Max nodded, not pushing, knowing that time would have to decide the course for both of you. And with that response, the future remained suspended between you, open, uncertain, but carrying a possibility that hadn’t existed before.

[lowkeyerror]

Just Hold Me

Rio Vidal x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Notes: Fluff x 100, comfort x 1 million, very soft

Summary: You had a rough day and Rio wants to comfort you, but she wonders if she's doing enough.

An: The yearly fluff I post after Christmas. Soft as a bunny's tail.

Masterlist

Love was such a strange thing. Tangled up in emotions like hurt, betrayal, and longing, but also bathed in happiness, care, and optimism. It was complex enough with normal people, but you had fallen for Death itself.

Loving Rio was like loving a hurricane. It was wild and even if some things were predictable, you couldn’t always prepare for what was to come. Having a trail of destruction behind her was a part of her job.

It was something she only found shame in when she was with you. She didn’t want you to think that of her. The truth being, that you never could. It was what had drawn you to her in the first place. Death didn’t scare you, not at all. Falling into her embrace felt like destiny. You’d tell her, but Rio was never one for fate, she said if anything it was an omen.

She was so scared of the consequences when it came to being with you. She tried to go against her urges, but you were patient. In her mind you’d forget her and move on with someone more suitable, but you never did. You knew what you wanted and it was her.

There would never be anyone to come close.

Rio was a good girlfriend. She was affectionate, and as attentive as she could be. There were still some things that she was uncertain about when it came to her emotions. After all she had only learned them from her limited experience in other relationships and observing others. She had seen a lot, but that didn’t mean she understood it all.

So when she appeared in your home to find your curled up on the couch, hidden by a blanket, she simply tilted her head to the side before approaching you.

“Love?”

You heard her voice, but felt like you couldn’t move or speak. Instead you let out a soft hum in response. It caught Rio off guard, she was still assessing the situation, but it wasn’t looking good.

She stepped into your point of view, crouching so that she could meet your eyes. She was taken aback by the sadness in them. The bags under your eyes were dark and heavy. Rio pouted seeing the red hues scattered in them.

She reaches out cautiously to hold your face in her hands. Her touch was warm, it made you briefly close your eyes.

“What happened?” Rio’s voice was soft, as if she was scared of pushing.

However you weren’t like the lovers of her past. You wouldn’t push her away, so you took a deep breath trying to muster up your voice.

“Hold me,” you managed to murmur.

Rio was quick to shed her work clothes and create more comfortable attire for the sake of both of you. You briefly sat up on the couch, only enough for the Green Witch to slip behind you. Once she was behind you, you tugged her arm over your body. You held it in place keeping her hold on you tight.

Rio places a delicate kiss on the back of your neck, “I'm not going anywhere."

For a while you stay in that position silently. Neither of you break through the quiet. Rio thinks she’s eventually going to hear your breathing level but it doesn’t.

“Long day,” you mumble against her hand.

“I think I know something about those,” Rio threaded her fingers through yours.

You let out a small laugh, “I bet you do.”

You feel the time shift again. You turn to face Rio who scans over your features again.

“Is there something I can do?”

You see the worry in her eyes and it makes your heart swell. The smallest furrow in her brow, the usual mischief in her eyes is gone, her tone is missing the teasing edge.

“Just this,” you bury your head in the crease of her neck.

You inhale deeply, her scent always grounds you. That specific scent of earth freshly hit with rain. You could get lost in her aroma, it almost makes you feel like you’re outside. You can feel her skin cooling, which only submerges you deeper into the fantasy.

Now both of her hands hold you. She kisses the top of your head. Rio is still uncertain about it she should be doing more for you. This didn't feel like enough. She wanted to destroy whatever it was that made your day so hard. Seeing you in this state was tugging at her heart strings.

She began to trace patterns into your back. You didn't mind, you like having her hands on you, being this close together. It helped you feel safe.

“Are you sure it’s enough,” Rio whispers, insecurities gnawing at her.

You pull back just enough to look at her, “Rio Vidal you’ll always be enough for me.”

Your words knocked the wind right out of her, she felt her face getting warm under your gaze, but she wasn’t trying to hide it from you.

“I’d do anything for you, you know that? Legal or illegal. If I need to go fuck up your boss I will. If I need to pop your annoying coworkers tire, I will. If you needed me to hunt down a Karen I-"

“I know,” you cut her off.

“All of the above?” Rio wriggles her eyebrows playfully.

You move to sit up and she sits beside you.

You rub a hand over your face, “Work was fine, I guess. A few difficult customers, but nothing out of the ordinary. I don’t really know why, but today just felt harder to get through than other days. Nothings wrong, I just feel a little… down.”

Rio listen intently as you speak. When you finish she nods slowly, “I think I know what you need.”

“You do?”

Rio nods with a little more certainty, “Let me cook for us. We’ll order some snacks and pop in a movie. We can keep cuddling too. And tomorrow, I think you should call out. We’ll spend the whole day together, I know all the best parks for walks. How does that sound?”

You let out a sigh of relief, “That sounds perfect. I love you.”

Rio places a gentle kiss on your lips, “I love you too.”

Rio reluctantly begins to stand, but you pull her back down, “Just hold me a bit longer?”

She lays her back flat on the couch and pulls you on top of her, stealing another peck.

“Always.”

[b00tyliciousbabe]

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙

oddballs and eggnog

goofybf! x THICC male reader

summary: love me a nerdy man that’s got a lil spice to him. plus a lil xmas lore!

notes: HI BEAUTIFULS! merry xmas to those who celebrate. it’s been a while fr, my bad dawgs uni work has been ploughing my ass so violently im reconsidering if a degree is even for me. but as a masochistic bottom, i had to channel my energy elsewhere; thus, this fic is just me showing the variety of my tastes as the true indecisive femboy that i am. show me a cute guy and i will plan my whole life with him. i need to get a grip.

originally, i canonically wrote this character with ginger hair (y’all know i fold for redheads), but the more i kept writing, the clearer it became to me that dark brown hair/black aligned with my OWN understanding of him. it’s all fiction anyways so feel free to adapt body types as you see fit. enjoy my lovelies 🎀

album rec: flo - access all areas. these girlies have my heart. been following them since about 2022 and they are genuinely my fave artists, cannot wait for flo world domination.

you guys had mutual acquaintances for a couple years, but it wasn’t until the two of you got to university that your friendship really blossomed. the engineering student didn’t have the best luck when it came to relationships; in fact, people would only toy with his emotions when they wanted something from him, so he learnt to put up a wall of cynicism.

these barriers he had fortified for his own protection made him quite a reserved guy. never cruel or nasty. just quiet. sure, he wasn’t a complete loner, he had a few VERY close bros who he’d let in, but it was clear that in this silence, he was safe.

he’s super handsy, whether that means pulling you on his lap, be it at parties or when he’s gaming, or placing his hands in your back pocket when y’all walk to class, he just wants to hold you. probably got something to do with the fact that he needs to make sure you’re real and not the angel he believes you to be. you love your needy bf and his craving for physical touch.

this is kinda juxtaposed by how flustered he gets by your words. the minute you whisper in his ear, he could cum in his jeans on the spot. he gets so red when you compliment him which makes him squeeze you tighter.

he wasn’t a virgin before meeting you, he’d had a few hookups but nothing sexual with someone he genuinely cared about. as a result, it made sense why he was very nervous when it came to your first time together.

to relax him, you decided to give him a blowjob to ease the tension and allow him to cum quick in the first round so he’d last longer during anal. sat back on the edge of his bed, he wore a vest and baggy joggers, awaiting your fingers to unleash his raging boner. you knelt down and flashed a comforting smile to him, which he failed to mirror perfectly.

‘we don’t have to do this if you’re not ready to. I’d never force you to do anything you didn’t want to do.’ you said concerned, stroking his abs, clear to you that he was stressing.

‘nah baby, i want this so bad. it’s just gotta be really special because you’re really special to me.’ he said gripping your chin.

‘i love you, y/n. like a lot.’

‘i know that you weirdo, i love you too, you mean so much to me.’

‘now, lemme show you how much.’ you said coyly, to which he was more than happy to oblige.

when i tell you, your man eats so well that his cum is literally like milk. the typa white, thick, pearly cum that you would swallow every drop of, because it truly is just disrespectful not to. the first time he came was a surprise for the two of you. he didn’t realise how much he loved seeing his cum all over your face, decorating your juicy, wet lips. the head you gave him was so good, he napped for 2 hours straight after you drained him. but that deffo changed him for the better.

his hobbies include boxing and gaming. he’s such a nerd he makes his own demo projects, playing with his classmates. you always chastise him for not making his hobby a lucrative endeavour - your boy’s got a talent and he doesn’t seem to know it. equally, he loves his legos and comics just as much as he enjoys coding, making you the prettiest bouquet of lego flowers for your first date. after spending some time walking, he took you back to his place and y’all spent the entire night binging his favourite marvel and dc films.

one time it was his birthday and you thought it be a good idea to make a short graphic novel of the journey of your relationship - ending steamily with you pregnant.

‘baby, i love this so much! who knew how sexy you’d look with a baby bump?’ ‘anything can happen in the multiverse’ you laugh, as he kissed your jaw.

‘I’m gonna fuck you so good tonight.’

as we have established, he’s far from experienced. he holds your hand through missionary always because it makes him feel safe. makes so many jokes during it as a way to deflect. lowkey loves being choked. you took the lead most of the time before, using him as a pole and ride the shit out of him.

but, that night he ploughed you with a sense of purpose, so deep and mercilessly that your insides were moulded into an incubator for any hypothetical foetus he would soon impregnate you with. after, he laid curled up next to you, caressing the belly that he had now filled with

‘i hate biology sometimes,’ he says breathlessly. ’you’d look so good with our lil baby growing inside your belly.’

your boyfriend is the goofiest mf ever; playing practical jokes on all his friends and fulfilling his role as your comedian. definitely one of your favourite characteristics of his.

his sleeper build is INSANE. he might appear tall and lanky, but he is far from it. bench pressing more than 100 kilos with one arm - the brudda is basically superman. he’s what you’d get if clark kent had ginger hair, and was a huge weirdo.

though he cannot dance to save his life. he used to be very awkward and shy, but the minute them clothes are off and you two are in the sheets? stroke game is giving pornstar baby girl lemme tell you! ever since your first time, it’s like you awaken the sexual drive in him that’s been missing all his life. this, paired for his complete adoration for you makes him a lethal weapon in bed - quite literally, your man casually packs an 8 inch pussy destroyer with veins that massage and pummel your gummy walls so well.

after this moment he became the BIGGEST TEASE. slapping his dick all over your face. as you chase his dick like a good puppy, he giggles at how desperate you are. ‘sweet Jesus you feel good’. ‘holy shit’. ‘don’t act like you don’t love it.’ painting hickeys all over your neck . he loves when ppl ask you because of how flustered you get, makes him want to mark you more. he’s no longer shy to the world and he thanks you everyday for that. living to call you princess - in both a mocking and endearing tone, he loved toying with your nipples because you’re his lil doll. in cowgirl he will play with them whilst jerking you off to get you to cum all over his abs. and! he LOVES eating ass - like almost obsessively, as if he’s high of your pussy.

he smells so good. so good. you always act like a bitch in heat whenever he steps out of the shower with a towel skimpily wrapped around his adonis belt.

your bf loves playing with his cum and using his dick as a paintbrush to decorate your belly, butt, and face. ‘my masterpiece’ + ‘my muse’ he professes. somehow managing to entrance you to always stroke his dick during makeout sessions. he brings his hands to play with your hair, knowing that his dick is in extremely good hands with you - literally. always pulling you off of his dick because he is really sensitive and ur mouth is a fucking weapon, but will show you that he’s the boss and could leave you bedridden for a couple days after a good fuck.

things he would say drunk off of eggnog:

‘i would die a happy man beneath those beautiful cheeks of yours’

‘put ur hole on my North Pole.’

‘ay, you Don’t get to call me handsome unless you’re gonna HANDsome of those fat cheeks of yours to my lap.’

‘come on, I’ve been a good boy, Santa says gimme some of that pussy you know I love so much.’

‘that ass of yours, come here lemme unwrap it.’

this man has you written into his destiny. he always dreamed of raising a son and dressing him up in the flyest outfits and with you, that desire became reality. you too truly are a match made in heaven.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙

taglist:

@ghostking4m

@gayaristocrat

@lysanderplume

@acoustickitten

[gender-is-fake]

Witch? Sylviinae wrinkled her nose at the official-looking men in official-looking robes. She had never thought herself to be a witch. Witches had warts and summoned demons and did alchemy. Sylviinae had never done any of those things. Not that she had any say over it. She was muscled out of the room into the arms of the tiefling that had apprehended her in the first place. As much as this place had stripped her of her freedoms, she was glad she’d been put back under his supervision. He was calm, never yelled, and slow to anger.

“I am not witch,” Sylviinae murmured in her rich Sylvan accent. She repeated the phrase in her tongue, as if it would communicate the proper meaning even to someone that didn’t speak the language. “Níl witch mé.”

Tief gave her a smile with a condescending hook. “Not a witch? Then what do you think you are?”

“Is mage,” she said, pronouncing it as mahg-uh. “Pyromancer. I don’t know. Word does not exist.” She was having trouble explaining her situation. What she wanted to say was that she was a magic user, but that it wasn’t special. Most people she knew used magic. Perhaps that was unusual here.

“A witch is anyone who practices magic without formal training,” Tief said. “Isn’t that what you are?” She scoffed.

“I had teacher,” Sylviinae explained. “Old. Very wise. He worked in my home. At my home.” She gritted her teeth, very annoyed that she didn’t know what preposition was right. “Not my house… just, my home. He hid at the woods. He took me as student only.”

“In the woods where you lived?” Sylviinae started to nod and then shook her head.

“Very close. Different wood from my closest home.” Sylvie stepped over to the wall, pointing at bricks.

“Shadowglow,” she said, pointing at one chiseled stone close to her right hand. “Very dark. No sun. I was raised in this.” Then she pointed two bricks to the left, and one down. “Fairliina. I went far, at Shadowglow I was to this place.” Sylviinae grew more excited, tapping at other stones nearby. “This is Goldtrim, from where my father came. Lilycove, where mermaids live. Kokoackea, a city in the sky…”

“Sylviinae…” Tief said, with a slight grin as she pointed to different stones. “None of these places exist.” Sylviinae frowned at that and glared at Tief.

“Have you been to every place?” She asked.

Tief looked perplexed by her question. “I’ve been to many countries.”

“Not country,” Sylviinae sighed. It frustrated Sylviinae. She had studied the Common tongue in school. She knew what place meant. She knew she was using the word right. But he still seemed confused. “Have you been to every place?” She said it slowly to get her meaning across.

“No,” he admitted, though still seemed confused by her meaning. She shook her head and clicked her tongue. If he didn’t even understand the question, then surely he had not been to every place. She jabbed her index finger at him.

“Then you do not know the realness of my home. Where I am from, we are not witches. Magic is not a job that you learn. Magic is what we are.”

The door to the official-looking room with official-looking people swung open. There was a woman in the frame. She sported golden robes and long white hair tied up in such a way that Sylviinae thought it looked like smoke billowing from her scalp.

“It is a delight to meet you, Sylvie,” she said. Her tongue butchered her name. Was it so hard to say one last syllable? “I am the local authority on Mages’ Guild training program. We see much potential in reforming your magic. You will be joining our Artillery Division. And Tief… you have been promoted from Pithy Squadron General. You will be going with her.”

"She's a witch! Send her to the Mages' Guild so she can get formal education!"

[beloveds-embrace]

your omega simon idea makes me both soft for him and salivating at the thought of protecting such a big strong guy, urgh i love it. Giving Si and you a big forehead smooch, i love your brain😩 Very much hoping that your brain keeps thinking about omega simon so we get to feast on this damn good food too

Omega simon does unbelievable things to me 😩 and I am giving you a very big and loud smooch back!! <3 have this little Drabble that i wrote fast (so pls excuse any rushedness and mistakes 😔)

The hangar was buzzing with activity as they finally touched down on base, but neither you nor Ghost paid it any mind. The moment your boots hit the concrete, exhaustion weighed heavier than any gear strapped to your bodies. Without a word, without even glancing back at the others, the two of you slipped away like smoke. Silent, deliberate, and entirely focused on one thing: rest.

Price, Gaz, and Soap barely had tme to finish unloading before they noticed your absence.

“Where the hell did they go?” Soap asked, looking around like the two of you might reappear from thin air.

Price’s eyes scanned the hangar for a sharp second before he sighed, already putting the pieces together. If anything, he’d expected this. “Probably holed up somewhere to rest.”

Gaz groaned, though he couldn’t hide the fond smile that cracks on his face. “They could’ve at least told us first.”

“They didn’t have to,” Price said knowingly. “You saw the state they were in.”

And they had. Weeks of back-to-back missions, constant stress, and frayed nerves had worn everyone thin, but you and Simon had carried it differently. Instincts that screamed for comfort, security, and stability, but the battlefield offered none of that. Now that you were finally safe, it made perfect sense for the two of you to disappear and soothe those raw, overworked instincts.

It took them almost an hour to track you down, and when they did, it was clear why you hadn’t wanted to be found.

The room was dimly lit, smelling faintly of detergent and something softer- vanilla and Simon’s deeper cedarwood scent. Blankets, pillows, and their clothes had been piled high, creating a warm cocoon against the outside world. You were curled up in the center, tucked against Simon’s broad chest, your breathing slow and steady for the first time in days. He had one arm wrapped protectively around you, his mask discarded, revealing a rare look of peace on his face- what part of it that wasn’t buried in your hair.

Soap hesitated at the door, lowering his voice instinctively. “They look…”

“Content.” Gaz supplied, leaning against the frame.

Price crossed his arms, face softening the longer he looked at the two of you. “They needed this.”

It was rare to see Ghost so unguarded, but here- with you- he looked safe, grounded in a way the others knew only you could manage. Your hand was fisted lightly in the fabric of his shirt, and his nose rested in your hair like he’d been breathing you in for hours.

“They’ll come out when they’re ready, let’s leave them to rest.” Price murmured, already turning to shepherd the others away.

“Should we leave food out for them?”

Gaz snorted, rolling his eyes, and gave Soap an amused look. “They’re not strays, Johnny.”

But the idea stuck, and before long, supplies were quietly left at the edge of the nest- water bottles, snacks, and extra blankets. None of them entered the space, knowing better than to disturb their omegas when they were finally at rest.

And when the two of you eventually emerged, bleary-eyed and loose-limbed, the pack was waiting- ready to gather you both into steady, grounding embraces. No words were needed. Just their presence was enough to reassure you that everything was okay.

You and Simon had each other, but you also had them. And in a world that demanded too much, that was enough.

[hazzashouse]

Hii, I hope you are doing great !

I saw that your requests are open and I was wondering if you could write something about y/n not being famous and she is not accepted and treated badly by Harry’s celebrity group of friends which will put to test her relationship with Harry.

Thank you so much, and happy holidays !! 💕

A/N: This was such a fun request to write! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed putting it together. It’s a mix of angst, fluff, and a lot of emotion. Thank you for trusting me with this idea, and I hope it resonates with you!

Triggers: Emotional manipulation, unkind behavior, insecurity

Pairing: Harry Styles x Female!Reader (Y/N)

Word Count: 2,167

You knew it wouldn’t be easy.

Being with Harry meant stepping into a world so far removed from your own that at times, it felt like you’d fallen through the looking glass. It wasn’t that you doubted your love for him or his love for you—it was undeniable, unshakable. But you weren’t naïve. You knew his fame came with its challenges, and the hardest one wasn’t the paparazzi or the scrutiny from strangers on the internet. It was his friends.

They weren’t all bad, of course. There were a few who made an effort to get to know you, to see you for who you were beyond the label of “Harry’s girlfriend.” But most of them… most of them didn’t.

Tonight was one of those nights.

The party was at one of Harry’s favorite spots in Los Angeles, a sleek, exclusive venue where everyone seemed to glitter with a level of confidence and beauty you couldn’t help but envy. You’d been nervous from the start, clinging to Harry’s hand as he introduced you to people whose names you struggled to remember.

“Just stick with me, love,” he’d said earlier that evening, pressing a kiss to your temple. “It’ll be fine.”

And for a while, it was. Harry stayed close, his arm around your waist as he guided you through the room. But then he was whisked away by someone wanting to discuss music, and you were left standing near the bar, nursing a drink and feeling utterly out of place.

That’s when the whispers started.

At first, you tried to ignore them, telling yourself you were imagining things. But the pointed glances, the half-smirks, and the subtle head tilts in your direction were impossible to miss.

“Does she even know who she’s talking to?”

“She’s cute, but… I don’t get it. Harry could do so much better.”

“She looks so uncomfortable. It’s kind of painful to watch.”

The words stung, each one landing like a small, sharp jab. You kept your head high, determined not to let it show. But when one of Harry’s friends—a model you’d met once before—approached you with a patronizing smile, your resolve began to crack.

“So,” she said, swirling her cocktail as she looked you up and down, “how’s it going, Y/N? Adjusting to all… this?”

“It’s fine,” you replied, forcing a polite smile.

“Must be overwhelming,” she continued, her tone dripping with faux concern. “I mean, it’s not really your world, is it?”

You clenched your jaw, searching for a way out of the conversation. But before you could respond, she leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Don’t take it personally,” she said, her smile sharp. “It’s just… we’ve all known Harry for years. We’ve seen him with people who… well, let’s just say they were a better fit.”

Her words hit you like a slap, and you felt your chest tighten with a mix of hurt and anger. You didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing how much she’d gotten under your skin, so you excused yourself, heading for the nearest exit.

The cool night air was a welcome relief as you stepped outside, leaning against the railing and taking deep breaths. You tried to shake off her words, to remind yourself that they didn’t matter. But they did.

“Y/N?”

You turned to see Harry standing in the doorway, his brows furrowed in concern. He crossed the distance between you in a few quick strides, his hand coming to rest gently on your arm.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft but urgent. “I’ve been looking for you.”

You hesitated, unsure how to put your feelings into words. “Nothing,” you said eventually, though the shakiness in your voice betrayed you. “I just… needed some air.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly, and you could see the gears turning in his head. “Y/N,” he said, his tone firmer now. “Tell me the truth. What happened?”

For a moment, you considered brushing it off, pretending everything was fine. But then the hurt bubbled up to the surface, and before you could stop yourself, the words came spilling out.

“I don’t belong here, Harry,” you said, your voice breaking. “I’ve tried, but your friends… they don’t want me here. They think I’m not good enough for you.”

Harry’s expression shifted from concern to something darker—anger, though not directed at you. His jaw tightened, and he looked away for a moment, as if trying to rein in his emotions.

“Who said that?” he asked finally, his voice low and controlled.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said quickly, not wanting to cause a scene. “It’s not just one person. It’s the way they look at me, the things they say when they think I’m not listening. They don’t think I’m… enough.”

Harry’s hand moved to cup your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “You are more than enough. You’re everything. And if they can’t see that, then that’s their problem, not yours.”

You swallowed hard, leaning into his touch. “But what if they’re right?” you whispered. “What if I’m just… not the kind of person who fits into your world?”

Harry shook his head, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Y/N, my world is wherever you are. None of this”—he gestured toward the party inside—“means anything without you. And if anyone thinks they can make you feel unwelcome or unworthy, they’ll have to answer to me.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the weight on your chest easing slightly. “You can’t fight all your friends for me, Harry.”

He smiled then, his expression softening. “I won’t have to. Because once I’m done having a word with them, they’ll know better than to treat you like this again.”

Before you could respond, Harry pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you like a shield. You felt the tension begin to melt away as you rested your head against his chest, his heartbeat steady and reassuring.

“I love you,” he murmured into your hair. “And nothing—no one—is going to change that.”

—————

True to his word, Harry didn’t let the matter drop. When the two of you returned to the party, he made a point of staying by your side, his presence a clear signal to anyone who dared to question your place in his life.

Later, you found yourself sitting on the couch in his dressing room as he paced back and forth, recounting the conversations he’d had with a few of his more tactless friends.

“They’re idiots,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I told them that if they can’t respect you, they can’t call themselves my friends.”

You watched him, your heart swelling with gratitude and love. “Harry,” you said softly, reaching out to take his hand. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

“Yes, I did,” he said, sitting down beside you and pulling you into his lap. “You’re the most important person in my life, Y/N. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you know that.”

You smiled, resting your forehead against his. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He kissed you then, slow and sweet, as if to remind you of everything you shared. And in that moment, you knew that no amount of judgment or criticism could ever come between you.

Because what you had with Harry was real. And nothing else mattered.

[saintobio]

blue christmas

a sincerely yours christmas special. non-canon. angst. 900 wc. part of the sy side-stories.

It was quiet that night. 

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and the scent of pine and cinnamon lingered in the air while the warm glow of Christmas lights twinkled on the tree. Outside, snow drifted lazily to the ground, covering the surroundings of your home in a soft, pile of white. It felt peaceful—almost too peaceful—and you sat back on the couch, lounging after a nice Christmas dinner with your teenage son, Sachiro, who cradled a mug of cocoa in his hands beside you.

You smiled faintly, admiring how much he had grown, and how this quiet night seemed so far removed from the all the drama that had once filled your life. But the comfort of the moment didn’t last long before he spoke. His voice, deep like his father’s, broke the silence of your supposed peaceful night. 

“Mom,” he began, “Why didn’t you ever choose to remarry Dad?”

The question hit you harder than expected, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the right words. Really, what were the right words? You had never been good at talking about these things, and you didn’t expect that your son would put you on the hot seat like this. The past, especially those connected to Satoru—sometimes it felt easier to leave them untouched, forgotten. As it should be. 

You glanced at your son, unsure of how to explain the complicated web of emotions that tangled inside you. “I thought... it was for the best,” you said quietly, voice soft as you searched for something that sounded right. His question was too sudden to be given a decent answer. “You know your Dad and I just couldn’t make it work. And for you, for us, it was better this way.”

Sachiro nodded slowly as if he already knew the answer, yet his fingers tightened around the mug. You could see the way he was processing your words, as if he was hoping for better reasoning. He had never even known the sibling he had lost until recently, the gap that finally forced his father out of your lives. Sachiro only saw the quiet love that both his parents shared, but it wasn’t enough, not for either of you.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if my sibling were here?” he asked, clearly inciting. “If you kept her, mom. Would she be celebrating with us tonight?”

You felt the ache in your chest as the question landed. You knew Sachiro’s question came from a place of grudge, aiming really well at a spot that hurt the most. And it did good at bringing you a pang of grief from a memory you had tried to bury long ago. You weren’t numb. Of course the loss still stung, even all these years later.

“I think about it all the time,” you murmured, unable to hide the shame in your voice. “What she would’ve been like. How she would’ve looked like. But... I don’t want to remember, Sachiro. I’ve made peace with it.”

But he wasn’t done. “Then, why didn’t you try again?” His voice was so gentle, yet so curious. “Why didn’t you remarry anyone else? I mean... Dad’s married to someone else now. And they’re having another baby. Shouldn’t that be a sign?”

The words felt like a stab to your chest, your heart shattering with an emotion you couldn’t name. Satoru’s life had moved on without you, far far too long ago, yet every reminder of it still cut deep. 

“I’m happy for him,” you said softly, the words stuck in your throat. “But that doesn’t mean I want the same outcome for myself. It’s... complicated.”

Marrying someone else again was not in your books. 

You could feel the intensity of Sachiro’s gaze on you, as if waiting for more. But you didn’t have more to give. You didn’t know how to explain the parts of you that had been shattered, the pieces that had never fully healed. Even if your own son hated you for it. 

“I just want you to be happy, Mom,” Sachiro said, turning away from you, his gaze landing on the Christmas tree. “I want you to have what you deserve. When I have my own family someday, I don’t want you to be spending your Christmas all alone.”

You wanted to tell him everything. How much you loved him, how much you would do for him. How hard it was to move on, how hard it was to see his father moving on with someone else. But the words needn’t be said. At least, not for tonight. 

And then, just as quickly as the moment had come, it faded into a kaleidoscope of memories. The world around you shifted, and the warmth of the fire and the smell of Christmas began to dissolve. Suddenly, you were back in your bed, heart pounding recklessly in the darkness.

You woke up eyes wide in surprise, until the reality of your room finally made sense to you. You blinked, trying to steady yourself. It was a dream. It was all a dream. 

Sighing, you let your head fall into your hands. And just for a moment, you let yourself mourn the future you would never have. The family you would never see, the happiness you could never quite reach.

But as the soft glow of the Christmas lights flickered in the silent night, you slowly allowed yourself to breathe. Tomorrow would come. But tonight, you would let the dream linger just a little longer.

[jasvtsc]

office surprise

warnings! mdni! mentions of inappropriate pics. slight sexting. softdom!beau. blow job. oral (m!receiving). slight voyeurism. almost getting caught. probably grammar mistakes.

word count! 1.6k

you’ve been purposely getting on beau’s nerves the whole day. there wasn’t any reason for it — you just felt like being an annoying little shit.

at first, you wouldn’t let him out of bed, clinging to his side and whining whenever he tried to move. how did he manage to escape from a leech like you? he still wasn’t exactly sure. however, it all got worse when you decided to send him some… pictures, while he was at work. at first, he thought you were just pestering him and that maybe you wanted to ask when he was finishing his shift.

well, he couldn’t be more wrong.

because as soon as he clicked on the message, his eyes widened and he shoved his phone into his pocket, feeling his pants growing tighter as he quickly side-eyed hoyt to check if she saw the content on his phone. luckily, she was too busy talking to some officers about the case they were working on. luckily, she didn’t see the picture of you, sitting in his bedroom, in his bed, wearing his shirt and hugging his pillow with your hand in your lacey white panties he got you not that long ago. he inhaled sharply through his nose as his phone started buzzing even more, painfully teasing the growing bulge in his pants.

he excused himself and went to his office suspiciously fast, bumping into some people on his way there. as soon as he closed the door behind him so that nobody would interrupt him, beau pulled out his phone and checked new messages from you.

more pictures.

you playing with your pussy through the dampened fabric of your panties. another one where you stuffed your fingers into your mouth, looking up at the camera with those puppy eyes you often made while being on your knees for him and your mouth full of his cock. and then yet another one where you were biting your lower lip, your brows scrunched and your fingers shoved in your dripping core. he could only imagine the pretty sounds that were probably leaving your mouth as you played with yourself.

he took a shattering breath as he palmed his crotch, trying to relieve himself a little while staring at his phone. suddenly, he was wondering how fucked up he would be if someone heard him grunting if he decided to get himself off.

suddenly, the door to his office opened. he shot up from his chair and cleared his throat, expecting to see hoyt — so imagine the surprise on his face when he saw you.

In all honesty, he was baffled. you just sent him those pictures and now you were standing in front of him, that huge grin on your face as if nothing had happened. for a moment, he was moving his mouth like a fish freshly taken out of the water before he could make any sound.

“hello?” it sounded like a question when you walked up to him and pecked his lips, standing on your toes to reach him.

“hi,” you giggled in that innocent manner and he knew damn well that you were just acting. you were a little devil.

“what are you doing here? i thought you were at home. when did you—” he cut off, words suddenly stuck in his throat since he couldn’t force himself to ask it out loud. he needed to know when did you take those photos.

“earlier. right after you left,” hearing that was enough to make him speechless.

“why now?”

“why not?” you shrugged, fluttering your lashes at him, trying to act coy. he took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose before running his palm through his face.

“you’re being a bad girl, y’know that?” with a sigh, he pulled you closer and pecked your lips which only got yet another one of those sweet giggles out of you. “unbelievable,” he muttered, kissing you again. “y’gonna pay for that, got it?” he said and bit on your lower lip, giving it a slight tug.

“oh, i know,” you hummed teasingly, pulling away as if you were going to walk away. but he was already done with you being a brat, so he grabbed your arm and quickly pulled you back in.

“now,” and clearly, you weren’t expecting that. your eyes went wide and your plump lips slightly parted as it was your turn to be flabbergasted.

“what do you mean by now?”

“you heard me sweetheart,” he almost growled lowly into your ear. “get under the desk,” he was done with you playing games and trying to gain some control when he was the one in charge.

you looked at him, still not believing that he wanted you to do that. you thought he might wait until you get home but his expression was speaking in volume. you gulped nervously and turned to look at the door, now closed. but anyone could enter at any given moment. you turned back to face him, tilting your head back to voice some protest but he just gave you a stern nod.

“now,” his tone left no place for discussion and even though you’d never admit it, you felt a familiar tingle at the bottom of your stomach.

with a small sigh, you quickly put your hair up and got under his desk. a satisfied smirk graced his lips as he sat in his chair, spreading his legs to give you some room between them. you scooted closer on your knees, fixing your skirt to not get the light fabric dirty. however, the way your knees would be bruised later would be enough of a sign of your little visit to the sheriff’s office.

“go on,” he encouraged you, rubbing his bearded chin as he stared you down like a hawk. you already knew what to do and since you didn’t want to piss him off even more, only imagining what he would think of then, you began to unbuckle his belt, your small fingers fiddling with the leather. after struggling for a few seconds you finally did it and unzipped his pants, lowering them slightly to expose the bulge underneath. the grey fabric was already stained with precum as his dick was straining against the fabric, waiting impatiently to be freed.

you gasped quietly which made beau chuckle. however, he was soon the one to make a sound as a small moan escaped from his throat the moment you pulled his throbbing cock out. your eyes widened when you saw the pinky shaft in all its glory, the prominent veins throbbing under your fingertips and precum leaking from the tip. sheriff bit his lip to muffle any more sounds from coming out and drawing in any unwanted attention from outside the office.

“come on, sweetheart. you know what to do,” he rasped out, his voice gravelly with need.

you gave him a few firm strokes, trying to fit in your small grip. with your thumb, you spread the precum around and finally — after what felt like agonizing hours to beau, you took him in your mouth.

at first, it was just the tip as you swirled your tongue around it. only then, after teasing him enough, you felt bolder and moved closer, feeling him slide deeper into your throat. he inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring as he moved his hand to the back of your head, gripping your hair and impatiently pulling you closer. it made you gag slightly but you didn’t pull away, quite the opposite, you tried taking him in fully. and soon, you were bobbing your head up and down, as much as the desk allowed you to. he growled lowly, helping guide your movements as he tilted his head back, his legs spreading even further apart.

“good girl. you’re such a good girl, baby. you’re doing so well. just like that,” the way he praised you in that lust-driven voice only encouraged you to keep going. you skillfully moved your tongue, your pace relentless, as your nose bumped against him, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

soon, you felt him getting closer by the way he was twitching between your swollen lips covered in a mix of your drool and his sweet essence. his breathing picked up and he looked down at you with hooded eyes, his chest heaving and a few droplets of sweat trickled down his temple.

“i’m close, baby. keep going,” he gasped, the way he was talking almost as if he was out of breath.

you didn’t stop, too eager to please him which seemed to be what had driven him over that edge he was tethering on. but before he could tell you to pull away, as he always did, the door to his office opened.

he widened his eyes, looking up at hoyt and poppernak, trying to act his best as if nothing was happening. meanwhile, you widened your eyes when he finished in your mouth. you had no other choice but to swallow as he kept you close by the back of your head.

somehow, he managed to talk with his voice surprisingly steady and the two soon left his office. after he made sure that they were gone for good, he looked down at you as you pulled away, your lips puffed and messy. he chuckled lowly, wiping them with his thumb and letting you lick it clean.

“well, that was close,” he grinned stupidly as you helped tuck him back in his pants.

oh, you were going to get your revenge for that later.

THEE SMUT FAIRY IS BACKKKK YALL

@frosttbitessam special tag for my wifeyyy

༄♡ tags: @beausling @deanswidow @titsout4jackles @a1ecmcdowell @deansbeer @figthoughts @deansbite @aileenunfiltered @fitxgrld @angelicp0etry @hrtsoldierboy @10ava01 @abellmunsonmovie @momoewn

[wlwxreader]

Not a Crush

not my gif

Jackie Taylor x fem!reader

Summary: despite what the entire team thinks, Jackie doesn’t have a crush on you. So why does it make her skin crawl when she sees a guy trying to flirt with you?

Warning(s): jealous!Jackie, possessive!Jackie, oblivious!reader, pre-crash!Jackie, Nat being a little shit, simp!Jackie

Word count: 2.6k

Masterlist: tba

No matter how much the team teased her about it, Jackie Taylor did not have a crush on you.

Did she like your soft smile? Yes. Could she spend days on end listening to a recording of your cheerful and sweet laugh? Why, of course. Did her heart stop whenever you looked at her a second too long? Maybe, but it was only because she thought you were beautiful —in a platonic way.

She did not like you. She didn’t think of you every night before she went to bed. Nope. Not at all. And Nat could shove her own words up her ass, because she sure as hell wasn’t a simp for you.

Yeah, as if.

“Hey,” you waved your hand in the air as you walked towards the field. You had just changed into your football uniform, and looked around. “Is everyone ready for practice?”

“Yeah,” Nat said, stretching her arms. “We were waiting for you for like, I don’t know, ten minutes.”

“You’re the last one. You know what that means,” Van smirked at you, and if it wasn’t for Tai’s presence next to them, you would have walked over to smack them in the face.

“Gotta run for ten minutes around the field,” Lottie said in a singsong voice. You narrowed your eyes at her.

“I’m gonna get you, Matthews,” you threatened with mock anger.

“What’s going on?” Jackie, who had been talking to coach Ben about something, asked. Her smile grew a little bigger when she noticed you within the other team players, and you swear you heard Nat and Shauna giggle to each other.

“Y/N was last,” Nat said. “She has to run for ten minutes.”

“Okay, fine—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Jackie said. Her voice, always soft and bright, was commanding. She wasn’t the Jackie who played around anymore, she was captain Jackie, and everyone in the team knew it.

“What?” Van asked, offended. They looked between the both of you, mouth ajar. “That’s not fair! It’s a tradition you started, Jackie. Last one has in the field during practice has to run while the others train. Y/N was the last one today.”

“Enough, Palmer,” Jackie gave them a stern look. “Y/N was late because of me.”

You gave her a surprised look, taken aback by her lie. You should not have been bewildered, though— Jackie always had your back no matter what, using her easy charm to cover up for your slip-ups

“Making out before practice?” Nat asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Jackie’s cheeks turned a bright red color, but she didn’t dare to look at you. Instead, she clapped her hands together a few times, and everyone around sobered up.

“Divide yourself into two teams,” Jackie raised her voice. “Whoever team wins, gets to rest while the others run a lap.”

Everyone groaned, looking around to start to form the groups, trying to be as equitative as possible.

“Shauna, you’re captain of team green. Team blue is my team,” Jackie called, and the brown eyed woman nodded, wasting no time to craft the perfect team in her mind as she looked at everyone in the field.

“Okay, cool—”

“Y/N,” Jackie interrupted her best friend. “You’re on my team.”

“And in her heart,” whispered Nat.

Thankfully, neither Jackie nor you hear it.

If Jackie did not like you, she obviously also didn’t feel any ownership over you. She wasn’t jealous, she wasn’t possessive; there was no point in being those things, as you were both just two good friends.

But sometimes, someone would walk up to you and Jackie forgot her inner mantra, throwing it out the window of her mind. The person would smirk and lean in close, feigning they could not hear what you were saying, and Jackie would feel something dark and uncomfortable burning inside of her.

Sure, you weren’t hers, but that didn’t mean anyone had the right to talk to you, so obviously trying to flirt it was painful to observe.

They didn’t have the right because— because— well, because she said so.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jackie said, walking up to your locker. 

Her voice was high-pitched, and you turned to look at her. Anyone else would have thought nothing of her tone, but you knew her; it was the same voice she used when she wanted to be rude but knew she couldn’t.

“Hi, Jackie,” you said, completely forgetting about the man who was talking to you about the chemistry test you both had next week.

Jackie walked with purpose, and she stood in front of you. She wrapped her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into her body. You sighed in relief; it was starting to get cold, and her warmth was welcomed.

The woman smiled when you rested your head on her shoulder, and big green eyes twinkling as she started the man down.

“What were you talking about?” she asked, even though she wasn’t interested in the least. She knew how men were— she suffered their unwanted advances on the daily. It was all an act to get you on their bed.

“Oh,” the man said, clearing his throat. “We were discussing the next chemistry exam—”

“Well, I hope you study hard. Bye.”

You barely had time to close your locker before Jackie was pulling you away from that man.

“Hey— Jackie,” you complained, pulling your books closer to your chest. “What was that for?”

“That boy is a womanizer,” Jackie said through gritted teeth. “He just wanted to get in your panties.”

“You think?” you asked, turning slightly to look at the boy, who was leaning against your locker and staring at you. When he saw you looking back, he smirked and waved. “I think he just wants help studying.”

“You’re too naïve,” the blonde said. “He has tried that same trick with half the school.”

“Really?” you whispered conspicuously. “I thought he was just being friendly.”

Jackie shook her head, leaning in to kiss the side of your head. Her arm was still around you, and it made you walk awkwardly. You still didn’t complain.

“Boys are never friendly just because, Y/N,” she said. “They only got one thing on their mind.”

“Kissing?” you raised an eyebrow at her.

Jackie’s laugh could be heard all around the halls, a melodic sound that carried you out of the building.

“Every year it gets colder earlier,” you complained, shivering slightly.

“Are you cold?” Jackie asked, finally pulling away. You almost moaned in complain at the lack of warmth on your side, but before you could voice your discomfort, a weight was placed on your shoulders.

You looked to your side to see Jackie’s team letterman jacket resting over you. You smiled, putting your books in one hand to put the sleeve on.

“Thank you,” you said, with genuine gratitude. Jackie shook her head, simply reaching over to grab your books so you fully put on the jacket.

“Wanna hang out in the field?” she asked. Once you had the jacket on, she wrapped her arm around your shoulders again, because she wanted to but most importantly, because she could.

“The one time we don’t have to train, and you still wanna go over there,” you rolled your eyes, but followed her steps when she changed course.

She laughed again, turning to look at you. With bright big eyes, and lips pulled into a tight smile, you thought no one would ever be as pretty as she was.

As you walked, Jackie peaked behind you and saw the same man, looking over with frowned eyes. As she heard you talking about your day, she raised her arm enough for everyone to see the back of your jacket, where Taylor stood proudly over her team number.

She’s wearing my jacket, not yours. Dipshit.

To say she was ecstatic at his scolf was an understatement.

Yeah, she thought, let everyone know she only wears my number. Let everyone know she’s mine.

That time, she didn’t try to correct herself.

“I think Jackie has a crush on me.”

Van, who was tying up their cleats, stopped suddenly.

“Uh?” they asked, blinking a few times.

“I—” you cleared your throat, your cheeks suddenly turning red. “I think she might like like me.”

“Oh, shit,” Van said, rubbing their face.

“Did— did I say something wrong?”

“Yes!” Van let go of the laces, irritated. “You weren’t supposed to find out until November. You just lost me ten bucks!” they groaned. “Thanks, buddy.”

“What?” you gave them a puzzling look. “Wait— you have bet on me?”

“No,” Van waved their hands around. “Not on you. On your inability to see what’s happening right in front of your face, to be exact.”

“Okay, rude,” you said. “I’m not that oblivious.”

“Oh, no. Of course not,” Van said. Their tone was laced with sarcasm. “You joined the team two years ago, and only now you have realized.”

“Wait, she has liked me for two years?” you asked in a whisper.

“Duh,” Van gave you a long look. “Jesus, you’re a lost cause.”

“Screw you.”

“What made you realize?” Van asked, with genuine curiosity. They put their feet back down on the ground, leaning over the bench to look at you.

“She, um—” you looked around, making sure no one else was in the changing room. Feeling guilty over spilling such deep secrets, you moved over and sat down next to Van, so no one else would hear. “She kind of lied, the other day. So I wouldn’t have to run around the field.”

“She always lies,” Van scoffed.

“Jackie never lies,” you said, firmly. You gave the redhead a look, one that would have been threatening if it wasn’t coming from you. “She’s an honest person.”

Van chuckled. “She will lie to save your ass,” they said. “Because she’s the fattest crush on you.”

“Fuck,” you whispered.

After practice a week later, instead of going back to the changing room with the rest of the team, you grabbed Jackie and pulled at her hand, forcing her to move toward the bleachers. She went willingly, allowing you to take her wherever it was that you wanted her to be.

She would walk through fire if it meant holding your hand.

In a platonic way, of course.

“Jackie,” you said in a serious tone. You took a deep breath, and stared into big green eyes who looked back with passion. “We need to talk.”

She frowned her eyebrows, quickly picking up on your mood swing. “What’s wrong?” she asked, moving closer.

Jackie’s hand rested on your waist when she saw you starting to pull away. She hated it; hated whenever there was distance between the two of you. She wanted you close to her always, holding your hand and laughing with you.

“I think— I think you might be interested in someone.”

Jackie gave you a puzzling look. Her, being into someone? Not a chance.

“What are you talking about, Y/N?” She asked, as confused as she has ever been.

“Don’t make me say it, please,” you moaned, like a petulant toddler. “This is embarrassing.”

“Well, I can’t read your mind, can I?”

You looked away from her, incapable of looking into her eyes as you spoke.

“I think I might like someone, too.”

Jackie froze at your words. Her jaw dropped, eyes open so wide it looked like they might jump out of their sockets.

“You…” she gave a bewildered look. “You like someone?”

You nodded, and her hand tightened on your waist, as if she needed some support to keep her from falling over.

“This can’t be happening,” she whispered, closing her eyes. You gave her a concerned look.

“Jackie—”

“Is it that boy from the locker? The one who kept trying to flirt with you?”

“No. It’s…” you cleared your throat. “It’s not a boy.”

“Oh, no,” Jackie blinked away the white spots that were starting to form on her vision. “Nat? Tai? Or—” she gasped, looking at you accusingly. “Don’t tell me it’s Shauna.”

“Why would it be— No! It’s not Shauna.”

“It’s not?” she gave you a look. “Thank god.”

“It’s you,” you whispered.

“Me?” Jackie asked, trying to make sure she had heard you properly. “You like me. Me.”

“Yeah. I like you, Jackie.”

She leaned in close to you, looking at your lips. You closed your eyes, preparing yourself for her kiss. Instead, you felt her weight over you, literally on you.

“Jackie? Oh my god!”

Safe to say, it took the Yellowjackets over a month to get over the little spectacle you and coach Ben had pulled off when Jackie fainted.

You had wanted to keep it a secret, of course— Class Queen and captain of the football team, fainting because a girl had confessed their feelings to her? The rumor would be too juicy. But you also couldn’t control yourself when Jackie fell on top of you, eyes closed and mouth open, and it took you approximately ten seconds to take all the information in before you were screaming for help.

The help came in the form of Ben, who had come over running. He frantically looked at the team captain, laying on the grass as you fanned her with your hand, and he ran back inside to get Bill’s help.

It didn’t take long for the girls to come out of the changing room, and soon enough they pulled the pieces together; your conversation with Van they had told the entire team (which had led to Tai waving around fifteen ten dollar bills around the showers), your nervous attitude over practice, the tension they had felt before they left the two of you alone…

“Holy shit,” Nat said, smirking as you tried to wake Jackie up. “She fainted. She actually fainted.”

The story soon spread, faster and more explosive than gunpowder around fire. Soon enough, Jackie Taylor’s untaintable reputation got washed away by the new knowledge that she was a hopeless romantic.

Two months later, people would still whisper about Jackie whenever she walked down the corridors of Wiskayok High School.

“You think you will still be Class Queen after… what happened?” you asked, taking notice of how many students were staring at the two of you.

“Of course,” she smiled that charming smile you loved so much. “I’m Jackie Taylor, baby. This highschool would be nothing without me.”

“You’re too full of it,” you rolled your eyes.

She wrapped her arm around your waist, pulling you in close to her. She kissed your cheek, smiling.

“It doesn’t bother you?” you asked once you reached your locker. “Y’know, everyone still talking about it?”

“Let them talk. They aren’t mean, anyways,” Jackie said, raising her shoulders. You gave her a look; she would never notice just how many people thought ill of her. She thought too kindly of the world, but that made it two of you. “As long as it makes them talk about how you’re my girlfriend, I don’t care.”

You put the books you no longer needed back into your locker, and once you closed it, she pressed you against it.

When her lips pressed against yours, you stopped worrying about the whispers and the teasing from the team; Jackie was right.

Let them talk.

[krys4h]

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 ☆

summary◞﹒୧ Choso has a crush on his favorite customer at his vinyl shop, and he wants you bad.

contents◞﹒୧  7.4k words, fluff, nsfw, smut, au modern setting, vinyl shop au, vinylshopowner!choso, chubby!reader, thick!reader, singlemother!reader, fem!reader, shy!choso, praise, pet name (baby), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, doggy style, smut with plot, not proof read, minors dni.

────୨ৎ────

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

Choso wasn't a womanizer, and certainly not a seducer. He was a stoic man, always wearing an aloof expression, as if he didn't want to be here. When he found a girl pretty, he simply looked away, no emotion crossed his face and he continued his day as if nothing had happened. He wasn't a virgin, just not the most comfortable at flirting.

In high school, Yuuji had more success than him. This cheerful guy attracted all the girls, his smile was a powerful tool. Choso, he was way too shy to even approach a girl, and way too aloof to let himself be approached. 

So when you came into his vinyl shop, nothing could prepare him for the reaction, the wave of emotions that you were going to bring out in him. 

With your daughter in hand, you walked into the shop, looking at your surroundings. The vinyl shop was a little place decorated with multiple plants, and hundreds of music posters were plastered on the walls. From Destiny's Childs to Linkin Park, rock, jazz, rap, all genres of music were on the walls.

Right next to the cash register were vinyl turntables, where “Kiss of life” by Sade was playing. There were vintage CDs bins under the vinyl bins. There was a special charm to the place, and a sweet smell of jasmine enveloped the room.

Choso was writing something behind the cash register when he raised his head to look at his new customer, all the air in his lungs disappeared. It was like those moments that shape everyone's life.

Saying you were beautiful was an euphemism. You were drop dead gorgeous, shaped by God himself, an angel sent to earth to drive people crazy. It was a sunny day, the sun's rays penetrated the shop to illuminate your figure, and made your skin glow.

Wearing a black maxi skirt that reached down to your feet, it hugged every curve of your lower body to perfection. Your jewelry made noise with each of your steps, and Choso didn't know where to look, your belly chain called him just like the multiple long necklaces that came down in your cleavage. Your chest was enhanced by a close-fitting top, black like your skirt, the perfect ensemble for the shape of your body. Your stomach was bare and you proudly displayed the stretch marks of your pregnancy under your belly chains.

When you turned around to rummage through the vinyl bins, Choso had to make a superhuman effort not to stare at your ass, the tight fabric of your skirt perfectly fitting your curves. Instead, his gaze was lost in your back, your top was backless, and it was the sexiest sight he has seen. Seriously, who was that girl? He never saw someone so gorgeous. Your skin was glowing in the sun, and your jewelry accentuated the shining aura you had.

The image of your body and face was forever imprinted in his memory and he swears he was not the same man at that moment. It was like your beauty had short-circuited his brain.

“Hey,” you said softly, placing your forearm on the wood counter.

He raised his head and blinked. Two times. Three times. 

“I am looking for the vinyl of “Diamond life” by Sade. I didn’t see it in the “S” jazz section, are you maybe hiding it behind?” you smiled at him, and your hand pointing to the vinyl bins behind the counter.

Your eyes lingered on him. He was a very attractive man. Dark eyes and long black hair, there was something sexy about this combination. Dark locks of hair hid his forehead and framed his angular face, he had the hottest eyes, piercing and intense. Your hand intertwined with your daughter tightened as you looked at him. 

He blinked so many times, trying to regain control of his thoughts.

“Sade? Yeah, it’s kinda rare, but once in a while, we have some,” he shrugged, typing something on his computer, preferring to look at his computer screen rather than at you, because you made him nervous. “Sorry, we don’t have it today.”

“Aww, too bad. I like this band so much.”

Your daughter fidgeted, visibly disappointed, her cute eyebrows furrowed.  “They don’t have it ? But it’s a vinyl shop, I thought they would have all the vinyls in the world.” She pouted.

You chuckled softly, lowering your head and placing your hand on the top of her head.

“My daughter loves them too, as you can see,” you smiled at him.

Choso’s face softened, he thought your daughter was adorable. She looked exactly like you, like a mini you. He noticed the two of you had the same nails designs, yours in acrylics, and your daughter with simple nail polish. It was cute, honestly.

“Sorry miss, we don’t have all the vinyls of the world, but I’m sure nobody in Tokyo has my taste in music.” He took the pen he had been hiding behind his ear, grabbed a blank piece of paper, and leaned over the counter, looking thoughtful.

“Describe your type of music. Fav Genre, fav bands, and all.”

Your eyes widened, enthusiastic about talking about music.

“Oh, don’t get me started,” you laughed.

A ghost of a smile flashed Choso’s face.

“I’m not the type of person that lets his customers leave his shop with nothing.”

He started writing on the little piece of paper.

“Your like Sade, so you like Jazz, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m more in love with her person and her voice than the instruments. I love female singers who sing about love, poverty, and feelings.”

He looked up to you, seeing the fondness in your eyes as you talked about her. You were a real fan, and he liked that about you.

“I think I have something for you.” 

He stopped writing, and left the counter to go get some vinyl from the bins. You could admire his lean body, he had baggy black jeans, but his thighs looked muscular even from where you were standing. His shirt was tight on his torso, you could see the outline of his abs, and how his biceps were flexing as he searched into the bins. 

He found what he was looking for, and took the vinyl out of its packaging, to put it on the turntable next to him.

“Lauryn hill, To Zion. A song about her love for her child, with Carlos Santana. Amazing song, amazing vocals.”

The song began with guitar, and the soft voice of Lauryn Hill enveloped the shop. You swung your head gently to the sound of the music, and at the moment the chorus came where it went into high notes, you smiled at Choso.

“I love it, it’s such a cute song. Gonna make my daughter listen to it now,” you looked down at your daughter, and stroked her cheeks.

“I don’t listen to a lot of jazz to be honest. My favorite genre is mostly R&B, and rock. But soft rock, like Cigarette After Sex. I’m into rap too,” you explained as he came back behind the counter and picked up his pencil.

“Recent R&B or 90s?”

“Both. Love Brent Faiyaz, SWV and Aaliyah.”

“Good taste,” his praise made you all tingly.

He remained silent as he continued writing on the paper, and you leaned over to see what he was writing. As he did, your chest pressed against the counter, making it perkier, and when Choso raised his eyes, his cheeks heated up. With rosy cheeks, he continued what he was doing, trying not to stare too much at you, not wanting to look like a creep.

“There,” he handed to you the paper with a soft expression. “I hope you like it.”

You took the paper, and your eyes lit up at the number of artists and songs he had written on it. From recommending music from Aaliyah that you might like, to new artists like The Roots, Lauryn Hill, Erykah Badu, Jodeci… He had categorized each artist by genre, offering you alternative R&B with Frank Ocean to 90s R&B with Mint Condition, and rock with The Smiths. He had picked up on the fact that you liked female voices and had made a small category of female singers just for you, singers like Cleo Sol and Jill Scott.

“How did you know I could like Amy Winehouse?! I fucking love her!”

“Just a guess,” for the first time, his lips curled into a soft smile as he gazed at you. He was touched by your enthusiasm for music. You had that in common. 

Your heart raced, you were so thankful. You were already excited to go home, open Spotify or Itunes and listen to all his recommendations.

“Thank you so much, I’m not depressed anymore for Sade.”

“You see, sweetheart?” you bowed your head to pat your daughter’s head. “We have lots of new music to listen to together, thanks to him.”

Your daughter stood on tiptoe to look at the paper you held out and she giggled, happy.

You didn’t want to go now. You wanted to talk with him again about music, and wanted to know more about him and what he liked to listen to. To have a real discussion about music, not a commercial discussion. He was really good at sales and business, you were already thinking about coming back next week to find vinyls of the artists he had recommended to you.

As you made your way towards the exit, you were suddenly pulled back softly by the arm, Choso grabbing it. He moved so fast from the counter to stop you.

“Just one last thing,” he began, his cheeks rosy, “I’m totally not doing that to ask you out, I promise.”

You paused, tilting your head.

“What is it?”

“My brother has a bar. A bar specializing in jazz and r&b. He’s quite famous, and a lot of artists come and do mini concerts there. I thought you might like it.”

A smile flashed on your face.

“That’s so cool! Where is it?”

He gestured to the wall next to you where a poster for a chic bar was posted. “The Groove”, it was named.

“Thank you,” your smile widened, “I will definitely go there this week with some friends. We were looking for a quiet place in Tokyo, this is perfect.”

“Good.”

He seemed shy, as if the contact of your skin burned him so he hastily let go of your arm. 

“So…”

“See you soon? I’m definitely coming back!!! I’m gonna make a tierlist of all your recommended songs.”

His gaze softened, and he chuckled, putting his hands in his pockets. You were pretty, funny and has good taste in music. He was starting to have a horrible crush on you.

“See you soon.”

────୨ৎ────

𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 - 𝐪𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐚

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

Choso’s music taste was so good. 

You had listened to all the recent albums by the artists he had recommended to you, and listened to all the songs he had written down on paper, and all of them were a bop. You had come back to the vinyl shop to find the vinyls of your new favorite artists and to give him your opinion on his recommendations. In the end, it had become a habit. You always came all happy in search of new vinyl and he always prepared a paper with new artists to discover.

Choso liked you. You were his secret crush. He waited impatiently for the day of the week when you were going to pass by, the similar heat invading him when he caught a glance of your hair in the sun in the entrance of the shop. He liked your voice, which always got excited to talk about music, and softened when you talked about your daughter, he liked your clothing style, you took his breath away every time you passed by the shop with an outfit that revealed the shape of your body. He liked talking to you, answering your daughter's curious questions. He liked you.

You liked him too, to be honest. He was fine as hell, you remembered precisely the day he had carried vinyl bins and how his shirt had ridden up, revealing tattoos on his hips and lean abs. He had tattoos on his neck, his hips, his arms, everywhere. You had memorized all his piercings, one in his nostril, many in his ears, and one in his eyebrow. He was always dressed in black, and he looked good like that.

He was passionate about music and knowledgeable about his subject. You could spend hours listening to him talk, and watch him put vinyl on the turntable so you could hear his recommendations. The problem was that you only talked about music when you wanted to know a little more about him. Know the meaning of his tattoos, what music he listened to when he was sad, how he got into music, his name. You wanted to know more about him as a person. 

You were listening to some Frank Ocean song when your friend Mina called you. You stopped doing the dishes, dried your hands, and took the call.

“Hey,” you softly said, and you were greeted by her enthusiasm.

“I’m on leave!! My boss is going to leave me alone for the week, time to go out and have fun girl!”

You burst out laughing in your kitchen, listening to your friend energetically tell how she finally had some time off after months, and wanted to celebrate with you. You worked from home to be close to your daughter, so you had a lot of free time compared to her who worked for a big company that was stingy on vacations. 

���You don’t leave your house often, I'm gonna get you out of here!”

“I'm leaving my place to do grocery shopping, and search for vinyls,” you remind her as you dries the dishes.

“Boooh, that’s so lame,” you could picture her rolling her eyes at the other end of the phone line, and you chuckled.

“Wait, I didn’t tell you about the cute guy I met-”

“Drop the tea!!! It’s been years since you talked about a man, I’m excited!”

You told him everything from the beginning, until today when he lent you a book about jazz and all the greatest artists of the genre.

“He’s definetely in love with you,” she stated and you laughed.

“Please.”

“You got a whole man bending over the counter to write playlists for you every week. And he gave you a book. Sounds like the beginning of a love story to me.”

You sighed, amused by her. It was true his actions were cute, but being in love with you ?

“He’s so fine, he can’t be single.”

“Tell me more about him. I bet he look like an emo kid.”

You paused, laughing you ass off. 

“What the fuck?”

“You think I don’t know you ? Your type is men with long hair, tattoos and piercings.”

“You just described him.”

“See?” she chuckled.

“Okay, maybe… Maybe, it’s true. But he’s more like a punk kid than emo. There is a lot of punk bands in his shop,” you said as you were cleaning the sink with one hand, and the other holding the phone.

“Whatever, the two of you are a match in heaven. Don’t sabotage this, I beg you.”

“Sabotage?”

She sighed, and her voice was hesitant.

“You know what I mean. You always sabotage your relationships before they could grow.”

“You mean me being having standards for me and my daughter and taking no shit?” you frowned.

It was true since your daughter's father left you, not wanting to raise a child, you were very careful about who you trusted. You didn't want your daughter to get used to seeing different men hanging around the house, so you avoided bringing your dates home, and you were very demanding. Your daughter's safety was what worried you the most, and you didn't want to bring just anyone home. 

“Not that. More like your trust issues ruining the relationships.”

“I found out my last date had a criminal record for sex trafficking, sorry to be careful now,” you mumbled, a bit irritated by the way she was judging you. She was your friend, but she didn’t know what it was to have a child.

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah. But enough talking about this,” you said, waiting to drop the subject. “My daughter is at my mom’s house. I’m free tonight if you want to drink something,” you smiled.

Explosion of happiness on the other end of the line, you moved the phone a little away from your ear while Mina screamed in joy. You were grateful to have a friend like her. She was honest, enthusiastic, and took time to check on you every month, to see how you were doing alone with your child. She could be a little blunt at times, but she was caring in her own ways. 

Suddenly, you reminded something. 

“I think I have the perfect bar for us.”

────୨ৎ────

“The Groove” was a chic bar, located next to a park. The walls were made of brick and covered with paintings by world-famous artists. There were large sophisticated lamps that dimly lit the bar, creating a sensual atmosphere. The room was built so that the stage was in the middle and the tables and chairs were placed around it. The bar counter was rounded, everything was made of wood, the counter and the tables, while the chairs were made of vintage fabric with flower patterns on them. 

Choso occasionally worked for his brother Yuuji, when there was a shortage of waiters. He stood behind the bar counter, wiping glasses with a dishcloth, when he looked up to see who had come in. He froze in place when he saw you. Just you, he was staring at only you, and didn't even acknowledge your friend. You stole all his attention.

Dressed in a long dress that touched the floor, you walked into the room, amazed by the lamps around you. Artists played the saxophone on the stage, and you were immediately immersed in the atmosphere of the jazz bar. Your black dress was elegant, and the neckline deep. It was a completely black dress with no artifice but a bare back. Simple, elegant, perfect for going to the bar.

Yet, you were stunning in his eyes. The same heat arose in his body, as every time he saw you. As you walked in the bar and soon arrived at the counter, his brain was thinking fast. He was almost done with his shift, and he will be damned if he didn't take the opportunity to talk to you for real, get to know you, or even flirt with you. Shit. He wasn't a seducer, he didn't know what he had to do to seduce you, but he wanted you bad.

Your eyes widened when you saw Choso behind the counter bar. You nudged your friend.

“What?” 

“The cute guy I was talking about is literally just here,” you whispered in a tense voice.

She looked at the direction you were looking and her eyes lit up.

“You have so much taste in men, damn. He’s so-”

You nudged her again, not wanting to play along.

“Stop it, be normal. Please,” you mumbled as you approached the counter.

“You didn’t tell me you worked here,” you placed your hands on one of the high chairs at the bar, a polite smile on your face.

It was at this moment that Choso noticed that you weren't alone, and he looked at your friend, who also had a long golden dress, which was the perfect match with her dark brown skin.

“You didn’t ask me,” he simply said as he continued to wipe his glasses. “It’s nice to see you here, what would you like to drink?”

His voice was nonchalant but inside his heart were racing. The thing about Choso was that he was shy in places and situations where he was not in control. His vinyl shop was his safe place, music was his favorite subject, he was in something he knew perfectly. But seeing you here, at his brother's bar, was something else entirely.

“Two mojitos please,” your friend said softly, and begin to walk towards the table area. “I leave you alone,” she whispered in your ear before leaving. 

You were grateful, and smiled at her, before your attention was back on Choso.

“You never told me your name.”

“Choso. Choso Kamo,” he started to do your drinks. “And you?”

You said your name, and he repeated it softly, to see how it rolled on his tongue.

“It’s pretty. Like you.”

“Did you just compliment your customer?” you smile widened.

“You’re not my customer here, I can do whatever I want with you.”

Was he flirting with you? You didn’t know but you liked where this conversation was going. You leaned against the counter.

“Does that mean we can ask ourselves questions that have nothing to do with music?”

“Like, can you wait for me before you leave with your friend? I’m almost done with my shift, and I’d like to talk with you.”

He was bolder and bolder, and you liked it. Your cheeks ached from smiling, and you nodded.

He gave you your drinks, and his eyes lingered on yours for a moment as yours hands touched each other when you took the drinks. You felt hot under his gaze, and you felt his eyes on you on your back even when you walked toward when your friend were sitting. 

────୨ৎ────

His shift was over and he had to go home but he was sitting on the high chairs at the counter bar, his eyes still on you. He was already thinking about what he was going to say to you when he was alone with you, and his legs were shaking with nervousness.

“What are you waiting for?” Yuuji said, who was making cocktails behind the counter.

“A girl.”

“A girl ?!” Yuuji’s eyes widened with surprise.

Choso never talked about girls, crushes or conquests. He was too shy to do anything with a girl. So Yuuji was surprised.

“She’s here?”

“Shut up,” Choso’s cheeks grew rosy, and Yuuji chuckled.

“You’re whipped,” Yuuji smirked.

Just at that moment, he heard a chair scrape the floor and turned his head toward you. Your friend was picking up her bag, ready to leave. This was his moment, he thought. He stood up from the high chair, took a few strides, and came to your table. He didn't look you in the eye as he sat down where your friend was.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey.”

The moment you were waiting for the most was here. A slight silence settled between you. It wasn't awkward, you were busy watching the artists play the saxophone in front of you. The melody gently enveloped the room. You were far from drunk, but a little tipsy, and smiled like an idiot.

“You're really pretty tonight,” Choso broke the silence first.

His eyes scanned your figure from head to toe, to remember it better later. He tried not to fix his eyes too much on your chest.

You turned your head towards him with a soft expression.

“Thank you,” you sipped your drink a little.

You acted calm, but inwardly you were nervous and you struggled to hold your glass steadily. It's been a while since you flirted with someone, you were too busy with your job and your daughter to do that.

Another silence.

“You…”

“So…”

You start your sentence at the same time and Choso chuckled softly.

“I'm not good at that,” he confessed, his voice low.

“Neither I am.”

“Really, though? I’m actually surprised you let me flirt with you.”

“What do you mean?”

He leaned his body over the table, moving closer to you.

“I mean,” he whispered, as if it was a secret, “a beauty like you can't be single, or am I just incredibly lucky today?”

Your stomach warmed.

“You're surprisingly really smooth for someone bad at this.”

“You're not answering the question,” he grinned, and you paused, admiring how his smile lit up his whole face.

“I’m single.”

“My lucky day.”

“Who said I was interested?”

“I will make you interested.”

You let out a soft chuckle.

“Confident, aren’t you?” you teased him.

He was anything but that. Under the table, he rubbed his sweaty hands on his jeans, his heart pounding. He was going to do things right, and had the goal of having at least your number by the end of the night. Or give you his, he was still hesitant.

“Tell me more about you. I can name your top 3 Spotify artists but I don’t even know your favorite color.”

“I'm a graphic designer who works at home, and I love reading romance books.”

“Graphic design? You make posters?”

You nodded.

“I work for a startup and do advertising. I make their posters, flyers. Pretty much everything visual for the brand.”

Choso listened to you attentively.

“Cool. I bet you must have favorite fonts.”

You let out a small laugh. He liked the sound so much and wanted you to always make it in front of him. 

“Yeah, but nothing could beat New Times Roman. She's a badass,” you joked.

You talk to him about work for a few minutes, telling him what you like best about your job, what you like least, and how much fun it is to do it from home. Choso took the time to listen without interrupting you, nodding his head from time to time. You felt like he was interested in everything you said so you spoke without censorship. He had trouble looking you in the eye so his eyes darted to the side at times or he looked at the stage.

“It's cool how you're so passionate about everything.” He leaned against the back of his chair. “Your eyes are always bright when you talk about something you care about.”

“Really?”

You had never noticed this side of yourself.

“Yeah, it's cute. Your daughter is the same.”

Nothing could prepare you for the effect it had on you. It was a little thing, but it softened you, and warmth released in your belly.

“You're becoming a softie everytime I mention your daughter,” his eyes softened.

“You're really observant, it's scary.”

“I’ve been staring at you since you came to the shop. You steal all my attention.”

You were having trouble inhaling. He was going to make you shy if he kept this up.

“Enough talking about me, it’s your turn.” you decide to change the subject.

“You know my job already.”

“Your life is your job?”

“Pretty much. It’s my safe place. My hobby, my passion,” he said firmly. “My life is music.”

“What’s the last concert you went to recently?”

“Cigarettes After Sex.”

“Oh my god! Tell me about it.”

He smiled gently.

“It was amazing.”

“Of course it was, you’re so lucky to have managed to get tickets.”

“When you work in the music industry, it’s easier.”

You continued to talk about everything and nothing. Choso was easy to talk to, and he was a good listener. You learned more about him, about his bond with his brother Yuuji, what studies he had done or not done since he had dropped out of college to start his own thing, his shop. That was why his shop was so important to him, it was the realization of hard work and his biggest dream.

“I had to make a lot of sacrifices for my shop, dropping out of college was scary. It was like taking a plunge into the unknown.”

Empathy filled your eyes.

“I get that. It’s like your little baby, your shop. I was scared too when I got my daughter.”

“Are you raising her alone?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, “Her father didn’t want her.”

You confided in me about intimate things, but you felt comfortable with Choso. There was a connection with him, something inexplicable that bound the two of you together. You felt like you could tell him anything.

“What’s it like raising a child alone, not too tired?”

“Let’s just say my life revolves around her now, everything I choose for myself will have consequences for her. I can’t have fun dating just anyone, I think about how it might affect her,” you said with a thoughtful expression, looking down at your glass.

You told Choso how you had been through your pregnancy alone, and confided in him about the postpartum depression you had been experiencing. Choso listened to you attentively, he seemed really interested in what you said, and it put you at ease. It felt good to talk to someone other than Mina. You discussed current events, music, and books. It was a nice evening for the two of you where you felt safe with each other. You could be vulnerable with him.

Before leaving the bar, Choso had slipped a piece of paper with his number on it onto the table. He hadn’t looked you in the eye during the movement, staring at his knees. You found the action cute, finding it cute that he was so shy when he had been hitting on you all evening. You took the paper and put it in your bag.

Choso walked you towards the exit, his hand on the small of your back. His touch made everything tingly.

“It was a nice evening, Choso.”

“I hope this isn’t the last between us.”

You turned to him, a soft smile on your face.

“I can consider the idea.”

“Take your time, I’m all yours,” he whispered just near your ear and goosebumps spread across your skin.

Leaving the bar, the cold air outside made you shiver and you rubbed your arms. You turned to Choso still with your stupid smile because of the alcohol.

“So…”

“I’m walking you home,” Choso’s voice was firm, it wasn’t a question. “You’re tipsy and a woman alone in the night.”

You had no objection, and found his concern endearing. He took off his leather jacket to gently place it on your shoulders and you were melting inside. You continued to chat into the night, walking side by side.

You really liked Choso. He was a kind, passionate and caring man, who was close to his family and serious in his work. He had let you confide in him about your deepest pain concerning your daughter, and you didn't want it to stop there. You were planning on using his number, and seeing where this connection could lead you. Mina's voice came back into your head, advising you to stop ruining your relationships, and for the first time in a long time, you told yourself that she was right, and that you didn't want to ruin that connection with Choso.

But when you arrived in front of your house, you didn't know if it was the alcohol that made you act or the hidden desire you felt for him that resurfaced, your lips acted on their own when he lowered his head towards you to say goodbye. You gently pressed your lips against him, and he froze on the spot.

────୨ৎ────

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞  - 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

You traced his bottom with the edge of your tongue, and he let out a soft sigh, his lips parted. If you wanted a kiss, he was going to give it to you. He was waiting for that all night long. He sucked in a breath, lips itching for passion, and brushed his tongue against yours as his hands gripped the back of your head, bringing you closer to him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, and tangled your tongue with his. At first the kiss was gentle, teasing then it quickly became hungry, intense. He was craving you. You don't know how you get into the building, all you focused on was how he was ravishing your mouth while grinding his hips against yours, his length hard and needy in his pants. You pressed the elevator button then your floor number, and let out a soft moan as Choso pinned you against the elevator wall, continuing to kiss you with ardor and voracity.

He placed his arms under your ass, lifting you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. You rocked your hips against him, your lower half throbbing in need for friction. He slammed you against the elevator wall with each of his thrusts. Your hands in his back, you gripped at his shirt while you were panting against his lips. It’s been months since you did that with someone, your head was on fire. The elevator went up as you rubbed against each other, kissing.

The elevator stopped at your floor, and you stepped away from Choso for a few seconds, catching your breath.

“Follow me,” you took his hand in yours, and led him with you to your apartment. He followed behind you, his eyes on your ass. He wasn’t shy anymore, you had awakened a burning fire in him that he was waiting to release. You took out your keys to open the door but your hands were shaking. This was the first time you had brought a man home since you had your daughter.

“Where is your room?” he pinned you against the door once you were inside the apartment and lifted you again, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“At the back on the right.”

He carried you to your bedroom while pressing soft kisses on your jaw. Arrivé dans ta chambre, il te jeta sur le lit. Tu te redressais sur tes coudes, looking at him.

“Your daughter isn’t here?”

“She’s at her grandmother’s.”

“Perfect,” he said, rubbing his hands together and the action made you laugh. He looked like a child about to unwrap a Christmas present. Even though it was funny, it was making you kind of nervous, your heart raced.

“Choso, I…”

“What is it ?” his eyes softened as they roamed your figure on the bed. He noticed the little shaking of your hands. He walked forward and placed one knee on the bed.

“It’s been so long since I did this, I don’t know if…”

He bent over, took your hand and placed it on his chest, on his heart. You felt the rapid beats under your palms. 

“I’m as nervous as you,” his voice was tender, “I’m not that experienced, I’m afraid of making mistakes, and ruining the moment. But as you can feel it, I’m excited as fuck. I want to do this.”

He lowered his head just above yours, his gentle eyes roving over your figure on the bed.

“So, can you trust me?”

Lips pressed against yours, he ravaged your mouth. His kiss was feverish, hungry. Your lips molding against each other, tongue brushing against each other, the atmosphere quickly became sensual and intense. Your hands caressed his arms, gripped as his shirt when he nuzzled your neck to press soft kisses against it.

“I always wanted to see your tattoos,” you whispered, turning your head to give him more room to kiss you.

“You do?” Choso smiled against your skin, his tongue licking at a spot on your neck. You shivered at the sensation.

He straightened himself, knees on the bed. He took off his shirt, and your eyes widened at the amount of tattoos he had on his chest and arms. You lifted a hand to touch them, hypnotized. 

“Do they have any special meanings?”

“No, I liked the drawings.” He took your hands and let it roam on his skin.

His skin was smooth, you were taking in the sight of him, shirtless in front of you, his muscles flexing with each of your touch. He looked like a fallen angel. An extraordinary beauty, complex and dark with ink on his skin, and his long black hair.

“Let me see you too,” he murmured and tugged at your dress.

You flinched, hesitant. This was going to be the first time a man saw you naked after your pregnancy. You couldn’t help but be invaded by insecure thoughts about your body. You hadn’t yet lost the weight gained during pregnancy, and working from home, you weren’t getting much exercise. You had the “mom bod” that people online liked to criticize. Choso noticed your expression and bent over again, cupping your face. His touch was gentle.

“What is it?”

“It’s embarrassing,” you chuckled uncomfortably.

“Tell me.”

He looked so good just above you, you were almost jealous of him. You looked away, not knowing how to explain what you were feeling. His eyes narrowed as he looked at you.

“I want to hear it, even if it's embarrassing,” he whispered softly, not backing down. 

“It’s been a while, that’s all.”

He gently eased the straps of your dress down your arms, and you flinched without wanting it.

“You’re sure you want it?”

Your stomach dropped, feeling guilty. You were ruining this.

“Of course I do, it’s just…”

God, it was so frustrating. You didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of him and call yourself fat, you didn’t want to seem like you needed attention. Raising a child alone has taught you to be independent, to not rely on others, so why did you feel so weak right now? You were worth more than this.

“Leave it to me,” Choso whispered, his voice soft and reassuring, and you were grateful to have come across someone so gentle with you.

He nuzzled against your neck again, kissing the sensitive flesh. As he was wandering his lips on your skin, his hands were busy removing your dress. He removed each layer of clothing gently and patiently, his touch soft on your skin.  With the dress off, all you had left was your underwear. Your heart was pounding, and you fought the need to cover your breasts with your arm. As you breastfed your daughter, your breasts were a bit saggy and was your biggest insecurity. 

His eyes never left your face, his head went down and down, kissing your shoulders, your collarbones, and then your chest. Goosebumps spread across your flesh as the cold air of the room brushed your skin. He wrapped his tongue around one of your nipple and sucked it. You arched your back on the bed, dipping your hands in his hair. He revelled in the pleasure he could make you feel.

Tits stuffed in his mouth, his hands wandered around your thighs, teasing you. His palms were dangerously close to an area that was yearning for his touch. You let out a soft moan when his fingers started to caress your center. He shivered at the sound, and continued his caresses on your clothed cunt. His index and his middle fingers moved back and forth at the wet spot on the underwear, and he smiled against your skin as he felt you squirming under him.

He didn't torture you for long, as he slid his fingers under your thong to finger you better. His elbow on the bed, he kept his eyes on your face as he pushed his fingers in and out, the soft squelch of your pussy enveloping the room. He took pleasure just by looking at you squirming and gasping for air, hearing your soft pleas. You tugged at his hair, as you rocked your hips against his hands, chasing your orgasm. You were so close, you needed a little more.

“Cho’,” you were a mess, moaning his name as his thumb rubbed against your clit.

“I know, I know,” Choso sucked on your nipple, his fingers thrusting in and out your center, his hands sticky by your arousal.

There was something magical about having your tits eaten while being fingered. It was an incredible, intoxicating feeling that washed over you as you came on his fingers. For a second, you forgot about your insecurities and were overcome by pleasure. 

Choso didn’t waste time, and quickly took off his jeans and boxers, and threw them somewhere in the room. He was so excited, his cock was throbbing. 

“Wait,” you stopped him, coming down from your high.

You sat up to grab a condom from your nightstand and handed it to him. A deep, low laugh rumbled in his chest as he took it.

“My bad, I almost forgot.”

He put the condom on and positioned himself between your legs. He looked up to take in the sight of you lying on the bed for him. He saw the stretch marks that you proudly displayed, your saggy breasts that made you self-conscious, and the parts of your body that were thick and round, and he fucking loved it. Electric feeling sparked across his body as he gazed at you with feverish eyes. You were so fucking sexy that he couldn’t wait to ravish you. He had always told himself that he did not have a type of girls in his life, but as he looked at your chest rising and falling, he thought that his type was you. He wanted all of you, and it was with the intention of driving you crazy with pleasure that he lined his throbbing cock with your entrance, and slammed into you.

You jolted, a moan of pain slipping out of your mouth. He was so big, and was making you feel full, you needed time to adjust at his length.

“Sorry,” he whispered as he rubbed his thumb on your clit to relax you.

He pushed in and out in a slow motion, giving time to adjust. When he noticed your expression was relaxed, he started to picking up the pace of his thrusts. His hands gripped your love handles to hold you in place and you were flustered by his animality. He was going to fuck you stupid, you knew that.

“You’re so beautiful, it’s a crime that you’re not married to me and I can’t fuck you like this everyday.”

You wanted to answer to him but you were panting, and struggled to even articulate a sentence as he pounded into you. He was fucking you stupid, the shy and gentle Choso wasn’t here anymore and all that remained was the wild creature he was becoming because of you. He was fucking you to oblivion, his cock rutting into you. Lewd and wet noises enveloped the room.

“You hear how good I am making you feel, baby? If you were mine, I would let you feel like this everyday,” he breathed out. 

In pure bliss, his eyes roamed your figure on the bed, your tits and other parts of your thick body jiggling and bouncing because of his hard thrusts, and he felt in heaven. That was what he wanted in his life. He turned you around, your chest pressing against the mattress, and your ass up. Nervous, you turned your head to look at him behind you but he pushed your head against the pillow as he grew more dominant and slammed his hips against your ass. Your whole body jolted and you moaned into the pillow, gripping it in your hands. 

“That ass is to kill for,” he grunted as he gripped your love handles even tighter, and he was becoming dizzy as he looked at your ass ricochetting on his pelvis with each of his thrusts. He slapped your ass with force, and soft pleas left your mouth. 

He completely ravaged your body, fucking you with force and intensity from the back. Gasping for air, you rolled your eyes to the back of your head, moaning helplessly into the pillow as you were close. Even when you came, he didn’t stop. He continued to pound into you as if it was his last mission on earth, and when he finished, you had no strength anymore in your body. 

────୨ৎ────

“I’m not casual about you,” he whispered softly in your hair, “I'll scare you if you knew everything I imagine with you.”

A soft chuckle escaped your mouth. Lying on the bed together, legs intertwined, bodies sweating, and slowly catching your breaths, you relaxed together.

And you imagined a life where Choso were yours, and you felt happy in his arms.

𓍯 𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬

[regressionschool]

not fun anymore

Ella stared at the pastel pink walls of her nursery, her hands gripping the wooden edge of the changing table. The room was everything she used to dream about: soft carpets, shelves overflowing with plush toys, and stacks of colorful diapers with adorable prints. A few months ago, she couldn’t stop smiling, giddy at the thought of giving up adulthood for good.

But now, as she shifted her weight, the soggy bulk between her legs made her frown.

“Ella, are you okay?” The voice came from behind her—Mommy, standing with a fresh diaper in one hand and a container of wipes in the other.

Ella sighed, glancing over her shoulder. “It’s just... it used to be fun, you know?” She gestured vaguely at her surroundings. “I liked playing pretend, being babied, feeling... carefree. But now, it’s not pretend anymore. I don’t have a choice.”

MOmmy stepped closer, setting the supplies on the table. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

Ella shifted again, her cheeks flushing. “I can’t hold it anymore, Mommy. I didn’t even notice until... until it happened.” She glanced down at the drooping diaper around her hips. “It’s like my body’s forgotten how to be... normal.”

“Sweetheart,” Mommy cooed softly, “this is your normal now. There’s no need to feel embarrassed or upset. You wanted this, remember?”

Ella bit her lip, the memory of her excitement flooding back. She had begged Mommy to help her let go, to take care of her fully. It had felt like a dream—no responsibilities, no worries, just Mommy’s love and the soft embrace of her Pampers. But now, the loss of control felt heavier than the diaper she wore.

“I didn’t think it would feel like... this,” Ella admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mommy smiled gently and brushed a strand of hair from Ella’s face. “Change is always a little scary, my sweet girl. But you’re doing so well. Mommy’s here to make sure you’re always taken care of. You don’t need to think about those big grown-up worries anymore. You’re my baby, through and through.”

Ella opened her mouth to protest but stopped as Mommy reached for another diaper from the stack on the shelf. She unfolded it with practiced ease and began laying it over the already soggy one she wore.

“Mommy, wait, aren’t you going to change me first?” Ella asked, her voice tinged with confusion.

Mommy shook her head with a soft chuckle. “Not yet, darling. This will help you get used to the feeling. Babies don’t worry about whether they’re wet or dry—they just let Mommy handle it. And you’ll learn to do the same.”

Ella felt the second diaper being snugly taped into place, the bulk now even more pronounced. Her cheeks burned, but there was something oddly comforting about the weight of it, about Mommy’s calm, patient care.

“There,” Mommy said, patting the front of the double-layered diaper. “All snug and safe. Now let’s get you back to playing, little one. Mommy will change you when it’s time.”

Ella hesitated, then nodded slowly, letting Mommy guide her back toward the soft playmat in the corner. Maybe, just maybe, she could let herself trust Mommy’s words—and stop worrying about what she couldn’t control.

[paceprompting]

cinnamon buns

written for ‘christmas’ | wc: 736 # | steddie | rated: t | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: post season four, pre-relationship, fluff, steve has a crush on eddie, and vice versa, christmas together

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Wayne always managed to get Christmas off. Every year.

Eddie didn’t know what exactly he promised in return to manage it, but ever since little eight-year-old Eddie Munson shuffled into the trailer to live with his uncle, every Christmas had been theirs.

Wayne always woke up first, setting out the presents collected throughout the year and hidden under his bed—and Eddie hadn’t peeked since that first year—nursing his first cup of coffee while in his pajamas until Eddie emerged.

When he was still little, he’d bum-rush the tree and tear open the presents, but soon the little traditions emerged.

Playing Rudolph and Year Without a Santa Claus on VCR tapes that survived years of rewatches, but no interdimensional portals.

Cinnamon buns from tins for breakfast, always burnt around the edges and covered in icing—but they split the best one from the middle.

And the last present was always, always Wayne’s. It took several years for Eddie’s wrapping skills to actually look like the box he was wrapping, but Wayne never said a word.

It was one of those Christmases that Eddie got his first set of dice.

Government hush money bought a decent house for them, with real insulation and top-of-the-line boiler. Just in time for Christmas. Wayne actually had a real hiding place for the presents this time, and no matter how hard Eddie had looked, he’d have to wait until next year to find it.

They could get real lights, too. Not just the couple of strings that wouldn’t overload the trailer’s generator.

They also had to, since those lights were carted off to some Area 51 with the rest of the things the government wanted to pretend had never happened until maybe they could use it to their own benefit.

One other thing had changed this Christmas, too.

There were three of them this year.

Eddie heard the crunch of tires on asphalt from the kitchen. He was supposed to be setting up the ham to go in the oven—which he’d never done in his life, yet he’d volunteered—and he’d only gotten as far as preheating the oven.

So, he headed straight for the front door, sans any sort of jacket or shoes.

Eddie had hated the cold most of his life.

When you lived in a metal box with shitty heating on a good day, the cold months meant shivering through showers, mainlining coffee just to be warm for a couple minutes and layering blankets because sweating was better than losing a toe.

But there was something about Steve Harrington in the cold.

Or, more specifically, in the snow.

He eased out of the driver’s side of the Beemer, running a hand through his hair. His shoulders filled out the blue denim of his jacket, which matched his jeans—which stretched over his pert butt.

Not that Eddie was looking. For too long.

Maybe Eddie liked the cold a little bit more now.

But the whole reason Steve had bent over in the first place was to bring out a few things from his backseat. He held them behind his back as he straightened, and Eddie pouted as he trudged through the snow onto the porch.

His cheeks were pink when joined Eddie by the front door, ducking his head as he offered a hello.

“Hey, Eds,” he said.

Eddie leaned over to try and peer at what Steve had behind his back, eyes widening when Steve brought out a Tupperware that looked like it had several stacks of cookies, warm enough to steam up the inside.

“For me?” he asked, raising his brows.

Steve let him take the cookies with no comment.

“No, I thought it’d be rude not to bring something.” He shrugged, and it took Eddie a moment to realize that his other arm was still bent behind him. Eddie stared pointedly, and Steve smiled before revealing a more Christmas-y gift—in red and green plaid wrapping paper and white ribbon. “This is, though.”

Eddie immediately swapped cookies for the present, holding it close with a wide grin.

Steve cocked his head, sliding his hands (probably cold) into his pockets. “You’re not going to open it?”

He propped his present on his hip and reached forward to grab onto Steve’s wrist. With probably wild eyes, Eddie met Steve’s gaze, waited until Steve leaned forward just a bit and said, with every bit of seriousness, “We haven’t had the cinnamon buns, yet.”

[ylangelegy]

new traditions 💍 joshua x reader.

it's christmas day and joshua still loves you.

★ fiancé!joshua x reader. ★ word count: 1.3k ★ genre/warnings: fluff, talk about marriage/weddings. heavily inspired by toneejay's bagong tradisyon. ★ footnotes: this is a quick one (a 1/2, if you will), but it's a christmas gift for the first friend i made on here. @chugging-antiseptic-dye, it's a privilege being a carat the same time as you! i offer you your husband (literally), and one of the songs that you & i bonded over. i'm in your corner all the way across the sea. 💌

The brass of the apartment key is cold between your fingers.

You turn it over, absentmindedly tracing its biting and shoulder. This is one of two copies; the original remains in Joshua’s safekeeping.

Speak of the devil, you muse when you hear his faint call of “Love?” from the living room. 

You tear yourself out of your thoughts enough to pocket the key and pad out of the apartment’s one bedroom. What greets you is a sight for sore eyes. Cardboard boxes strewn across the floor, luggage bags practically bursting at the seams. 

In the middle of it is Joshua. Your Joshua. 

After all these years, you’re not any less accustomed to the sight of him— even if it is just him in a black, ribbed tank top. He had opted to dress down, knowing that moving day would entail a lot of hauling and organizing. 

When you step into the room, the initial look of frustration on his expression gives way to something more affectionate. This is what his friends constantly teased him about— how Joshua was so damn soft for you.

It didn’t matter. It was a feeling you reciprocated, anyway. 

“Love,” he starts as he gets to his feet. From the look of it, he had been sorting through the cutlery. “Where did you pack the mugs?” 

You gingerly step through the fort of boxes, your eyes skipping over the tape bearing the contents of each carton. “Should be with the plates,” you note. “It was one of the last boxes you brought in.” 

Joshua lets out a thoughtful hum. In the next five minutes, he finds exactly what he’s looking for. 

“Thank you,” he says distractedly. “Love you.” 

There it was. The easy, unconscious way in which Joshua would dole out those words. It didn’t matter where the two of you might be, whether you were with friends or if it was just the two of you. 

Ordering takeout? I’ll have a pizza. Love you. Visiting his parents’ house? Shop with mom for a bit, ‘kay? Love you. Falling asleep together after a long day? A yawn, and then a quiet exhale. Love you.

To Joshua, loving you was as much of a given as breathing. 

There are times when you underestimate it, when you think the words may lose their gravity because of how often he says them. That had been your fear in the beginning. You kept the words close to your heart, saving them for special occasions and big moments.

Consequently, you don’t respond to him, too distracted by the box containing your pillows and comforters. As always, Joshua refuses to stand for that. 

With a furrowed brow, he abandons his mug-organizing to saunter over to your side. 

“I said,” he says pointedly, his arms finding purchase around your waist. He gently pulls your back to his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder. “I love you.” 

The petulant tone of his voice draws a laugh from you. You can’t quite turn your head to see his face but you can already imagine the expression he’s sporting. His lips, downturned into a frown. His eyes narrowed slightly. 

“I love you, too,” you respond. You reach behind you, the position a little awkward, as you attempt to pat Joshua’s hip reassuringly. 

He lets out a low scoff. His hands move up to your shoulders so he can ever so carefully turn you around until you’re facing him. 

You’ve never been a particularly superstitious person. Neither is Joshua. Even so, the two of you didn’t want to risk anything, and so you subscribed to every existing credulous belief about moving houses. 

You didn’t do it on a rainy day or a weekday. You opted for a day where the moon phase would be a new moon. Most importantly, you made sure to arrive before six in the morning. The last one was a nod to starting the new day, supposedly promising homeowners a prosperous beginning. 

At first, you had been vehemently against the thought of getting up at the crack of dawn to begin the whole moving process. Now, though, you find yourself grateful for it. 

The sunlight starting to streak through the window has Joshua glowing as he holds you. He’s incandescent, all honeyed skin and warm eyes. The real clincher is that he looks at you like you’re the sun itself. 

“I see how it is.” He heaves out a dramatic sigh, his gaze fond despite his alleged annoyance. “I put a ring on your finger and you get cocky.” 

Said engagement ring glints in the morning light as you go to rest your arms over Joshua’s shoulders. You return his jab with a roll of your eyes.

“Are we really going to fight on our first morning in our new place?” you bite out. 

Joshua responds with an exaggerated gasp. “Who said we’re fighting? I would never fight you. I couldn’t bear to do it.” 

You have half the mind to push the envelope, to insist that his attitude has led to a good number of spats. But there’s a part of you that knows he’s right, too. Joshua would sometimes be on the verge of tears when the two of you were getting into more serious arguments, and it was in large part because he couldn’t stomach the prospect of even raising his voice at you.

When you don’t contest him immediately, Joshua flashes you a winning smile. He rewards your concession with a lingering kiss to your forehead, and you begrudgingly take the ‘prize’. 

His lips are still on the top of your head when he mumbles, “Say that again.” 

“Hm?” 

“I liked the sound of that. ‘Our place’,” he hums as he pulls away to grin at you. 

Joshua wasn’t always vocal about his feelings on your big move, but it was in moments like these that you’re reminded just how badly he wanted it. How he had dragged you to IKEA every weekend in search of the perfect table linens and curtains. How he had gone through all the forms and processes with ruthless efficiency. How he had begun to include it in his prayers, the plea unassuming and full of hope. 

Lord, please let me have this. 

You’ve never been able to deny Joshua a thing. Your fingers go to stroke the short hair at his nape. Instinctively, his eyes flutter close at your ministrations. 

“Our place,” you concede to repeating. “Welcome to our place, love.” 

The dreamy smile that tugs at his lips makes it all worth it. His eyes flutter open, and he stares at you with a new kind of devotion. 

There’s still a lot that the two of you have to do. Joshua has yet to contact an internet provider to get the apartment WiFi. You need to figure out how to transport the bigger pieces that the two of you have purchased, like the couches and the wardrobes. 

But for now—

Joshua leans down to kiss you. And it’s everything. It’s his litany of love you’s throughout the years. It’s the way his hands shook when he got down on one knee. It’s the unpacked couple mugs, and the bed that you’re going to share, and the life that awaits the two of you. 

When he breaks the kiss to breathe, he doesn’t go too far. His mouth is still against yours when he softly says, “This is the best Christmas ever.” 

Initially, you want to agree. Instead, you find yourself whispering back, “No.”

You go on, “We’re going to have a dozen more Christmases together.” 

“A hundred,” he shoots back in between giggles.

You’re not usually one to give in to your fiancé’s hyperboles, but you’re willing to make some exceptions. “A thousand,” you promise, making him laugh a little more. 

Outside, day breaks. 

There is a key in your pocket, a ring on your finger, and your heart in Joshua’s safekeeping.

BONUS — translated toneejay's bagong tradisyon for your reading/listening pleasure. here's to the loves that last us entire lifetimes.

This year The two of us will live Under the same roof Oh, oh You said You're excited to see What our new traditions will be Oh, oh And Christmas will never be sad again Because you have me And I have you Until the end Until we both turn to ash Until the grave Until we both turn to ash Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh Our bodies May grow old But my feelings for you Will stay the same Until the end Until we both turn to ash Until the grave Until we both turn to ash Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh If there is no more love That only means I'm no longer around If there is no more love That only means you're no longer around Until the end Until we both turn to ash Until the grave Until we both turn to ash Oh-oh-oh-oh Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh This year The two of us will live Under the same roof

[supermenz]

one

summary: One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do; two can be as bad as one, it's the loneliest number since the number one. Or: you're two years old when you lose your parents. Your brother, a kid himself, is unable to give you the love you deserve, and you end up at twenty being as burn out as only a Gotham University student can be. So, what do you do? Change scenery, of course.

pairing(s): clark kent x wayne!reader, bruce wayne x sister!reader, eventual platonic batfam x reader (no use of y/n)

warnings: genius kid trope, kinda doomed siblings, language, there are reference to what happens in "the batman" but there will be a merge of both comics and films, written with david!superman in mind cuz he's my pookie 😞, bruce is so pathetic i love him sm

word count: 2.2k

author's note: my first ever fanfic for the dc universe!! constructive criticism is welcomed as english is not my first language,

next | series masterlist

Gotham has left you feeling more claustrophobic in the last few months than it did all your life. 

Maybe it’s because you’re seeing your brother slip into his work — aka beating criminals in the night as a hobby — more and more, or maybe it’s just your brain playing tricks on you. It’s probably the latter. 

You’ve never been good with emotions — it comes with being a Wayne, and surely, having your parents die before you were three didn’t help your situation. Bruce spending most of your childhood abroad with barely any contact with you also probably didn’t help either. 

“But I’m here now,” he had said once, “Am I not?”

He is, but even if you love him with all your heart, sometimes you think that you’re more like colleagues rather than siblings. Your bond is strained, with him being so closed-off and spending most of his free time cosplaying as a bat, and you having just entered your twenties, trying to get your second degree in biology after an early graduation and an even earlier PhD in engineering. And since his first big case four years ago, neither of you has been the same. 

Your relationship has never been easy. The flood and the Riddler’s case basically forced you to trauma bond over what you both had experienced, as surely no therapist would’ve wanted to hear about all the horrors that you two experienced, even for all the money in the world. Besides, it’s not like Bruce could just enter a therapist’s office and tell them that he’s the fucking Batman. 

As of now, you tend to have your… ups and downs. Both prefer to just hide behind paperwork, projects, cases or research rather than just talk some things out. Because yes, Bruce’s your brother, but that doesn’t mean he’s easy to love. There are some days where he seems to be barely able to talk to you, others where you know he just wants to scream at you for whatever reason, others where… others where you think he might just crumble at your feet and start crying. 

You don’t have a lot in common. Maybe that’s why he manages to stay in Gotham even after all that’s happened — combined with the fact that he’s spent ten years or so abroad. Maybe you need that, too. 

“I’m thinking of moving out,” you tell him during one of your rare dinners together. You have already talked about your plan to Alfred, who has shown his support towards the idea and urged you to get out of Gotham as soon as you could, but you also wanted to tell Bruce — just to be honest with him. 

Yes, he left you to study abroad all those years ago without any kind of goodbye or anything, but you have no intention of leaving him behind like he did to you — you may be grown adults now, but that doesn’t mean that being left behind doesn’t exist anymore. You doubt Bruce would ever feel left behind by you, of all people, but still. “Found a faculty in Metropolis that will be able to transfer all my credits and studies and a nice flat downtown near the Wayne Enterprises’ site there. I think I need a breath of fresh air– I need to go somewhere where the sun actually shines and not everyone has hidden agendas.”

You’ve heard good things about Metropolis, and you think that the Martha Wayne Foundation could be expanded a bit more — somewhere far from Gotham, where surely there are other orphanages, other people in need that could use some help. “I could handle Wayne Enterprise’s gestion and settle our matters there while continuing my studies in a more… calm environment.” calm is a big word for a metropolitan city as big and populated as Metropolis, but every city is calm in contrast to Gotham.  

Your brother doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you, wide-eyed, fork still raised to eat the potatoes Alfred cooked, his face blank. Is he having a heart attack? You didn’t think that you moving out would’ve been such horrendous news for him. Yes, even if you are not that close he’s still very protective, but he went to live abroad at ten. You’re twenty and you’re just… moving to Delaware. It’s not like you’re going to the fucking Himalaya mountains as he did. 

(Meanwhile, Bruce is spiraling. He wonders when the hell did his little sister grow up, how it can be that she isn’t the little girl he used to sway around anymore, and why would she ever want to move out. Is it because of him? Did something happen? 

Isn’t Metropolis in another state? Is he so tremendous that you have to move states in hopes to forget about him? Is he too overbearing? He thought he had always given you enough space to do your own thing–)

Instead of saying all of the things he’s thinking, he tries to muster up a smile, even if it comes out as a grimace. “Alright.” 

He nearly jumps out of his seat when you beam at him — is he really that obnoxious that you can’t wait to move out and have him out of your life? “Oh, I’m happy that you’re taking it well! I was afraid you’d freak out.” you get up from your seat and move over to hug him, and he chuckles nervously. “Why would I? You’re an adult, you can do what you want.” 

(What do you mean?!, his conscience screams in his head, She isn’t even twelve! Just yesterday she was talking about going to the homecoming dance with her friends–

But time has passed, and even if Bruce feels that it was particularly hard on him, he didn’t think it’d affect you too, somehow. It’s weird acknowledging something’s — someone’s — changes in the years in… so little. He had gotten so used to you being his little sister that he didn’t even think about you becoming a full on woman. He still remembers the pink bundle of blankets your parents had given him that day at the hospital, telling him to be careful with her, she’s your little sister.

When have you grown this much? Where did the time go? He swears it was just yesterday when you were admitted to Gotham University.) 

“But… a flat? Are you sure you’ll be comfortable there? It’s not exactly as big as a manor.” 

You avoid his gaze, scratching the back of your head. “Yeah, about that…”

He raises an eyebrow, “Let me guess, you bought the whole building?” 

You snap your fingers, “They don’t call you the greatest detective for nothing!” you sit back down, cutting the meat on your plate, “I plan on making the floors I won’t live in into a laboratory of sort– almost like the Batcave, y’know, so I can continue working on the models I designed undisturbed.”

When Bruce had started his crusade as Batman, you had just gotten your bachelor’s degree in engineering, and were working on your master’s degree. You had basically given him the head-start, creating the software of the Batcomputer (or of the computer, as he calls it), designed and adapted a sport’s car to the Batmobile (just call it the car, Bruce always insists) and basically modified and created every single one of the gadgets and systems he uses. 

You just hope he won’t let the Batcomputer get hacked as soon as you land in Metropolis — you spent weeks programming her and years perfecting her system. You spent so much time on her, she might as well be your firstborn by now. 

“I’ll always be a call away,” you murmur when your brother’s eyes get a little dazy, unfocused– like he’s in another world, always thinking about the worst that could happen. “You know that, right?”

Bruce blinks. “Yeah. Yeah, I– I know that.” 

(He isn't sure about that.) 

You pat his hand, mustering a smile. "Maybe you should take a break, too. Why don't you book a vacation in, let's say... the Bahamas? Just to get a bit tanned and remember what the sun actually looks like."

He shakes his head. "Can't. Batman doesn't go on vacation."

You raise an eyebrow, sighing in defeat. "Well, I'm sure the GCPD could handle Gotham for a few days, but do as you like."

Your arrival in Metropolis is, of course, followed by an unhinged swarm of journalists and press that surround you as soon as you land.

You can already see the headlines — THE PRINCESS OF GOTHAM NOW IN METROPOLIS or some other corny predictable shit like that — as they shove their cameras in your face, screaming and trying to grab you, as your bodyguards try to contain them. You're much calmer than they are, having already endured years and years of invasive journalists.

“Miss Wayne, would you care to tell us the reason for this abrupt change in scenery?”

“Has your move got anything to do with your relationship with your brother?”

“Miss Wayne, look here! A smile for the front page–”

“Miss Wayne, why Metropolis, of all places?”

“Miss Wayne, a word for the Daily Planet?”

The guy for the Daily Planet catches your attention– he seems far too nice and isn’t elbowing anyone; he must be either new at the job or is too nice for it. He’s got a mop of curly, black hair atop his head, thick glasses perched on his nose, baby blue eyes behind them. His posture is a little crooked — he’s getting squeezed by reporters on both of his sides — but, even as disheveled as he is, you notice a thing. 

Ohh, he’s pretty. Like, jaw-dropping pretty, the kind of pretty that makes you want to bite his cheek and never let go for the rest of your life. 

You stop in your tracks, lifting your sunglasses to your head, bodyguards panicking at the swarm of journalists that suddenly all point to one direction; you reach for the pocket of your jeans and take out a business card that you pat on the pretty reporter’s chest. “Another time, pretty boy,” you promise as he takes the card, his fingers brushing yours, the other journalists speechless around you. “I’m kinda busy right now.” 

You don’t stay long enough to see him blush and hold the business card tight in his palm so that the other reporters don’t snatch it out of his grip — the bodyguards urge you forward, towards the SUV with obscured windows that is waiting for you right in front of the arrivals’ exit of the airport. One of them opens the door for you, and you don’t hesitate to get inside, the car speeding off as soon as everyone’s inside. 

“Never seen anything like this,” one of the men mutters.

You shrug, “I’ve had worse.” 

The ride to your building is short, mostly because it’s late in the evening and there aren’t many people still around. You leave a generous tip to both the bodyguards and the driver, thanking them but assuring them that you can walk alone the thirty steps that separate you from the entrance to what’ll be your home for the foreseeable future. They help you take out your trolley and duffle bag, which you swing over your shoulder right after taking the keys of the building out. 

You open the front door, carefully closing it behind you, taking the elevator right in front of it. You press the number thirty out of thirty-four, which turns green with a ding, and wait for the doors to open back up. And once they do, you’re not disappointed. 

The loft is arranged just like how you asked the movers to — it would’ve been hard not to, as you sent them the 3D interior design plan you had made, but still. You’ve been raised with the idea that if you want something done well, you have to do it yourself, so you’re pretty happy about how it turned out. 

Still, something’s missing. 

You check around the loft for any pieces of missing furniture or something like that, not finding anything. You even go back to the 3D model to make sure that everything got here safe and sound, only to find that yes, everything is in the colour you ordered and exactly in the place you asked for it to be. 

You sit on the U-shaped couch that sits right in front of the giant windows that let on the skyline of Metropolis, eyebrows knit in deep thought. The house is nice — for fuck’s sake, you bought a whole building just for you and your projects — but it’s weird not having anyone else around. There’s no Alfred to welcome you, no half-asleep Bruce roaming without an idea of where he is, no squeaking and creaking of the floor when you walk. 

You sigh. “Maybe I should get a cat.” 

[softmiso]

my sweet honey bee | spencer reid x reader

summary: reader has a special christmas present for spencer.

tags: christmas fluff, fem!reader, established relationship, pregnancy

word count: ~600

a/n: title from 'all i want is you' featured in juno (2007) :)

cross-posted on ao3

It was a snowy morning. You and Spencer were sat by the fireplace, the warm glow of the fire contrasting with the white light streaming in through the windows.

Curled up on the couch together, you listened to one of your shared playlists. Every now and then, one of you would speak up to voice a passing thought, but you were otherwise silent.

You had just finished opening presents, a combinations of ones that you had bought or made for one another and some from friends and family.

While you tried to bask in the comfort of your fifth Christmas shared with one another, you were silently mulling over how you would give Spencer his final present. You were surprised he couldn’t hear the thoughts racing through your head from where it lay on his shoulder.

Before you could think too much more, Spencer gently patted your thigh. You lifted your head, eyebrows raising as you looked at him.

“I was thinking of making some apple cider,” he said. “Would you like some?”

You nodded. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

While Spencer busied himself in the kitchen, you paced around the living room. This was the perfect time to get the present from its hiding spot, but your nerves had you hesitating.

It’ll be fine, you told yourself. Just go get it.

And so, you walked quietly to your shared bedroom, fetching the small rectangular box from one of your designated drawers. You’d hidden it under a pile of clothing, knowing Spencer had no reason to look there.

By the time you got back to the living room, he was sat on the couch, ciders placed on the coffee table. Alerted of your presence by the soft sound of your footsteps, Spencer watched as you made your way in front of him. You held the box strategically behind your back, making sure that he didn’t get a peek of it.

He looked up at you inquisitively. “What’s up, honey?”

“Um,” you tried to gather your thoughts, “I might have one last present for you.”

“Really?” he asked. “You didn’t have to!”

“Trust me, I think you’ll like it.” A shy smile crossed your face.

You gave him the box, and he turned it over in his hands before unwrapping it carefully. Meanwhile, you decided to sit on the couch, legs feeling a bit wobbly with nerves and excitement.

Time seemed to slow as he finally opened the box and took out the small stick that you had placed inside.

His brows furrowed. That is, until he turned the stick over. His eyes widened as he read what was written on the tiny screen: pregnant.

He looked up at you with those eyes that had enchanted you all those years ago. “You’re...?”

“Yeah,” you said breathily.

His gaze flickered between your face and the test. At last, his now glistening eyes landed on you.

“Oh my god,” he said as he took you into his arms.

The embrace was oh, so welcome. You didn’t realize you had shed a few tears until he pulled back, wiping them away with his free hand.

For once, Spencer was at a loss for words. Instead, he kissed you slow and gentle, silently communicating all his feelings.

When he pulled away, his hand migrated to your side, thumb stroking your belly over your sweater.

“We’re gonna have a baby,” he said quietly.

“We’re gonna have a baby,” you echoed back.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚